Long Mental image Poems
Long Mental image Poems. Below are the most popular long Mental image by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mental image poems by poem length and keyword.
I've always asked myself is there a thing as fate
Is everyone not responsible for his or her destiny
If it were possible the future you could anticipate
If that were something that a person could foresee
Like the path that you choose to destroy or deviate
When your looking for home, a place of sanctuary
And it ends up being filled with emptiness and hate
But guess everyone can have a sense of uncertainty
i
I was told things you earn nothings handed on a plate
And remember not every day will always be so sunny
Don't make rash decisions try and at first contemplate
And yet again yeah it's that same old age philosophy
Another avenue taken though one would still desolate
Because your feeling lost and now you are so unhappy
Ending up in such bad way, that you are in a right state
Still looking for absolution, but if it were that elementary
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
But waiting in anticipation then just realising your too late
If you had ceased the moment, what could or may not be
Like that of an encounter like if you meet your soul mate
Was it just coincidence again one questions the irony
A mental image in your head a picture that you always paint
letting chance take its toll but not what you expected really
Again one being told at times perhaps its better to just wait
I guess that’s the element of surprise, apart of the mystery
Kind of like a part two to fate 98 and a bad case of nostalgia
with this im trying to close a chapter but also question
which I always have is there such a thing as fate
you know if i went down this road or this avenue
would things have been differed[nt perhaps if things were mapped-
out there would be no element of surprise
Perhaps just me being brought up again with so many mixed messages
uncertainty of everything it were like the movies a meets b an along comes c
and every thing is hunky dory but yeah its not reality inspired by other writes
and soup members written nov 2012,,,,,,,FATE,,,,,,,,,,,,,DESTINY,,,,,,,,,,,,CHANCE
See these tiny things
Filled with thought profound;
Cute miniatures spring
From creative grounds.
In a format small,
Craft miniature books;
Haiku moments call:
Browse and take a look.
One and a half inch,
The book height is short;
Words squeezed just to lynch
Warm poetry is wrought.
A sure design feeds
Steady hand-skill mints;
This collage craft seeds
Finesse that now tints.
A paper stock craft
Comes forth from ideas;
Design a rough draft,
Mental image steers.
Visuals now take shape,
With thought focus here;
Measure out or drape
What impulse sparks clear.
A tiny book page
Via plain prototype;
Step by step each stage
Styles wonder not hype.
Imagine the route
From a plain blank sheet:
Until success shouts
With product you meet.
This crafty craft fits
The collage art flow;
Poise flavours sure wit
To let tact now show.
Print the outline page,
Trim, cut and align;
Patience works each stage,
Keep eyes on design.
Arrange each page right,
Guide the lines of fold;
Set rule to guide sight,
Keep pulp sculpture bold.
Fold each page well,
Now back-to-back;
Frame by frame tells,
Allow some slack.
Press the stack stage,
Glide steel rule straight;
Sharp blade trims edge,
Both sides look great.
Fit hard cover,
Like a sandwich;
Forge maneuvers,
Paste each to each.
Surely and truly,
The book sculpture grows;
Practice works surely
When rough edges show.
And then, finally:
A tiny book sums
The effort nicely
With a fine outcome.
Mini book that forms
A miniature whole;
A focus sets norm
In dealing with soul.
So crafty craft shows
In body mass cute;
Feel a certain glow
In silence that mutes.
Little treasures here
In miniature books;
To spread ease and cheer
In satisfied looks.
Start again now
To make one more;
Watch skills endow
A fine rapport.
Leon Enriquez
12 December 2014
Singapore
these brick bound boxes
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century
ready to be presentable to the unmighty
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be
not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be
ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them
just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind
of someone we chose to leave behind
in these brick bound boxes
that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?
society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.
My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see
can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself
its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality
yet before you can buy alcohol
and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?
An overwhelming feeling of fulfillment
As if I'd searched the exterior of mother earth for all eternity,
Finally reaching the core
And there he stands
He is love!
Employing every ingenious piece of man made apparatus I could obtain.
Attempting to pierce the barrier
Fighting against the limitations
Trying effortlessly to keep me from the center.
I can see him.
Although thick, the heart is translucent.
Giving me the power to form a mental image of what I'm driven to secure.
It appears to be so very close,
Yet, I've been tilling this land for a lifetime.
And my God am I tired!
But I refuse to give up!
I can see the aftermath of my blood, sweat and tears.
I can feel the unveiling of his passion from within..
Adoration, fondness, attentiveness, care, concern and hope
Sheer happiness, some sorrow, but amour in its truest form.
I see him there
He is love!
However, am I in love..
With a definite promise of uncertainty
Unsure of the results
A preempt feeling of possible negativity
Based on the way men appear to be today.
Indulging a bit of self doubt
Fear of my capability in keeping him near
Apprehension trying to vanquish my spirit,
With speculation of the unknown.
But you know what, I don't care!
I am in love!
I can see him there waiting for me,
And each day well have to share.
I can feel his touch against my skin,
Sending pulsating heat from deep within.
I can visualize the joy I feel, as he looks into my eyes.
I can call to mind the implanted memories
Of each time he made me sigh.
And none of this causes fear.
I can't predict the shape of things
As I dig in to reach the Earth core.
The only certainty when I reach the nucleus,
Is that Ill reach the one I've prayed for.
I am in love, with his love
For he is love.
2006 Kelly D. Adolph All Rights Reserved
I write to her name yet again
Her touch inspires me beyond this universe
The mental image of her is tattooed in my heart
It is I the one whom holds her heart, and I keep it forever I shall
I live in her, my words are my heart, my heart is my verse, and my verses are hers
For there is not another being in the world whom makes me feel the way she does
I wish to spend forever with her
And to that thought arise a bit of fear
As I realize the perhaps forever is not long enough
When I look into her eyes I realize that tomorrow holds many wonders for us both
Yet when I look into her heart I realize that we belong together for all eternity
And that if I should pass, in her heart I will forever dwell
In the after life I will love her again, and I will search for her smile once more
When I have her in my arms I begin to dream
And when she disappears into the distance I grow a frown
I feel so alone when I'm not by her side
But always complete, as God is speaking by me
I thank Him for his beautiful blessing, for He allowed my eyes to sit upon her
I need her for I am nothing without her
I am her poet
I speak for her, my stanzas are love that soaks to her soul
I am her Osito, her poeta
I speak in verse always from my heart
But I speak only for her, my one and only my bear
I will marry her one day, we will have a magical love
For she is my all, my moon and I will have babies with her
Little Eduardo, and little Elizabeth and I will cherish every minute that I draw breath
I eduardo jeremia orozco, Paulas poet.
Always and forever Osito.
I cry and so she does as well
Hold back, but myself is shown
Gain your composure as you
Shatter into fragments of your former self
But still hold yourself together as your
Not worth the effort to strive for
Worthless in a sense
As she cries in the arms of one she
Calls friend, when she speaks of the
Events, which have unfolded
Your name is never mentioned
When you cry on shattered dreams
She has no remorse as she crawls into
His arms
But why
why must I care so much
but apparently not enough
I forced her to cry and
I am damned for it
behold my weeping sorrow
as she ignores me
and so heartache becomes known
but I put forth the effort
effort to accompany her
to comfort her
and all that is returned are false smiles
and wishful thinking on my behalf
why hope for something that is never
why strive for tomorrow when today is nonexistent
slit and the scars become memories
a first instance of death within my eyes as
the blade draws near to my flesh
manipulating my mental image of perfection
as drunken fights become
my only shelter,
I am not myself now
will I ever be the same again
things have changed
I am far beyond help as I draw closer
to the abyss which I know as death
find something to protect my life
as I stumble into time as nothing more
than a guy who once cared too deeply
and now nothing exists
numb and cold
numb and dead
why must everything suddenly loose
its ambience...
...why must she not see past
former relations and realize
I AM REAL!
A mother is a legend
Never to whither or bend
She has plenty binders
Little, big or strong never fragile
She is the source of one’s love
That never dries or withers away
Even in death sometime she smiles
At lost regrets her children mourn about
Even at seventy a man can remember
My mom used to cook it this way
Something related to his very being strong never to sway
Moon would stand witness
To young mouth fed wailing and tear jerking intense
Her mental image the child never age
She can swiftly think the day one in her arms any stage,
Hurt she will for her little ones
Helpless in state but never say die her attitude with smiles
When you were a kid will always remain
She is a punch bag, dear diary to many, who hit with unintentional blows
Remorse and guilt are her parade to watch and help in stride with no tirade
She stands at a junction like a martyred stone
She stands a witness to many flow of love, still alone
For she will not side or stand apart
Knowing her base as inseparable part
Her children are waves to flow back with love
She never ceases to expect this to conclude or impede
As long as mum is around and one is lucky to have
A dedicated soul with only love in her heart…..
"I wandered lonely as a cloud”
Quote by - William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a gallivant
Looking for some ways to fill up my days
I came across a mighty swarm of ants
And was completely blinded in the haze
When the air cleared I heard claps of thunder
My heart sunk, there was I going under.
Each cloud exhibits a dazzling side
In my view, gossip is plain to see
But I'm certain the adage is implied
It was joyful to view this bloom of glee
How can I be certain, you wonder?
I'll assess what pushed us asunder.
I recognized the bloom in the sky
Moreover, the crowd pushed me down
I just remained there and froze in dismay
My ribs were slamming and shifting around
Lastly, I was kept in a hospice room
As doubtful as the light, I'm in a gloom.
This bed is where I spend a lot of time
My mental image has instantly formed
Anger, apathy, or tearful glazed grime
Those pink, murky clouds above warned
The agony then spreads across my chest
But I still warn myself to do my best.
Written: September 19, 2022
I Wandered Lonely As --- Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
How does it feel? I feel so great I am at ease
To be pulled back to the sanctuaries of love
How do you feel toward the pulling lover?
I feel less than loving him, embracing him
I feel like to follow him, explain to me please
Let’s go to the love scene please skip the credits
Stand in love not fall, go in, not out, what?
You have a mental image of being lovable
Thankfully to Him, following HIM, say love
Do you know what it’s called? Really in love
Tell me, more about emotional or feeling of love
Let’s cross the river, the next commercial break
Can you spot the difference between them, could you?
Emotional feeling of love is emotion, about you
Attention, presence, satisfaction, inflammation
Sentimental love is absence, tension and exploration
Communication, wow, I never heard about this
Let’s watch the next scene, the next steamy episode
Thank you, I want to learn more, you are welcome
Really, learn to practice the languages of love
The languages of sentimental agony of love, living
This I will practice, but questions are challenging
It requires a clear mind, since I am not a sharp one
Let’s go to that next day, the next secret chamber
The eyes behind the glass.
Have you ever looked in the mirror while the contrast was dim?
Now the light is dim and now you are limping on a limb.
No light to make you wink, only you and your thoughts.
The glass is dark, but as you move around the dark.
You see the glass is turning dim and grim.
The glass is worn during the night and during the day to shield away the red veins and the uv-pain rays.
When the glass is alone, I feel a sensation of where I begin to picture myself in a padded closet. Losing all control… I don’t know…
But I do know that I see a mental image where I am running away from my future,
I can’t seem to get anywhere.
There is a voice within me that is craving to be used and abuse me mentally.
When the glass is on I am no longer in control…
My thoughts float around speaking in psalms I only heard in my own mind.
These thoughts are not mind, as I write down I know these thoughts are not mind,
I know Misspelled mine with a d.
But in the next set of lines you will be my judge if I am in my own mind.
Or if these drugs are only being kind to a person of my kind.
The eyes behind the glass.