Long Imaginings Poems
Long Imaginings Poems. Below are the most popular long Imaginings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imaginings poems by poem length and keyword.
Lost by the Lake
It is early and the dawn has not yet come.
The water is very still, and reflects the trees on the far side.
Every now and again, a fish kisses the surface,
and rings of forever spread out in all directions,
not random at all.
The reality of the pattern,
revealing secrets beyond mere imaginings.
The coffee has been made. I can hear it perking now.
Softly, far away. The old pot makes too much noise.
I smile. It is a pleasant sound really.
The smell is slowly filling the cabin with its wonderful aroma.
The only thing sweeter; the pines outside, and inside and all around.
Thank you God for this day.
I linger a few more breaths, taking in all that I can,
Time is ever short. We leave today. We just got here.
Time flew by like the eagle that now sits in the big tree.
“I will be back for you. I will bring by best camera.”
Whispering softly my greeting and promise to the site before me,
I long to remember every detail,
until I can truly return and achieve the goal.
We caught fish, and let them go.
Rainbows that swim, sunfish that lazzz around all day…
A walk in the woods, full of autumn’s flames,
golden fire oaks, and swift thistle bursts of blaze.
Next we will see the snow. I long to see the white blanket…
What a surprise and an adventure that will yet be.
I am glad you will be there…
with me.
Sleep now mountain man.
Let’s stay another day.
She lit the candle in evening’s repose
then held the pages bound and decorated
in story-fabled paper coverings.
She buried her head in the words of others.
Arms outstretched and folded on a pillow,
she tightly held a lifetime of explanation.
As she opened each page of wishful longings
her thoughts drifted into unknown
yet sometimes familiar places.
She buried her head in the words of others.
Devouring and mouthing each line-
foraging like a hungry child
starved from intangible imaginings.
Imbued along the infinite road of her freedom
her head kept filling with vestiges
of rolling oceans and dire deserts-
of tawny forest and snow covered peaks.
She buried her head in the words of others-
hiding in the jungles of Borneo-
riding black stallions over the plains of Africa-
awaiting the earthrise from craters on the moon-
listening to the city of a million people
contemplated in the dulcet tones of Miles Davis’ trumpet.
She buried her head in the words of others-
entombed in a poet’s lyric read aloud
turning the pages that fell across her heart.
She swallowed each wonderment within-
filling an empty cupboard of feelings
like the moon melting in a rainstorm…..
Phhhhhhhhhh!
Tired and inspired she blew the candle out
September dreams follow the night,
Whispering peace, sighing soft and still,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
October visions seek those she’ll excite,
Shadowing the spirit with dewdrop’s spill,
September dreams follow the night,
November imaginings color hearts right,
Glorious dreams the soul will fulfill,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
Melting moments that poets soon write.
Autumn’s kindness brings such a thrill.
September dreams follow the night,
Rustlings of crisp leaves, beneath moonlight,
Pouring out hope across the morning chill,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
Leaves cling to souls when they take flight,
Leaving memories of autumn’s goodwill,
September dreams follow the night,
Like music, echoing the soul’s delight.
I had to pause reading of a book today;
and why? To let emotion set and tears flow
for such is the power of the word, that they,
who write them so, can make those tears come, and go
that I can actually feel love, and death;
and the hurt so deep it takes away my breath.
I so love that this can happen in my head
under blanket, safe, at home, flashlight, in bed.
I watched a mother bestow her child today
a smart pad, while herself; posted to some "friends";
the child's eyes soon mesmerized by the display
of mindless, useless, unnecessary trends,
eye candy, clickbaited by the age of four
so long dispatched the child's desire to explore,
imagine, so many wonders in her head
under blanket, safe, at home, flashlight, in bed.
I will discover hope - despite chaos
I will find the joy - despite the pain
I will find faith - despite the silence
I will find mercy - despite the rain
I will find the love - In a humble heart
A heart who is flooded
With kindness and warmth
A heart who knows goodness
Flows from the veins of one
Who gives without limits
Who listens to the soul
And finds their vision
Within the dance of feeling
That lights the heart with
Meaning, dreaming, fulfillment
Hope for comforting
Inspiration for adoring
Music for enlightenment
Love that fills and overflows
Spilling out through the universe
With ideas, insights, imaginings
Gasps of mesmerizing solace
Given to those who know well
The feeling of affection and worship
For the One who gave us all our
Purpose, our thoughts, feelings
Everything that reminds our heart
To feel, to give, to shine a light
From the very breath of life…
Illuminating the brilliance of a fire
Captured by God’s gentle tug
On heartstrings who listen to
God’s tender impressions of
Love that is forever alive, nourishing
Guiding and creating second chances
For our hearts to grow worthy of this
Feeling, this love that is alive, giving
Assurance, hope, inspiration that colors
Our entire world with breathtaking
Laughter, exhilaration, imagination
Joy that overflows the heart’s veins
Bursting with rapture that will last!
But for these two things,
My head would stop its imaginings,
And the chance of a good nights sleep would not go begging.
To my views I am sticking,
In believing there may be a final reckoning
For those who were snoring,
When Pandora's box someone was opening,
With no understanding,
What Euthanasia might be bringing,
To those not clear in their thinking,
Or those who wish for the population to be shrinking.
Yet it is the lack of understanding,
By mainstream media who are now directing,
Instead of informing,
Who keep me tossing and turning,
As calls to check their moral compass they are no longer taking,
With all articles weather depending,
And their view on freedom unlimited, impairing their thinking,
As to their role in what is happening
To those who on them are depending,
And they are not listening,
To the sound of a our outpourings,
As we struggle to find reasons not to take away their means of
making a living,
When words of hope and comfort are no longer forthcoming.
Do they not understand that keys to the city are slowly rusting?
And with few in them now trusting,
The time may come when opportunities for free thinking,
Will depend on weather permitting,
For fair reporting,
On the storm that is gathering,
Before an even bigger gathering of the human kind starts forming,
And getting a good nights sleep will be the less worrying.
On a Michigan farmer Saturday
in August,
anticipating tomorrow's evangelical Sabbath,
When late summer vacations
invoke house cleaning chores
unusually light,
Heading outside after lunch
into this spectacularly breezy
billowing cumulus clouds
in-between radiant sky blue
infinite wonder
Into this awesomely long leisurely afternoon
becoming one of those farm kids
sent out to rediscover solitary play
while Mom clears HER kitchen
to fill grateful mouths and noses
with impossible fragrance
of Sunday dinner rhubarb pie
or fresh strawberry shortcake,
whipping vanilla or banana cream
while boiling sweet yellow corn,
baking mac and ancient cheddar cheese
for this evening's pre-dusk compline dinner.
On this first summer celebrating Saturday
of low humidity
and temperatures predicting September seventies
Out past our red barn
past its barnyard lily pond
into golden stubbled hay fields
sheared sexy contoured place
of my temporarily uncloseted gay imaginings
hoping for God's grace face
smiling sabbath of sensually healthy return
Continuing on
to private green cool woodland
to nakedly climb a favorite tree
skin to naked bark,
full-bodied embrace
of this fabulous shared EarthLife
transparent
open
strong
yet breezy free flexibility
with inclusive messianic hope.
Out to play,
and pray
this day
and final month
of vacation re-creation
will never end
Or end,
if time must continue,
in moonlit radiant peace,
night dreams
restoring righteousness
into perfect summer Sabbath.
“Rewind Forward”
Memory mirror
supple sylph yields
and naked
walks through liquid glass
towards your dark eyes
to float in black
legs wrapped
rapture drawn deep
unclothed into your arms
bathed bare
you climb my mountains
pull me in
your fingers coiled
tight and unforgiving
around my silken hair
mouth drawn to bare
omni amor libido
opalescent skin glistens
slow dance
silence listens
caught in time
elementals float in the aether
no walls no stairs no roads
bodies in rhythm rhyme -
in your dark mirrors
are all my blue skies -
dream duelling flames
tongues do not speak
they torch a burning blaze
there are no nights
there are no days
two flaming souls
deep dive
erotic waves
they read no maps
trysting in their lovely trap
Pantoums
each the other world
Phantom
opium kissed lips
repeat repetition
Ships lost at sea
in our ghost myst
a fierce longing
a holy confederacy
Kisses long and languid
Luscious long neck licks
Drink my life
Your need is met
my mead is sweet
and want is whet
Honey swallowed
lost in the love
love in the lost
trapped in the net
an open cave
doorway
where lush moss
waits wet
treasure found
treasure kept
sensual salty
her sea is met
pounds to your
foreign uncharted shore
two rare pearls
are free yet
bound and kept
on the other side
awake forever
with the never slept
hearts open
wounds bleeding
turn the key
Mirror Memory
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqEZ_RQ4Cm8
"Flashbacks", Emika
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF6v7yCthd4
"Flashbacks (reversed)", Emika
“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”
Anaïs Nin
“Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.”
Anaïs Nin
“Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.”
Anaïs Nin
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover..."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan
Nostradamus secrets,
prophetic poetry from another realm.
What does an ancient physician know
about the future of this planet, anyway?
Water is an electrical conductor, as is the human body.
Static dreams from some unknown dimension pass from water to man-mind, containing pictures of another kind.
A cosmic film.
Prophets are never appreciated in their own time.
It takes the future’s victims to appreciate the madness.
Dreams can provide many truths to one who sees and listens.
It’s unfortunate that others label them, “imaginings”.
Humankind, always writing off the possibilities as fiction and haphazardly hitting walls that belief in prophecy
could help them to avoid.
Was this your dream?
Some wild restless imaginings
that sing and dance a fantasy fantastic
with the images once black and white
to rise and swell in pastel delights;
was this your sinister plan
to draw me in as easily as you can
to become some cartoon figure portrayed
in the highlight of your foolish ways/
Is this your dream
the play on words of pretended themes
where prince and damsel in distress
find they are together in love's test?
Then let it play out
the wisdom of the hopeful in doubt
to live and die in the great imagined swirls
to finally achieve the dreams of this world.