Three Dimensional Poems | Examples

Clouds

A paper man
Under paper clouds
The sky is falling
and he doesn’t know why

His edges are folded
He feels he’s undone
There isn’t any warmth
from a paper sun

Cellophane grass
Cardboard under feet
He has a paper girlfriend 
With a paper heartbeat

His feelings feel flat
Just a few wrinkles 
Paper snow is falling
A tinfoil star twinkles

A world of my creation
I just want to feel
Hoping my sky won’t fall
Nothing feels real

I’m three dimensional 
Under a real sky
There’s hope beyond clouds
When my mind tries to lie

So I grasp for happy
A bit of pleasure too
Even when it’s not easy
It’s just what I do.

Inspired by a friend.
As men we are taught to keep our feelings to ourselves and suffer in silence.  In 2012 I went through  depression and it took me a long time to look for help.  When our feelings are flat and the world feels two dimensional, seek help and reach out to a friend. There are people who love us. There is no reason to suffer in silence. Colour returned to my world and I am thankful. The sky didn’t fall even though in the moment it felt so real.

CLERIHEW ART COUPLET

Minimalist Donald Judd
from whom simplicity did flood
Letting the surrounds have their say
three dimensional art his forte

From installationist Allan Kaprow
ethereal happenings did flow
One-off activities non·par·eil
living art so surreal

3D COLLAGE

3D COLLAGE
three dimensional
  treasure
brings
aesthetic pleasure
a glow in the heart
such tranquility
flowers upon
this
 page
as
sunshine
  through a dark cloud
etched
patterns
  of thought
in
ribbons
 of inspiration

Timeless Illusion

Silence permeates a desolate landscape. 
Fossil fuels and nukes laid waste 
to everything we knew, everyone we loved,  
now unnaturally erased. 

Yet, a cozy, rustic, little cottage stands. 
A child's scrawl says, "Mom you're awesome!" 
next to pictures on the refrigerator door. 
A vase holds a red rose blossom. 

Pixels emanate from a silicon brain,
swirling into a hologram,
a three-dimensional synthetic scene,
Proclaiming, falsely, "this I am".

This scene is played for centuries and eons hence. 
Because of men's delusion, 
there's no one to see this timeless projection, 
an AI-produced illusion.

Can I twirl your hair around my finger?

And make you locks of effort,
and give you some of my peanut butter after?
Three dimensional you saw me and him,
one siding loving and caring,
wasting gifts and money,
and mostly time.
Because you knew my eyes never have gotten such a shine,
but also then overlapped overdosis in suprise,
leaving me in making crimes.
You didn't touch my shoulder with your finger,
asking me if feelings towards him linger.
You chose to leave me unsure,
madly but still I hoped seeing signs for more.
Because he started loving you, sure
You were getting along with him more.
Never knew what your motive was,
but now you are sitting at the side of my bed and sometimes making a fuss,
but I still make you coffee of my lovely coffeine lust.
I thought: ,,They'll be together, won't they?"
You should've have seen his eyes,
You should've have seen his smile,
You should've seen his movement,
You should've seen his talk, 
But you knew
And still said to him you don't love him.
Because you saw,
what I did to him,
and he to me.

The Sublime in Poetry

Just past 
where the world of the atom ends
there are spaces that we try to fill
or pretend they don't exist.
Hollows that harbor silence 
or an unshaped need, 
the imprint of something 
the mind can't conceive.

Music makes its way there
and knocks on the door,
takes its seat to hear
the sublime and capture
in glorious notes
what can't be said
in words. The chords
of creation sound
in the chambers of the ear.

Poetry goes there 
with its clumsy feet, trying
to fit the formless into a cage,
give beauty a face,
fumbling to shape shadows 
into three dimensional space.
And yet it is the word 
that brings things into being, 
gives each its sacred name. 
Language the blunt instrument
of the poet's art, 
the poem a sanctum
to house the holy embers
of creations spark.

At the meeting

They amaze me with their Athena thoughts -
full-grown at birth -
while I sit silently, my stereoscopic vision flat.

As they speak, hypnotic images emerge with a three-dimensional power.
I'm overwhelmed.
Then suddenly, a bright jewel shines in my eyes.
A thought is beating in my blood.  

I try to grasp it, 
but each facet of the small crystal is a singular knife that slices my tongue.
My delivery fails
and I gaze on the backs of Athenian armor.

TACTILISTA rodin hepworth epstein

Bronze blackened 
by fingers
tactile traces
three dimensional
   visual joy
   imagination illumed 
displayed forever 
   in stilled life
to touch a dream
&be touched
by
poses for posterity
    human forms
          in creative postures
 displaying 
     the beauty 
that resides 
in us all
 from finger
    toe to torso

 a visual close-up 
life-size 
       sensuous &  tactile 

a journey
    for the eyes
 to dwell 
      & meditate
 consider & respond
  to an invitation
to kiss  to think 

 to applaud 
     the inherent 
 sculptured
     reality

Flower Power On the Side of a Vw Bus

I had heard of flower power, but this was extra nice
I sat and stared at the bus as I enjoyed a pizza slice.
Who painted your flowers? I asked a hippie all gray.
My wife, he told me. Aren’t they merry and gay?

They are fantastic, look three-dimensional in a way.
He called for his wife. She was an artist named Fay.
I am glad you like them, this kind of made my day.
Excited too, I took a selfie of me and Fay by the bay.

My Reincarnation

Whatever I did last time didn’t work 
because here I am again.

Before I died I was Me
after I died I was Me
today I am Me.
But also now I am me, the spongy ego
that was fattened up on Catholic scripture
     one flavor of monotheism 
     in which three dimensional humans grasp futilely 
     at infinitely dimensional God
     [or Reality or Infinity or…].
     Anomalously an individual has the 
     universal experience of God
     and sets about to share the experience
     and followers create a religion 
     that captures the essence 
     of what they thought the anomalous individual meant.
It is stale words promoting faith as a path to salvation
on a bright polished spoon
wielded by desperate yet confident people
selling something that they do not own.
I departed so we both could be alone.

In the center of myself
there is a vastness that can be elusive
where feelings arise
knowledge becomes wisdom
and Truth is illuminated.

When I Think About You

When I think about you, 

I can see the sun streaming through the trees as we lay underneath them, 
staring up and the blue and white and endless of it all. 
I smell woodsmoke and summer breezes and soap, 
and it takes me back to all the places we've been and the places we're going to go. 
I hear every song that's made you think of me, 
and every song I've ever wanted to sing to you. 

When I think about you, 

Life is three dimensional and brilliant and full, 
and I forget what it was like before you, 
and I hope I never know what it might be like after you, 
and I hate sleeping because it's minutes that I'm taking from us, 
from me and you,
from everything we are and everything we're 
meant to be.

I Feel Their Stares

Rembrandt uses shadows to elicit the mood
respecting golds and glimpses of light
Utilizing flecks and specks amid his dark colors
browns and blacks come alive in his artistry

his people are ready to step out of the canvas
I feel their three-dimensional stares
They are wizened, sage, aware of nuances
Probably missed by me, but not by their artist

Tweets

I, too, dislike poems.
I’ve tried runes (and rampikes)
but that’s affected
rather than merely effete.
So I call them
figments.
When people query
What do you write?
at a barbecue or birthday party
I say soliloquies,

fractals,
fragments.
Self-similarities,
singularities,
sculptures (scriptures), geometric shapes and series,
three dimensional triangles, spheres
and differential equations,
fractured fairy tales,
Rocky and Bullwinkle,
rectal impactions.

On the other hand,
bits, bots, bytes
remnants, scrap, earth
gobs of phlegm in grains of sand,
shards of glass in a slice of hell,
hunks and clumps, curds and whey, sleet and pain, slap in the face
sub-atomic particles, cell organelles,
chunks of energy, cookie crumbs,
rusty trucks stuck in mud, dustings for ghosts,
just plain dumb luck, rocks, concrete, but not tweets.

Impressions of Reality

IMPRESSIONS of REALITY
becoming
  enmeshed
in endless
detail

in the shadows
 startling
depictions

turmoil
&fireworks
with
extreme reactions


the
interconnectedness
 of
 change over
time
 raising questions
reflecting
the influence
both
 inspire&
  surround
to
shape ideas
&present
 emphasising
the integral
 soundings 
& thus
showcases
the
 three-dimensional

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

Energies

ENERGIES
a zealous
  has been
 happening

  conservation
 without
 a silver lining
sensibility
or
 attraction

engaging history

turned into
 a positive
 social phenomenon
 of activities
  to mark
the controversial

 increasingly
to participate
with
 tricks with
the viewer’s eye
in the
 three-dimensional
 perception
to create
deception


NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

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