Tag Archives: poem about imagination

Building Dreams: Wordle 561

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Building Dreams

The spirits of birds hum from the trees
in fours and fives and twos and threes.
Their trickling songs dispel glum thoughts
and raise tired bones up from their cots

to run and skip and dance and play—
those former actions for which they pray.
In myths of old lost spirits howl,
vampires bite and werewolves growl,

but in my stories, wood nymphs prance
and willowy fairies join their dance.
Thus do we choose what we believe
and live the dream life that we weave. 

For Wordle 561 the prompts are: glum pray birds myths growl bones trickling hum spirits willowy run lost three.  Image by Anthony Tran on Unsplash.

Stale Humor

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Stale Humor

A ubiquitous imagination is just like all the others
with no variation from your sister’s or your brother’s.
It does not twist or undulate. It runs a narrow course.
It has a sense of humor never varying from its source.

As Mother dreamed and Father dreamed, so does it dream as well.
It does not flaunt, cavort, carouse. It’s locked within a cell.
It doesn’t thrive on irony. It does not tease or bait us.
In lieu of furnishing fresh air, we flounder in its flatus.

God save us all from normalcy and those who are too dumb
to develop their own funny bone but who remain humdrum
by reciting age-old jokes to us and memorizing jokes
that haven’t drawn much laughter since they learned them from their folks.

 

Prompt words for the day are flatus, ubiquitous, imagination, carouse and twist.

Mother

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Super Powers

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Super Powers

In our wider world of pomp and dollar,
somehow power makes us smaller.
Distracts us from the metaphor
of what a super power’s for.

Those powers we seek In the vast world
wait within us to be unfurled.
In that world we’re given to create,
we hold the key to every gate.

We’re given vision, strength and power
to make a minute of an hour,
to leap ahead or lag behind
in our universe of mind.

I soar the heights. I swim the sea,
and delve the depths to try to free
those powers that I’ve found to be
in that vast space inside of me.

 

for dverse poets

The Gatherers

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The Gatherers

We gather a new world
every time
as we collect marks
in  black lines
on white paper,
and we have the power
of each world
that we pull around us.

I might have called this poem
“Utter Sovereignty,”
but I did not, for rulers are
sad folks, and lonely.

We are the gatherers and so
we draw to us what we need
and are never alone.
There is nothing we lack for
in this storehouse where
the shelves hold words,
the air is heavy with ideas
and the walls are covered
by imagination.

We gather words to set them free again.
This is the pattern of the world
that no one has ever broken.

Everything flying apart,
every moment of the day,
and all of us
gathering
it back together
again.

 

 

This is a rewrite of a poem written four years ago.  The prompt word today is imagination.