Imagination Rhyme Poems

"There's a river meandering through the mind", 
It carries your thoughts and ideas entwined, 
Through the nerves and veins of the brain it wanders, 
This...

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I love the strange world of fantasy
where IMAGINATION is the star
and WHIMSY provides a canopy
as weird creatures fly in from afar

Dungeons, dragons, a Lady, a...

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Near a grove …just ahead of me
This  dream of a figure stood,
With whimsy, ribbon-tinted wands
And gown of  crimson hue--
She was the sweet reverie...

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Heaven is not a figment of human imagination;  
It’s not an illusion.  
It’s a place beyond any dream,  
Where joy and gladness...

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“I like the idea of taking off like a bird.” — Florence Welch


I am suddenly awakened from my dream by a loud sound
Not sure where...

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"The essence of art is to recapture the fantasy and the imagination of a child again, but without the innocence of a child."
~Romare Bearden


she had...

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Sitting in the sunshine
streaming through the window
my catnap's long overdue
it's way past time I drifted off
to the land of milk
(and honey) ah Shangri-La
a return to...

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My love, I looked through the mirror, and you were on the other side. 
Your words mirrored some of mine, you used a lot of...

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I heard Imagine, one of my favorite songs, this Juneteenth morning
and thought how John Lennons’s lyrics and music still ring true….
I suppose that’s because imagining...

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Mirror in the washroom, mirror in the hall,
who is the saddest, most tragic of all?
Me, me, me— our chant, our plea, our scroll.
We cry for...

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Written: June 18, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France

Quote: "The lamps are different, but the Light is the same." By Rumi

  ...

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Wailing for her demon lover, Coleridge had it right
A masterful poet, his words are ominous, not light.
Did he have his own sweet love? Was she...

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Secrets cling to the shadows, the light
Softly glowing, flowing against a soft night
While the melancholy dreams breathe, stirred
By the distant thunder, the storm’s heard
Revealing the...

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Mr. Smith sat tiredly, long hours at his desk,
by an old vacation photo, picturesque,
and a stack of papers; another twelve-hour day,
slowly, draining his lonely life...

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Infinite world, my only escape.
Infinite world, the life I hate.
My hand is cramping as I write.
But I don’t care. I still fight.
The lead is scraping...

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