Long Imagination Poems
Long Imagination Poems. Below are the most popular long Imagination by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imagination poems by poem length and keyword.
The vibrant colours of a Venice day
Are muted now, and drained to sombre grey,
As huddled shades of countless long past years,
Sharing their tears and ever constant fears,
Silent, intangible, diffused, now roam,
In tones of dank, primeval monochrome.
Sweet Melancholy breathes her mawkish air
As stony faces add their baleful stare,
Sightless, yet knowing well within their core
The days of pageant, and the grief, of yore.
These shifting nearly-souls of latter day
In sorrow, and against their will, they stay.
As pigeons bleakly view the scene below,
The church bells, softly stifled, peal, as though
In cotton wool. Canal sounds harmonise,
And gently rhythmic solace therein lies,
Easing the pain of those the city shuns,
Her unseen, phantom, long-forgotten sons.
From the bowels of
The Pyramids
Like the spinning drip of an
Atomic molecule
She rose above
Sizzled my soul
With sweet sensations of love
Ah, Isis, godess of magic and fertility
melted away my icicles
With flamed passion of fire
Satisfied those touching thoughts
Once buried and lost as desires
Enlightened essence of fragrance
Such a mummy was I
Until she unwrapped my light
Unleashed such sensationally
Spectacular splitting sparkles
Now awakened!
Transformed from tomb to life
Aphrodite godess of love
Who send thoughts
From a floating cloud
Motivated her to
Passionately touch
As Apollo god of poetry and music
Released My mystical muse
Stimulated souls’ sensations
Snow melted by fire
Needless,
I articulate more…
But tonight, I will
Belly-up to the bar
Brightly blushing
While whispering:
“Ein anderes Bier bitte!”
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/15/2010
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Senior Advisor, to Founder of Motivational Strips
Ambassador De Literature
Noble Star of Literature 2018
Living Legend of the 21st Century
Pentasiv B World Friendship Poetry Featured Poet 2019
You Can’t
Go home.
You are not wanted, needed, thought about, or missed.
Why do you still want to go?
It is not the place on the map. It is a picture in my head.
It is not even real. It is imagined.
In my memory, which is not true at all…
In my imagination, which is made up and changed to be perfect.
There is a faultless house.
It is not large or small, but the outside is always white,
like snow. It is home.
Sometimes it is in the desert, sometimes a cabin in the woods.
Today, it is on top of a great mountain where eagles come to breakfast…
everyday.
You can’t make people love you. Some just can’t.
They have none to give.
Home is heaven.
We are passing through.
Abba Father,
Amen.
Big History
This exciting program
envisioned in the country down under
and with Bill Gates' enthusiastic resources
steps out boldly in the right direction..
We all remember our history lessons:
facts on a timeline taxing young memories..
The newness here is the integrative imagination
no event stands alone..but must be viewed from
a very wide integrative lens..
What are the drawbacks..?
Matter remains crowned as fundamental truth
despite the words of integration and wholeness..
Big History represents a flip underway
toward the recognition..not far away
that wholeness..consciousness..awareness
these expressions of the Big Formula: I am..
must come first..
With the Formula's iterating colorations arriving
with thinking and perceiving..as each of us are
engaged in this moment...
(for background see: polarityinplay.blogspot.com
Covid 19 leaves restless kiddies with parents’ imagination at home
So why not create fantasy in the lounge for a resilient pleasure dome
Grannies’ chest of drawers comes alive as a goal with lace for a net
No offside rule here as she watches from above and hedges a bet
Please clear all those trinkets and porcelain figures from the top
Ronaldo needs safe play when beating isolation from the penalty spot
Magic carpets swirl kindly when Daddy turns on that powerful hoover
A broom for propulsion transforms into a practical boredom remover
Chandeliers are useful for swinging from when tedium starts to beckon
But they are intricate carousels and swirl pleasure round don’t you reckon
Hang on tight and beware of the hard floor made from antique floor tiles
If you land softly play hop scotch and twister to keep busy for a while
Monopoly puzzles and scrabble are more entertaining than news from TV
Planes crafted from newspaper are not only useful for that piddle or wee
The circus has come to town and first prize goes to Mom’s swivel chair
Stand two to a seat and close eyes for heightened senses if you so dare
Make you own Rubik cube from scrap and swirl the brain tease ad infinitum
Imagine you’re on a spell rollercoaster make new words like squanticotycon
Musical chairs come in handy to the sound of overt defiance over the virus
Compared to computer games ballet or dance on the piano are more desirous
With a tool kit and Mom’s motor bike craft crankshafts gears and bearing
The sky is the limit with spokes from wheels and hooter for emergency flaring
Suspension rods invite to navigate back paddle and circle from kitchen to loo
And please save paper rolls for teammates to wipe sweat from their brows too
22nd March 2020
Walking through doors
to a strange land,
the corridors ahead
spread out like hands
I went to the left
and found the dark,
creeping around
some foreign part
Retracing my steps
I went back to the light,
thinking which way
to get out of this plight
I found a corridor
lined in gold,
between the pages
and beneath the folds
Black Orchids are flowering
red poppies too,
bluebells in rainbows
and pink cockatoos
Faery’s are dancing
to a dragon track,
and elves are drunk
from drinking jack
Gnomes with cigars
and long white beards,
laughing so hard
the next county can hear
Giants with bats
and balls,and mitts
a baseball game
even I cant miss
I made a bed
under the weeping tree,
and watched in awe
as fireworks set free
Frayed Baggage
by Odin Roark
Dreamt fields
Where wall-less interiors boast stunning views
Personal vistas of imagination
Requiring only attachments be left behind
The resentful
The angry
The baggage labeled heavy
For just as everyone can’t be
Who or what they think they are
Revelation often becomes frayed baggage of the mind
Clutched with guilty claws
Self-loathing that refuses to heal
Narcissistic defenses
Deliver delusions of grandeur
Driving the moral compass further downward
Where an icy kingdom of vicarious reality
Becomes one’s personal abyss
Such is the plight of a luggage-laden life
One’s weighty attempt to always be part of something
Rejecting being one with the singular self as success
The fortunate abandon that which can’t be changed
Unshackling the drag-behind regrets and disappointments
And breathing in the oxygen of continuance
Discovering closure reveals the eternal opening
The paradoxical passage into meeting
One’s innate traveling companion of wager
The one who travels with toothbrush only
Sharing weightless wins in life
We know not of…
Yet
One calm summer night
I visited the city aquarium and
I noticed the sharks and the barracudas
Playing a lovely game of tennis
Yeah, the sharks and
The Barracudas are just
Sitting around eating
Strawberries and drinking tea
How could this be?
The great white shark called out, "the surf is up!" and
The speedy barracuda replied, "fifteen Luv!"
How could this be?
Suddenly, the sharks and the barracudas
Noticed me standing there, and
Standing on the other side
Well, they all agreed,
If you want to learn how to swim with
The sharks and the barracudas,
First, you must learn how to play the game!
Oh, what a lovely sport it is!
Are you from Essex?
Well Its so lovely there, this time of year.
My younger self waits beneath the Mosikiri tree, barefoot,
pockets filled with Motsentsela and impossible dreams.
He smiles when he sees me,
until he notices how tired my eyes have learned to be.
"You made it," he says,
certain that the years have been kind.
I smile back,
the way broken things pretend they have never fallen.
He studies me
with the innocence only children possess.
"So...did we become the writer?"
"We did."
His face brightens like the first rain after a long drought.
"Then you must write every day."
"I don't."
The smile slips quietly from his face.
"Why?"
"Life happened."
He wrinkles his forehead, confused.
"I thought life was the reason we wanted to write."
I stay quiet!
"Do we still watch sunsets without checking the time?"
"No."
"Do we still jump in it rain?"
"No."
"Do we still believe people mean the promises they make?"
I take a long breath.
"Not always."
He lowers his head, drawing circles in the earth with his heel.
"You've learned so many things."
I nod.
"But you forgot so many too."
His words find every place my silence had been hiding.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one grain of Motsentsela
"Remember this?"
I do.
It was treasure before money taught me its own definition of value.
He rolls it into my hand.
"You used to think the smallest things were miracles."
I close my fingers around it, afraid it might disappear
like everything else I failed to hold on to.
He looks at me
one last time.
"I don't mind that you grew older."
He pauses.
"I just wish you hadn't grown so far away from yourself."
"What if I want to find you again?" i ask
He smiles, the same smile that once believed
every tomorrow was a gift.
"You don't have to find me.
I'm still here.
I'm waiting every time
for you remember who you were
before the world told you who to become."
spaces-SEPTEMBER I
empty slides in the park
chatter fills the school bus
spaces- SNUFFED OUT
Bad light stops play
The muscians retire
Note: Haydn's Farewell Symphony
spaces-CATARACT
The mist lifts slowly
A new vista is unveiled
spaces-CATCH-22
A window pane shatters
Nobody makes a home run
SPACES 2
HISPANIC REVERBERATIONS
Blue-bells
SPACES 1
SHADY LADIES
Hostas
spaces- REFRACTION
a rainbow on high
liquid to light
spaces-THEOPHANY
This is my beloved son
Hear Him?
spaces-PECKING ORDER
Sparrow on the bird table
the hawk has a feast
An Abstract spaces poem
Close your eyes
What did you see?