Let's dispel the miss-truth of telling:
I can't compel you to think my way.
Instead it's images, word play, rhymes, jangles, sounds and clangs
That I share, that shows you how the theme plays
in my mind as connected ideas,
that I hope will gel an in-kind reaction in you,
Not the same as mine, but related, in similar vein.
I love words, how they sound and convey thoughts, expressly
As mental images, to unwired, disconnected, independent brains
in ways far beyond what any
wired connection could ever do, not imposing me on you,
but sharing, showing, not telling, nor compelling me to you.
It's the succinct devices of poetry
that make this word play game together, work.
You turned your back while facing towards me
A spin like no other, right out of my life
Comfort vanquished in a minute of pain
With every moment that passed, my heart sank
My tears spiked the ground that you dared ti walk on
No amount of conversation could stop this
Running behind someone that never turned back
Left in complete loneliness & despair
Mental images playing the same tune
Some fresh start, a series of old habits
Conditions, atmosphere and circumstances
and people are each one constantly changes.
Comittments, goals in life are very beneficial
when one's personal growth is within self.
Changes are sometimes painful when it's not
Particularly reciprocated, unleash those
fanciful mental images of how occurrences
ought to be.
Changes, It only induces one self in a state of confusion,
humiliation and emotional issues.
Changes are immensely vital for one's mental, physical
balance, growth, longevity and well-being.
By Poet "Our intelligence can only have fun when our creativity and imagination has been turned on."
When I daydream,
my imagination is turned on.
Powerful mental images start to appear,
in bright and pretty colors.
I start to see many new ideas forming,
they need to be put down as words.
A story I will tell,
one to make the reader laugh or maybe cry.
I can feel my imagination working,
can you feel it as you read along.
What a daydream I just had,
when my creativity and imagination has been turned on.
Words and ideas flow,
on to the computer page for you to enjoy.
I thought I’d write an exquisite ode
like marvelously well crafted code:
a soaring flight to fancied flows,
but that’s not how this clunker goes.
You can’t out-sleep a five-year-old,
or if you can, you’ll soon regret;
you’ll wake in terror, blood run cold,
with tortured thoughts of the limits of ‘yet’,
leap from the bed in last night’s clothes.
The moment that you hear the switch,
the muscle fibers start to switch.
The race is on, man, get a grip!
It’s time for the morning bathroom trip.
The pants are tangled, diaper’s locked,
and all the while, she’s yelling, ‘poo!’
as time is racing off the clock,
and nausea overcomes you
at mental images of last night’s chips.
Panic subsides, now to the chair,
where yogurt meets fresh braided hair.
Soon everywhere, it can be seen
except, of course, the space between
those pearly whites, loud screaming, “More!”
Then off to her room; time to change.
The bus at seven: hit the door!
Ah, sweet relief.. Wait, what? How strange…
the car clock says its only five fifteen.
We are an interval between death and death
All is an illusion
We temporarily implement mental images
For our own amusement.
Does one's love ever die once you've given your heart?
Oh, I swear if it does it's a minuscule part!
Mental images haunt me unclouded by mist;
Should the blizzards of life mean past warmth gets dismissed?
Could foundation erode or the years somehow rust
The stout oak that love planted, God's rainbow of trust,
That both bend with the sky, like the moon in its path,
All is grounded in love, that's forever God's math.
Though it's true that it's# gone, what you brought me each day,
I'm more open to virtue, remember to play
In the world where I knew you; I know you'd approve!
For I live in your smile, how could life not improve?
Brian Johnston
18th of August 2018
This-
This tableau of
Mental images, of
Fixed scenes, this
“Battle of Egos” is
Relentlessly looping
In my mind.
An annual gathering of kith and kin
Created a backdrop of statue-like characters
Blindly unaware of a
Crisis stirring.
Off to the side, there are the mothers,
Pillars of love for their sons,
Paralyzed with the knowledge that they are helpless,
Helpless as they watch
The conflict unfolding.
There-
There are the Fathers and Sons-
Distant and deaf to each other, who, in their inability to Set aside their own sense of rightness and wrongness,
Reach a point of no return.
A plea, from one, is given, but seen as a
Challenge from the other, and the whole
Facade of civility collapses.
With faces frozen and actions rigid,
Rage and resolve coalesce.
Fearful and dauntless, fathers confront sons and sons their fathers, and in that absolute moment
Familial roles shift.
Everything - everything is different, yet
Nothing changes.
Rooted and unmoved, egos remain.
So much is lost.
Nothing-
Nothing is gained.
FANTASY
imagination
my fictional universe
these mental images
so improbable
fantasy is make-believe
so impossible
to show you visions
there is no locations none
imagination
magic adventure
this my oral traditions
improbable so
imagination
my fictional universe
this my fantasy
referencing not
the unbelievable tale
this my fantasy
3/27/18
For Poetry Contest: Fantasy
Sponsored by: Deborah Guenther Beachboard
Warrior to dark's most daunting dreams
savior from thoughts that run too deep
Terrify, not one dares it seems
brings panacea to night's sleep
Beacon for flailing ships asea,
the Ana of fifty shades Grey
Beauty saving the nocturne beast
keeps subconscious demons at bay
Catches every breath with her smile
as summer's sun, a heart it warms
Intensity not seen awhile
quells the worst of fierce thunderstorms
Her touch, akin to the spring's rain
gently blooming buds to flowers
Still, mental images are vain
ne'er experience her powers
Shan't romance, seduce, love, or hold
hear her voice, feel her aura's beams
Suppose I could, though not so bold
so she must stay within my dreams
Odyssey of The Mind
A Mind is a Storage Locker
Written: by Tom Wright
3/6/2016
Staring from some nook in every mind,
Exists mental images and thoughts of grandness,
And others that probe for meaning,
That God has favored only you to see.
Some gather dust in contentedness,
While others hunger to be loosed;
Once common they exist as public domain,
And are not matters for retrieval.
Today,
Life is not as good as yesterday;
But far better than what it’s apt to be tomorrow.
Tom
I stare blankly at the skies above;
Partially blue with enormous grey tumultuous clouds on one extreme,
And the bright midday sun shining before my eyes.
I go back to the first instance I saw you.
Tantalized by the aesthetic persona that caught my attention,
In an unexpected place at the most random time.
The first time our eyes met,
Shyly glancing at each other with lust hidden
Behind dilated pupils.
The first exchange of words,
That angelic voice with a Mexican accent,
A lovely melody to my ears.
The space in between us,
Could never be enough to keep us apart
As for now u reside in my heart.
Deep emotions encrypted in my veins,
Forever longing your presence
Your scent on me reigns.
Like a hound dog in the wild,
Without trace your path I will find.
The light that you expel will lead my way.
But for now here I lay on the rich green grass,
Cherishing our precious moments on live mental images
Until we meet again they shall keep our love awake.
ECSTASY
A kaleidoscope of life swirls,
Rising and retreating,
The aura of its abundance joyously alive
With honeysuckle rabbits
And the pine needle sweat of children.
All animate, a scent in the air,
Breathed on a lightening wind
Of creations God intended
But never got around to.
Rankness ascends to rhapsody
As freshly turned fields
Of soured milk and socks
Stoop to mock the dead fish
Floating by the docks,
Because it stinks of cheap cologne.
These sharp, shimmering images,
Their dance becomes diffuse.
Then disappears.
With the
Slowing
Of the
Car.
Miraculous visions
Lost...then forgotten,
In the instant of my ecstasy
At the familiar scent of home.
This poems origin sprang from curiosity about why dogs seemed to like hanging their head out of the car window so much. It occurred to me that their sense of smell is so developed that they probably form mental images from the odors in the air and that the rushing wind must be like looking through a kaleidoscope to them. Colors on top of colors or for them, perhaps, smell on top of smell, forming a rush of images until the car slows down - at home!
*Did you know a blindfolded dog can still identify individual rabbits?
Eyes of truth, trapped by an ancient prism,
declare dreams bear love’s passion.
Moon-bathed velvet nights soothe lonely hearts.
Eyes, soft and deep, resonate the soul’s beauty
beckoning you to grasp shimmering visions within.
Hushed murmurs awaken memories
rumbling through mental images long left behind.
Warm whispers echo softly.
Antiquated love songs intoxicate
with sensual music that tickles the flesh.
Fly on purest night wings in complete stillness.
Now one tear trickles down my lonely face.
In harmony whisper farewell.
Storytelling without words
Paintbrush in hand
Strokes of colors in various hues
Painting what I see, what I know
Creating masterpieces on canvas
This is what I've always done
This is what I do best
Life, alas, is too short
At sixty five young, a new skill
Switching paintbrush to quill
Putting words to my paintings
My thoughts of what I perceive
Beauty of expressions
Creating mental images
In rhythmical formed verses
This is what I'll attempt to do
You're never too old
Too learn new things
For Tracie's contest, "Gimmi What I Want... What I Really Really Want"
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