Vividly Poems | Examples

More Than a Soft Toy

As a child, I lined up my soft toys,
making of them all a big parade.
My mother tells me this.
I was too young to recall it now,
but I know inside my heart
I have a tender spot for animals.
I was drawn to cuddly ones
stuffed with bliss and fluff.

After I turned five,
my memories became more lucid.
I vividly recall a teddy bear named Pinky Winky.
He was a typical toy, but one thing was distinctive.
In one of his ears he had a bell,
so everywhere I went with him,
my sweet Pinky Winky would jingle.

One day when I was maybe eight,
Pinky Winky fell into the loo.
I was filled with anguish when I learned
my mother had tossed him to the trash.
Why couldn’t she have given him a wash?
I wept and wept for my beloved bear.
A pink substitute my mother bought for me,
but that one had no bell; I rarely played with it.

Pinky Winky’s demise corresponded with
the end of my beliefs in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy, and it was a time
when I left behind much of my naivety.
It’s doubtful no other soft toy could have replaced
the death of my childhood innocence.

rough draft of the I don't care

When I was a boy,
I was snarky and coy,
I learnt the lessons,
when the bullies
beat the heck  out of me
and too right as this
was my personality
and this little prick
was being such a dick.

Living so vividly
being taught a lesson,
I still smoked in the boy's
of the toilets
and got caught.
The teacher waited,
until I inhaled the last
as I knew it made no difference.
I was going to cop a suspension
again.....anyway.

My mother's claws were a hawk's
when she got home,
and I tried so gently,
to break down the truth
but its no incidence
She delivered deliverance....

I had already locked the back door,
but she still scratched the 
hell out of my face,
like an involuntary impatient,
I hate the fact,
as she was healthy
I was still the death
of her.......
before her illnesses.

I don't know of why my anarchy
I never obey rules of monastery
Its just that I always lived,
and I am now drowning
as I'm trying to breathe,

I remember the starfishes
upon collection of beaches,
My Auntie's a pianist
but my memorial
Especially my Uncle,
pulled coins from my ears.
2 dollar coins
worth 10 dollars
today.

The Start and Finish

A mama turkey and her brood
Were pecking by the road,
Not far from where I passed a squashed
And bloody mid-leap toad.

It isn’t often that you see
The circle Nature’s made -
The start and finish points of life
So vividly displayed.

Yet hopefully we humans have
More time for in-between,
Though sometimes, like that toad,
We exit early from the scene.

Cloud Watching

When I was younger, I thought that in retirement I would take pictures of or paint beautiful clouds situated so vividly above us.

Clouds more often appear as wonderous displays in the canopy.
Clouds sometime seems so ominous and threatening.
Clouds often hover above us like a band of darkness and at other
times, they are white and crystal clear. Some clouds are blown by
the winds and descend in tornadic ways that are too close for comfort, twisting in rotations of destruction.

Casual observers of clouds may be filled with fright.  Living in a region where clouds change so suddenly, never have I observed clouds as I do presently.  I think that real farmers are not taken aback when grey clouds appear. If they dared to be frightened by troubling clouds, perhaps they would never sow seeds.

Perhaps someday I will follow through on what I once wanted to do.  Perhaps I'll begin to paint beautiful clouds as I sit under a shady tree.

A Poet Dies and is Bored with Heaven

I lounge about, walk about, crocking
a hymn of praise or two.

Heaven, is heavenly,
or is it a fake and fanciful heaven
created
for fanciful and fake poets?

I sit by a sweetly flowing stream'
a host of gay vividly colorful flowers
speak to me
in the high-falutin language
of antique songs.

It is wonderfully wonderful,
yet I am bored,
bored with the supranormal
and the ethereal nature of nature,
bored with the endless beauty
of all that I encounter.

The loveliest woman I have ever seen
visits my moody meditations,
she tells me to write and to stop ing,
but I just cannot,

for I cannot pen the transcendental
or sublime, without mentioning the ugly,
and the dark history of suffering
and there is no dark suffering here,
not even a sniffle or a tear.

I am bored, not unhappy only bored,
and I want to go back
to my shatty life and write
about my misery and yours.

I figure heaven is not a location
but a state of mind,
and that my heaven in reality
is a place

where demons and angel's battle
for the right to fight on -

forever.

as we metamorphose

grazed by spirit, our form is magnetised
we vividly sense our aura expand 
the stillness point within is realised
soundless thunder mind cannot understand

bliss rises from a centreless fulcrum
each node the epicentre of this storm
rapture renews gong of the cosmic drum
our pristine presence chooses to conform

a disc of light above our crown rotates
the staff of power within stands erect
between earth and heaven soul bilocates
that with God’s mind we seamlessly connect

is-ness of being-ness has a new name ~
tempest of delight, God alone can tame

Say it like it is

Swimming in the ocean of vibrations,
heart delights on display of sound and light,
where as we imbibe blissful sensations,
the rapture renewing by day and night,
breath by breath we observe ego dissolve,
vaporising that our soul may evolve,
by embodying God’s light in this form,
sensed vividly as a magnetic storm.

acrylic paints make me happy

Colored pencils
Pastels
Sticks of chalk
Too light for me

Water colors
Doing what they want
Dribbling all over the page
Wild and free

Oil paints
Vividly beautiful
Take too long to dry
I am too impatient

Acrylic paints
Give me fluorescent colors
I have black lights
They make me happy

A beautiful mystery

A beautiful mystery is what I’ve seen
whenever I see her.

A glimpse into her eyes, and I uncover
the world’s greatest mysteries—like no other.
Her soul’s beauty shines bright;
in her gaze, I see a world that’s lived peacefully,
a better place.

In them, I see a piece of me,
somewhere lost, waiting for me to find her—
as if with her is where I’m supposed to be.

Her eyes, so full of emotion,
are enchanting like the moon;
they push and pull me,
like the tides of the ocean,
and I drift away in melancholy.

Our distance—like the earth and the moon—
yet somehow, she seemed close to me,
like a mystical mystery,
two souls crossing paths.

I woke in dreams painted so vividly,
an artist tortured by his own art.
She became my muse,
revealing new stories,
like stars drifting in the dark…

But I’m just a poet,
who painted the world with words,
and she was just those poems—
the face of my art.

Life is still being fair

Life is still being fair to every person 
Walking all roads toward destination 
No matter they are circuitous or plain
And mind not the yields joy or pain 

Lives suchlike yours and mine appeared 
As to be bracketed quotes of comments 
Made by yet to be known forces we share
Once compiled as being a book presents
As seemed the most accurate words chosen 
And the most vividly truth has  explained

No matter they are circuitous or plain
Once visualized as being pictures shown 
As seems the most reasonable lines drawn 
And the most pretty colors are painted

It's the most common truths are recorded 
And the most precious  piece of arts coined
For us being together to read and comprehend 
With thankfulness and loving feelings keen

Unboxed Memories

long in the attic,
now unboxed,
treasure trove of
old Polaroid photographs;
priceless!
pulled from
the gaping mouth of oblivion.
one family album,
in particular,
sucks me into the vortex
of nostalgic memories.
instantaneously,
I'm spirited back
to my salad days.
ah, my youth...
an opulence of memories;
fun times with Dad, 
and Mom, too.
oh, wow, a family portrait...
look at how young we all look!

questions, questions, questions...
so many rhetorical questions
flood my mind...

"who took this one?"

"where was this?"

"what became of some of these folks?"

"how many are still living?"

bringing a smile...
baby photos of mine,
a kindergarten photo.
bringing a tear...
photos of long deceased relatives;
I miss them so!
precious moments in time
I wish I could relive.
photos I haven't seen 
since childhood;
many taken before I was born
hit me like a jolt of electricity!
some, faded
some, still vividly clear
i smile at so many young frozen faces
- familiar and strange -
smiling back at me.
myriad of emotions
on my face
as I rummage through
a dusty box of memories.

Jill M’dear

Jill m’dear, down the street, I
dilly dally sleep, and you
with your dog-fur-and-all
(what’s his name), and
the first time I see a hook
in place of a hand, your dad’s
(and I think, ‘perhaps a war’).

Down, my grandma,
from up North; and I
dilly dally sleep just down the road,
missing her, missing her, convinced
by mom and her to keep

company with friends - friends?
I miss her, miss her, my grandma
and not Jill m’dear, down the street -
not in the least. Still the memory,
does dilly dally and sends me
back in time to keep a candle burning.

We were never friends. She invited me
this one night - we didn’t mesh. I
left better friends back in the village.
I didn’t want to go and spend the night,
but I was convinced; and would I
remember this night so vividly, besides?

My grandma also convinced me
to wander out in curlers, ‘neath a scarf.
Self conscious was I, but if she was here,
back from the past, I’d wander out
once again, to a store, red in face.

Would I then go and spend time,
once more, with Jill m’dear, just 
to glimpse my gram’s convincing,
and hear her Buffalonian accent?
You betcha! …and see my mom, too.

Humanity

Quantum Superposition
”A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured.”


we know now that light is
both a particle and a wave
as ethereal vibrations
omnipresent in enigmatic space 
both the light of the sun
as also the light that lights the sun

let us look at bilocation
demonstrated by many a saint
to name a few ~ Padre Pio, Ananamayi Ma, 
Jesus, Sri Yukteshwar Giri, Neem Karoli Baba …

why then is our consciousness limited
containerised by mind and senses five
when it is vividly clear and self-evident
that our true Self is absolute 

who dwells in the potent pause
of polarity interchange 
at each half-breath and betwixt heartbeats
or between two thought trains

where lies fulcrum of awareness
is it in the head, the heart or in the void
allowing pristine silence to engulf stillness 
truth of the noumena is known
beheld in plain sight as flickers in space 
being both immanent and transcendent

Zen mode

the soundless gong of ethereal emptiness 
renews pulsations from a centreless fulcrum 
we feel the power of reverberations vividly
as we so become the vibrant void itself

be this as it may, this form is the vessel
within which the energies throb with aliveness 
and with the ego largely instrumentalised 
is-ness of presence delights in the offering

Planet's Masterpiece

When I let go of all types of people in my life
Little by little went the dissolving strife

Slow and more slowly crept in the peace
Cutting off that dead fruit in my life was a relief

More vividly and beautifully my days started to come
Coming back into me - the joy and sense again of being young

Age is but a number - in a world of numbers
Be one of those awoken and not one of those that slumbers

You can't help what others say and do
All you can help is the reaction of you

Leave the past behind and just walk away
Never believe those who say they'll stay

Never believe anyone or anything if your vibe and energies are off
Always trust it - even if making sense it's not

Keep alert with eyes open and maybe you'll see
Just what that intuition that day was telling you and me

Find rationalization in a world that makes absolutely no sense
Eloquently performed - leave no fingerprints

Be tolerant of others and their beliefs
Be the much-needed planet's masterpiece

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