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Imagination is an incredible power that has been celebrated throughout the centuries.
From the ancient Greeks to modern-day scientists and philosophers, imagination has been at the forefront of human achievement.
As Aristotle said, “The soul never thinks without a mental picture,” highlighting the importance of imagination in our lives.
Poetry is an effective medium for celebrating imagination. Imagination poems allows us to explore the potential of our minds, to dream and to imagine a world of possibilities.
In this collection of poems about imagination, we celebrate everything that is possible through the power of imagination.
We explore the depths of our minds and the beauty of the world around us, discovering a realm of possibilities that we never dreamed of.
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Famous Poems about Imagination
Imagination is a powerful tool, capable of creating some of the most beautiful works of art. This collection of poems celebrates the power of imagination and its ability to transport us to new worlds and ideas.
1. My Bed is A Boat
by Robert Louis Stevenson
My bed is like a little boat;
Nurse helps me in when I embark;
She girds me in my sailor’s coat
And starts me in the dark.
At night, I go on board and say
Good night to all my friends on shore;
I shut my eyes and sail away
And see and hear no more.
And sometimes things to bed I take,
As prudent sailors have to do;
Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake,
Perhaps a toy or two.
All night across the dark we steer;
But when the day returns at last,
Safe in my room, beside the pier,
I find my vessel fast.
2. The Garden Wasn’t A Garden
by Annette Wynne
The garden wasn’t a garden,
It was a castle tall,
The trees were mighty turrets,
Ramparts, the garden wall.
The breeze was the lone piper
Playing a wild song,
And Freddie was the Black Knight
The afternoon long.
Then dark came to the castle
Around the piper’s head,
And Mother carried the Black Knight,
And put him safe to bed.
3. The Land of Counterpane
by Robert Louis Stevenson
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.
I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.
4. The Land of Story-Books
by Robert Louis Stevenson
At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.
Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.
There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter’s camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.
These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.
I see the others far away
As if in fire lit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.
So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.
5. Foreign Lands
by Lucille Enders
Up into the cherry tree
who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
and looked abroad on foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky’s blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree,
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships;
To where the roads on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
6. Young Soldiers
by Anonymous
Oh, were you ne’er a schoolboy,
And did you never train,
And feel that swelling of the heart
You ne’er can feel again?
Did you never meet, far down the street,
With plumes and banners gay,
While the kettle, for the kettledrum,
Played your march, march away?
It seems to me but yesterday,
Nor scarce so long ago,
Since all our school their muskets took,
To charge the fearful foe.
Our muskets were of cedar wood,
With ramrods bright and new;
With bayonets forever set,
And painted barrels, too.
We charged upon a flock of geese,
And put them all to flight—
Except one sturdy gander
That thought to show us fight.
But, ah! we knew a thing or two;
Our captain wheeled the van;
We routed him, we scouted him,
Nor lost a single man!
Our captain was as brave a lad
As e’er commission bore;
And brightly shone his new tin sword;
A paper cap he wore.
He led us up the steep hillside,
Against the western wind,
While the cockerel plume that decked his head
Streamed bravely out behind.
We shouldered arms, we carried arms,
We charged the bayonet;
And woe unto the mullein stalk
That in our course we met!
At two o’clock the roll we called,
And till the close of day,
With fearless hearts, though tired limbs,
We fought the mimic fray,—
Till the supper bell, from out the dell,
Bade us march, march away.
7. The Ships of Yule
by Bliss Carman
When I was just a little boy,
Before I went to school,
I had a fleet of forty sail
I called the Ships of Yule;
Of every rig, from rakish brig
And gallant barkentine,
To little Fundy fishing boats
With gunwales painted green.
They used to go on trading trips
Around the world for me,
For though I had to stay on shore
My heart was on the sea.
They stopped at every port to call
From Babylon to Rome,
To load with all the lovely things
We never had at home;
With elephants and ivory
Bought from the King of Tyre,
And shells and silk and sandal-wood
That sailor men admire;
With figs and dates from Samarcand,
And squatty ginger-jars,
And scented silver amulets
From Indian bazaars;
With sugar-cane from Port of Spain,
And monkeys from Ceylon,
And paper lanterns from Pekin
With painted dragons on;
With cocoanuts from Zanzibar,
And pines from Singapore;
And when they had unloaded these
They could go back for more.
And even after I was big
And had to go to school,
My mind was often far away
Aboard the Ships of Yule.
8. Make-Believe Land
by Peter Burn
My three little darlings,
Half buried in sand,
Are “playing at houses”
In make-believe land.
Claudine is “my lady,”
Maria is “maid,”
And Ella is “waiter,”
The table is laid.
The feast-bidden playmates
Are just coming in;
And there is a clatter,
And there is a din.
A scraping, a bowing,
A shaking of hand;
They follow the fashion
In make-believe land.
Play on, little darlings,
So wise in your day;
You brighten with posey
The prose of the way.
Perhaps in the future,
Like me you will stand,
And picture the pleasures
Of make-believe land.
Play on, little darlings!
I join in your play;
The heart may be youthful
Though head may be grey.
9. The Hayloft
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Through all the pleasant meadow-side
The grass grew shoulder-high,
Till the shining scythes went far and wide
And cut it down to dry.
Those green and sweetly smelling crops
They led in waggons home;
And they piled them here in mountain tops
For mountaineers to roam.
Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
Mount Eagle and Mount High;
The mice that in these mountains dwell,
No happier are than I!
Oh, what a joy to clamber there,
Oh, what a place for play,
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
The happy hills of hay!
10. The Lamplight Camp
by Madison Cawein
Whenever on the windowpane
I hear the fingers of the rain,
And in the old trees, near the door,
The wind that whispers more and more,
Bright in the light made by the lamp
I make myself a hunter’s camp.
The shadows of the desk and chairs
Are trees and woods; the corners, lairs
Where wolves and wildcats lie in wait
For anyone who walks too late;
Upon my knees with my toy-gun
I hunt and slaughter many a one.
And now I rescue Riding Hood
From the great Wolf within the wood;
Now little Silver Locks, who flies
From the Three Bears with angry eyes;
And many a little girl who dwells
In story books, as mother tells.
So up and down and all around
My wildwood camp I prowl or bound,
From corner unto corner till
I reach the door and windowsill,
Where Jack-o’-Lantern hides, I know,
Outside the lamplight’s steady glow.
And he, the goblin-fiend, — my nurse
Once scared me with, when I was worse
Than naughty; would not go to sleep,
But keep awake; and cry and creep
Out of my bed, — the goblin black,
The foul fiend, Flibberty-Jibberty Jack.
And when I think perhaps that these
May catch me, on my father’s knees
I climb and listen to the rain
And wind outside the windowpane,
And feel so safe with him that I
Go right to sleep, and never cry.
11. The Sailor
by Abbie Farwell Brown
Little girl, O little girl,
Where did you sail to-day?
The greeny grass is all about;
I cannot see the bay.
“The greeny grass is water, sir;
I’m sailing on the sea,
I’m tacking to the Island there
Beneath the apple tree.
“You ought to come aboard my boat,
Or you will soon be drowned!
You’re standing in the ocean, sir,
That billows all around!”
Little girl, O little girl,
And must I pay a fare?
“A penny to the apple tree,
A penny back from there.
“A penny for a passenger,
But sailors voyage free;
O, will you be a sailor, sir,
And hold the sheet for me?”
Inspirational Poems about Imagination
Imagination can be used to create beautiful works of art. Here are some poems celebrating the power of imagination and its ability to bring beauty into our lives.
1. The Unseen Playmate
When children are playing alone on the green,
In comes the playmate that never was seen.
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Nobody heard him and nobody saw,
His is a picture you never could draw,
But he’s sure to be present, abroad or at home,
When children are happy and playing alone.
He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass,
He sings when you tinkle the musical glass;
Whene’er you are happy and cannot tell why,
The Friend of the Children is sure to be by!
He loves to be little, he hates to be big,
‘Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig;
‘Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin
That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.
‘Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed,
Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head;
For wherever they’re lying, in cupboard or shelf,
‘Tis he will take care of your playthings himself!
2. Pirate Story
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,
Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat,
Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?
Hi! but here’s a squadron a-rowing on the sea—
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
Quick, and we’ll escape them, they’re as mad as they can be,
The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.
3. Autumn
by Elizabeth Madox Roberts
Dick and Will and Charles and I
Were playing it was election day,
And I was running for president,
And Dick was a band that was going to play,
And Charles and Will were a street parade,
But Clarence came and said that he
Was going to run for president,
And I could run for school-trustee.
He made some flags for Charles and Will
And a badge to go on Dickie’s coat.
He stood some cornstalks by the fence
And had them for the men that vote.
Then he climbed on a box and made a speech
To the cornstalk men that were in a row
It was all about the dem-o-crats,
And “I de-fy any man to show.”
And “I de-fy any man to say.”
And all about “It’s a big disgrace.”
He spoke his speech out very loud
And shook his fist in a cornstalk’s face.
4. A Good Play
by Robert Louis Stevenson
We built a ship upon the stairs
All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
And filled it full of sofa pillows
To go a-sailing on the billows.
We took a saw and several nails,
And water in the nursery pails;
And Tom said, “Let us also take
An apple and a slice of cake;”—
Which was enough for Tom and me
To go a-sailing on, till tea.
We sailed along for days and days
And had the very best of plays;
But Tom fell out and hurt his knee,
So there was no one left but me.
5. Lions Running Over The Green
by Annette Wynne
Lions running over the green,
Fiercest of creatures that ever were seen,
Chasing Tom and Dick and Sue—
I hope they won’t be caught, don’t you?
The lions chase them through the gate,
But Sue cries out: “O lions, wait,
My shoe’s untied!” One lion then
Ties the lacing up again.
And after that the chase goes on
Until the afternoon is gone—
The fiercest creatures ever seen,
Lions running over the green!
6. Fierce Adventures
by Annette Wynne
Between the bookcase and the wall
‘Is raised a castle, gray and tall,
The desk top is a wooden moat,
The rocking chair’s a pirate boat,—
My little boy, turned six to-day,
Has fierce adventures in his play.
My little maid goes venturing, too,
O bold grim robbers—what a crew!
She helps to take the gold—but then
She hurries back to home again
For she must set the things for tea
With beautiful house-wifery.
The table’s set upon the floor,
The pirate marches in,
And eats and eats and asks for more
With true piratic din.
O ye who never knew the life
Of dragon-hunting, golden strife
Of pirates on a windy sea
Returning meekly home for tea;
Who never heard the black knight’s call—
I fear ye have not lived at all!
7. Coffea Arabica
by William Henry Venable
More entrancing than aroma
From the Hindu sacred soma,
Comes a fragrant
Essence vagrant
Floating up
From my quaint Zumpango cup,
Incense rare,
Evanescent steam ascending,
Curling, wavering, fading, blending,
Vanishing in viewless air.
Let me sip and dream and sing
Musing many an idle thing,
Let me sing and dream and sip
Making many an fancied trip
Far away and far away
Over ocean, gulf and bay
To islands whence the spicy wind
Breathes languor on the tropic sea,
To sultry strands of teeming Ind,
To coasts of torrid Araby,
To realms no Boreal breath may chill,
Like rich Brazil,
Or Jabal’s clouded hill on hill,
Or warm Bulgosa’s valley low,
To zones where Summer splendors glow,
Where seasons never come or go,
Where coffee trees perpetual blow.
While I drowse and dream and sip,
Sailing, sailing slides a ship
Over the glittering sea,
Measuring leagues of night and day,
Bearing and bringing to me,
Bringing from far away, away,
The pale green magical berry,
The seed of the virtuous cherry,
The bean of the blossom divine!
Bringing from over the brine,
Bringing from Demarara,
From balsamy San Pará,
Bringing from Trans-Sahara,
From hoard of the Grand Bashaw,
Or redolent chests of Menelek,
An Abyssinian cargo
Richer than freight of Argo,
Treasured in garners under the deck,
Bringing and bearing for me
The gift of the coffee tree!
Better than blood of the Spanish vine,
Or ruddy or amber wine of the Rhine;
Bearing the bean of the blessed tree!
Better than bousa or sake fine,
Or sampan loads of oolong tea,
Souchong, twankay, or bohea,—
Bringing the virtuous bean divine,
The coffee-tree cherry,
The magical berry,
More entrancing than aroma
From the Hindu sacred soma.
Funny Poems about Imagination
Welcome to a world of whimsical imagination! Here you will find a collection of interesting poems about imagination that explore the boundless possibilities of the mind. Enjoy!
1. Two Riding on A Single
by Sara Kendrick
Two riding on a single
Man! How fast that bike will go
Down the hill around the curve
Blow wind blow
At the very bottom piled up
In a culvert drain
In great agony and pain
Totally distained
Crumpled metal, torn clothes
Bleeding and blood stains
Harsh words from parents
Tears as soap and water cleaned
All the cuts and bruises
And clothes that had to be changed
What an ending to Christmas
The joy of Santa’s gift
Lying dented and scuffed bent
Beside the porch needing to be fixed.
2. Don’t Disturb The Hive
by Joseph Spence Sr
Run, jump, scream, duck, dodge and leap
Try to stay on your running feet
Honey in the hive
The bees are alive
Run, jump, scream, don’t fall and leap!
3. Just Desserts for Unfaithful
by Sara Kendrick
Any pretty woman turned his head
He liked them all so it is said
then one day to his surprise
they no longer caught his eye
His sexual desire totally died.
4. Jello
by Lynn Marie
It wiggles and jiggles
and feels fun to the touch,
a cinch to make;
something everyone loves.
There are a million flavours,
many are fat free,
jello has been around
for many centuries.
The colours are as vibrant
as a peacock’s quills
just pick your favourite;
add water, and let chill.
For something so simple
to bring such pleasure,
it is one of life’s mysteries,
that everyone treasures.
So let’s pause for a moment
and give thanks to jello;
for who doesn’t smile,
at the options of jello.
5. Enigma’s Calling
by Katrina Salem
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift, I shouldn’t fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self-esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I’m for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That’s when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Poem Details | by Michelle Mac Donald |
Categories: funny, imagination,
When-Who-What-Why
When?
Master Buffoon
To wed Mistress May Lune
Raced to the church in July
On the day set for June.
Who?
Mr Snide’s
Contempt and pride
Prompts him to pinch
Then run to hide.
What?
Missy Strutter’s
Angry mutters
Could fill and flood
The empty gutters.
Why?
Mr Ponders
Sits and wonders
Why the grass
Is greener yonder?
6. Your Umbrella
by Vernette Hutcherson
If you let a smile
Be your only umbrella
Expect a wet butt
7. Glutton
by kelechi Emeaba
This’s the world of dreams and
reveries
Where I think every that reels,
After a thousand times,
would as same beliefs things
besought me,
Is it a mere dream?
8. Bending Spoons
by Andrew Rymill
…A poem
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
if you
are mutant
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship.
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
the handle
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys…
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
Then comes
the period
like an empty plate.
to contain
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters…
9. Space Cadet
by Timothy Hicks
You’ll find it is a good idea,
now and then,
to look at the bigger picture:
see with a broader view
the workings of your fellow men.
A word of advice, if I may,
please, don’t stay too long,
be sure to always come back soon!
One learns next to nothing
about mankind
by looking at the earth
while standing on the moon.
10. Appetite
by Tamiviolet Manchas
oh, yes.
I have a new lover, the best that I have had in a while; he satisfies my insatiable
appetite…
anytime ~
day
or
night;
He is Italian, and he brings his very own pesto sauce for me to spread…
all over his large body;
Oh ~ his meat…thick…tantalizing…so tasty, and his buns ~ oh, so warm…
If you are lonely some evening, and you need to be satisfied, one call and he is
soon there…ready…
just
for
you…
Of course, there is plenty if you are a sharing soul. Our initial meeting occurred
today when my daughter brought him home…
11. Crazy, Yes
by Michael Degenhardt
Crazy is defined by the crazy things you do
Really crazy things are just too crazy, too
A crazy person laughs when no one is around
Zealous crazy people are too busy to be found
Yes, crazy is as crazy does, who really can define?
Your definition of crazy is well kept in your mind.
Even when you’re normal, crazy still remains
Some keep crazy in their hearts, to look like they’re still sane.
12. The Toilet Dream Speaks The Truth
by Sarah Jones
I had a dream
Where all my clothes
Were in my toilet bowl
Clogging it.
Apparently this means that
I am drenched in emotions
Which need to be released
And expressed,
So I wrote
This poem.
13. A Lovely Little Daydream
by Teddy Kimathi
A summer smile stuck on my face,
as I watched a soda truck racing
across the yellow maize farm.
“What is a soda truck doing
in the countryside, far away from
shops and clubs?” my workmate asked.
He looked as though he had witnessed
the Roswell event personally.
“Something isn’t right,” he added.
I smiled and gazed at the truck,
as it became bigger and bigger.
Monotonous tastelessness of rain water,
would soon be replaced by a fizzy, sweet
sensation to my taste buds.
This would be the dozenth time I tasted
soda without actually drinking it.
14. These Words
by Christina Fell
All these words and all these lines
Just keep running through my mind
By the dozens, they drown out sound
And force me to quickly write them down
Lines and lyrics in poetic rhyme
Written within record time
Words so simple and plain to me
Can bring a smile or a tear you see
Though these are more
Than mere words to me
It is a part of my soul,
From way down deep
So please excuse me
While I let it all out
Or these words will drive me crazy
Without any doubt!
Short Poems about Imagination
Imagination is an incredible tool that allows us to explore beyond the boundaries of reality. Here are some short poetries about imagination.
1. His Funeral
by Judith Angell Meyer
That he planned his funeral is factual
And being a prankster quite actual
He prerecorded his voice
So when we kneeled on the joist
He said, “Hi there! Don’t I look natural.”
2. Viagra Falls
by Jslambert Mister
There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener’s so long it would stab ya’
but when it got little
his pills became skittles
until he O.D.’d on Viagra.
3. Imagination
by Izzy Gumbo
I have a wandering mind
my lines as I draw them
over the grid as I steer them
through intersections
I veer them
perspectives I see
when I peer them…
detecting truth
in the dots as I hear them
A gentle Awe
the sound of pause
soft claw.ing sings from my pen
when the lines are drawn
and my mind goes wandering…
About U
Imagination.
My artful perception.
4. For A Child’s Book
by Annette Wynne
My book is such a dainty thing
It’s pretty pages fluttering
Are wings of white—my book would fly
Out through the window, past the sky.
But, little book, don’t fly away,
I’ll keep you carefully each day;
And every night upon my shelf
You’ll have a nest all to yourself.
5. Loving in Truth
Sir Philip Sidney
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,—
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,—
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe …
6. One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon The Strand
by Edmund Spenser
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey …
7. Sonnet 83
by William Shakespeare
I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet’s debt …
Long Poems about Imagination
In this collection of long poetries about imagination, explore the depths of imagination and the creative ideas it can spark.
1. Itsy Bitsy The Tiny Pixy
by Fritz Purdum
Itsy Bitsy the tiny pixy always wore a frown
for the other pixys treated him like a clown
The other pixy boys did not want Itsy Bitsy around
Itsy Bitsy flew too slow with small wings that were round
Go swim in a dew drop
Go milk a lady bug
They mocking laughed at him
and flew off so fast their wings blew his cap off his head
The girl pixys were no better for they thought him cute
They would dress him as a baby and make him play the flute
Always trying to feed him raw nectar which made him poop
He would shy away from them, lonely without a friend
Itsy Bitsy would sigh almost enough to cry
Itsy Bitsy could hear pixys in the mulberry tree
they were flying in a dance as the robins sing
Itsy Bitsy tried so hard to fly to them so high
but the breeze and height too much for his little wings to fly
So Itsy Bitsy tucker out laid on a dandelion flower
wanting to be a giant so all pixys he would tower
Falling asleep on the dandelion yellow poor little fellow.
Woken by a buzzing bee Itsy Bitsy waved his cap
swatting at the sound and when he heard a tiny voice
he begin to giggle profound. for there was a tiny bee
no bigger than the likes of he. Stop! Stop! the bee squeaked
or I will use my sting, as he showed the tiny dart Itsy Bitsy laughter ring
How dare you laugh at me my mother is the queen
With a stinger so small would it break my skin at all?
Insulted the tiny bee flew off, Itsy Bitsy wonder was I too rough
The pixys return to their nest to sleep through the heat of the day
for it was the full of the moonlight pixys love to play
They all settle down with a yawn folding their wings
their nap interrupted by an alarm of Cling! Cling! Cling!
To arms ! to arms! the bees swarm with stingers on display
Pixys leaped to battle with bows and cactus needles
and stickers for spears, shields of thorns for enemies to fear
Suddenly as it all was about to begin the battle quickly was at an end
Voices of humans.
The bees swarm to their hive buzzing they would return
Pixys hide in fear for children suddenly appeared
I did see pixys big brother flying by the tree
Ah sis are you sure it wasn’t bees?
Look around nothing flying here to see
I did see pixys, they looked like tiny people
colorful clothes and they playfully singing
Your imagination will make us late
lets get home mom made cake
The older brother took his little sisters hand
and together they left the realm of pixy land.
Pixys pleased humans were gone but why did bees want war
as Itsy Bitsy cleared his throat he explained all of before
Under the truce of a white flower petal delegations did meet
deciding at the wild flower meadow to negotiate and greet
As all gather both sides Itsy Bitsy came forth and apologize
I should not have swat my cap or at his stinger laugh
seeing a bee as small as me was a surprise indeed
The bees parted and bowed as their queen approached proud
On her back was the tiny bee, the pixys all nodded respectfully
The little bee that you see is our own tiny bee Billy
as for what Itsy Bitsy said a misunderstanding was had
Billy bee spoke, How bad can Itsy Bitsy be for he is just like me
And at that the bees and the pixys made peace
traded honey for pixy sweets
A treaty was signed and read
all feasted and were fed
They all danced and buzzed around
and Itsy Bitsy and Billy grew with new respect found.
The pixy boys at night took off in sudden flight
Than as quickly flew back, they forgot Itsy Bitsy
no more of that.
2. A Dialogue of Self And Soul
by Anonymous
I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
“Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul
My Self.
The consecrates blade upon my knees
Is Sato’s ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady’s dress and round
The wooden scabbard bound and wound
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn
My Soul.
Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect is wandering
To this and that and that other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth.
My Self.
Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery –
Heart’s purple – and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier’s right
A charter to commit the crime once more.
My Soul.
Such fullness in that quarter overflows
And falls into the basin of the mind
That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,
For intellect no longer knows
Is from the Ought, or knower from the Known –
That is to say, ascends to Heaven;
Only the dead can be forgiven;
But when I think of that my tongue’s a stone.
II
My Self.
A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up;
The ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
The unfinished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness;
The finished man among his enemies? –
How in the name of Heaven can he escape
That defiling and disfigured shape
The mirror of malicious eyes
Casts upon his eyes until at last
He thinks that shape must be his shape?
And what’s the good of an escape
If honour find him in the wintry blast?
I am content to live it all again
And yet again, if it be life to pitch
Into the frog-spawn of a blind man’s ditch,
A blind man battering blind men;
Or into that most fecund ditch of all,
The folly that man does
Or must suffer, if he woos
A proud woman not kindred of his soul.
I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
Written by Alexander Pushkin | Create an image from this poem
The Drowned Man
Children running into izba,
Calling father, dripping sweat:
“Daddy, daddy! come — there is a
Deadman caught inside our net.
“Fancy, fancy fabrication.
Grumbled off their weary Pa,
“Have these imps imagination!
Deadman, really! ya-ha-ha.
“Well.
the court may come to bother –
What’ll I say before the judge?
Hey you brats, go have your mother
Bring my coat; I better trudge.
Show me, where?” — “Right there, Dad, farther!”
On the sand where netting ropes
Lay spread out, the peasant father
Saw the veritable corpse.
Badly mangled, ugly, frightening,
Blue and swollen on each side.
Has he fished in storm and lightning,
Or committed suicide?
Could this be a careless drunkard,?
Or a mermaid-seeking monk,
Or a merchandizer, conquered
By some bandits, robbed and sunk?
To the peasant, what’s it matter!
Quick: he grabs the dead man’s hair,
Drags his body to the water,
Looks around: nobody’s there:
Good.
relieved of the concern he
Shoves his paddle at a loss,
While the stiff resumes his journey
Down the stream for grave and cross.
Long the dead man as one living
Rocked on waves amid the foam.
Surly as he watched him leaving,
Soon our peasant headed home.
“Come you pups! let’s go, don’t scatter.
Each of you will get his bun.
But remember: just you chatter —
And I’ll whip you, every one.”
Dark and stormy it was turning.
High the river ran in gloom.
Now the torch has finished burning
In the peasant’s smoky room.
Kids asleep, the wife aslumber,
He lies listening to the rain.
Bang! he hears a sudden comer
Knocking on the window-pane.
“What the.
” — “Let me in there, master!”
“Damn, you found the time to roam!
Well, what is it, your disaster?
Let you in? It’s dark at home,
Dark and crowded.
What a pest you are!
Where’d I put you in my cot.
Slowly, with a lazy gesture,
He lifts up the pane and – what?
Through the clouds, the moon was showing.
Well? the naked man was there,
Down his hair the water flowing,
Wide his eyes, unmoved the stare;
Numb the dreadful-looking body,
Arms were hanging feeble, thin;
Crabs and cancers, black and bloody,
Sucked into the swollen skin.
As the peasant slammed the shutter
(Recognized his visitant)
Horror-struck he could but mutter
“Blast you!” and began to pant.
He was shuddering, awful chaos
All night through stirred in his brain,
While the knocking shook the house
By the gates and at the pane.
People tell a dreadful rumor:
Every year the peasant, say,
Waiting in the worst of humor
For his visitor that day;
As the rainstorm is increasing,
Nightfall brings a hurricane –
And the drowned man knocks, unceasing,
By the gates and at the pane.
3. To Imagination
by Anonymous
When weary with the long day’s care,
And earthly change from pain to pain,
And lost and ready to despair,
Thy kind voice calls me back again:
Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,
While thou canst speak with such a tone!
So hopeless is the world without;
The world within I doubly prize;
Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,
And cold suspicion never rise;
Where thou, and I, and Liberty,
Have undisputed sovereignty.
What matters it, that, all around,
Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,
If but within our bosom’s bound
We hold a bright, untroubled sky,
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays
Of suns that know no winter days?
Reason, indeed, may oft complain
For Nature’s sad reality,
And tell the suffering heart, how vain
Its cherished dreams must always be;
And Truth may rudely trample down
The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:
But, thou art ever there, to bring
The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o’er the blighted spring,
And call a lovelier Life from Death,
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.
I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
Yet, still, in evening’s quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!
4. Questions of Travel
by Elizabeth Bishop
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
–For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren’t waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,
slime-hung and barnacled.
Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?
What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?
But surely it would have been a pity
not to have seen the trees along this road,
really exaggerated in their beauty,
not to have seen them gesturing
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.
–Not to have had to stop for gas and heard
the sad, two-noted, wooden tune
of disparate wooden clogs
carelessly clacking over
a grease-stained filling-station floor.
(In another country the clogs would all be tested.
Each pair there would have identical pitch.
)
–A pity not to have heard
the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird
who sings above the broken gasoline pump
in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:
three towers, five silver crosses.
–Yes, a pity not to have pondered,
blurr’dly and inconclusively,
on what connection can exist for centuries
between the crudest wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.
–Never to have studied history in
the weak calligraphy of songbirds’ cages.
–And never to have had to listen to rain
so much like politicians’ speeches:
two hours of unrelenting oratory
and then a sudden golden silence
in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:
“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one’s room?
Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there
No.
Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?”
5. Millenial Hymn to Lord Shiva
by Emily Brontë
Earth no longer
hymns the Creator,
the seven days of wonder,
the Garden is over —
all the stories are told,
the seven seals broken
all that begins
must have its ending,
our striving, desiring,
our living and dying,
for Time, the bringer
of abundant days
is Time the destroyer —
In the Iron Age
the Kali Yuga
To whom can we pray
at the end of an era
but the Lord Shiva,
the Liberator, the purifier?
Our forests are felled,
our mountains eroded,
the wild places
where the beautiful animals
found food and sanctuary
we have desolated,
a third of our seas,
a third of our rivers
we have polluted
and the sea-creatures dying.
Our civilization’s
blind progress
in wrong courses
through wrong choices
has brought us to nightmare
where what seems,
is, to the dreamer,
the collective mind
of the twentieth century —
this world of wonders
not divine creation
but a big bang
of blind chance,
purposeless accident,
mother earth’s children,
their living and loving,
their delight in being
not joy but chemistry,
stimulus, reflex,
valueless, meaningless,
while to our machines
we impute intelligence,
in computers and robots
we store information
and call it knowledge,
we seek guidance
by dialling numbers,
pressing buttons,
throwing switches,
in place of family
our companions are shadows,
cast on a screen,
bodiless voices, fleshless faces,
where was the Garden
a Disney-land
of virtual reality,
in place of angels
the human imagination
is peopled with foot-ballers
film-stars, media-men,
experts, know-all
television personalities,
animated puppets
with cartoon faces —
To whom can we pray
for release from illusion,
from the world-cave,
but Time the destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?
The curse of Midas
has changed at a touch,
a golden handshake
earthly paradise
to lifeless matter,
where once was seed-time,
summer and winter,
food-chain, factory farming,
monocrops for supermarkets,
pesticides, weed-killers
birdless springs,
endangered species,
battery-hens, hormone injections,
artificial insemination,
implants, transplants, sterilization,
surrogate births, contraception,
cloning, genetic engineering, abortion,
and our days shall be short
in the land we have sown
with the Dragon’s teeth
where our armies arise
fully armed on our killing-fields
with land-mines and missiles,
tanks and artillery,
gas-masks and body-bags,
our air-craft rain down
fire and destruction,
our space-craft broadcast
lies and corruption,
our elected parliaments
parrot their rhetoric
of peace and democracy
while the truth we deny
returns in our dreams
of Armageddon,
the death-wish, the arms-trade,
hatred and slaughter
profitable employment
of our thriving cities,
the arms-race
to the end of the world
of our postmodern,
post-Christian,
post-human nations,
progress to the nihil
of our spent civilization.
But cause and effect,
just and inexorable
law of the universe
no fix of science,
nor amenable god
can save from ourselves
the selves we have become —
At the end of history
to whom can we pray
but to the destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?
In the beginning
the stars sang together
the cosmic harmony,
but Time, imperceptible
taker-away
of all that has been,
all that will be,
our heart-beat your drum,
our dance of life
your dance of death
in the crematorium,
our high-rise dreams,
Valhalla, Utopia,
Xanadu, Shangri-la, world revolution
Time has taken, and soon will be gone
Cambridge, Princeton and M.I.T.
Nalanda, Athens and Alexandria
all for the holocaust
of civilization —
To whom shall we pray
when our vision has faded
but the world-destroyer,
the liberator, the purifier?
But great is the realm
of the world-creator,
the world-sustainer
from whom we come,
in whom we move
and have our being,
about us, within us
the wonders of wisdom,
the trees and the fountains,
the stars and the mountains,
all the children of joy,
the loved and the known,
the unknowable mystery
to whom we return
through the world-destroyer, —
Holy, holy
at the end of the world
the purging fire
of the purifier, the liberator!
6. On Imagination
by Phillis Wheatley
Thy various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! How deck’d with pomp by thee!
Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring eyes,
Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th’ empyreal palace of the thund’ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th’ unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy’s raptur’d eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o’er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow’ry riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
And all the forest may with leaves be crown’d:
Show’rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow’r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre o’er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try
To rise from earth, and sweep th’ expanse on high:
From Tithon’s bed now might Aurora rise,
Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
While a pure stream of light o’erflows the skies.
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy’s flowing sea,
Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
7. A Supermarket in California
by Allen Ginsberg
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!–and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour.
Which way does your beard point
tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?
Poems about Imagination That Rhyme
This section features poems about imagination with rhyme. Each poem rhymes beautifully to bring the power of words to life. Enjoy!
1. The Body, The Mind And The Soul
by Krishnanand Guptar
When the body battered by fate
And worn out with worrying age
Reaches quite a delicate state
in the midst of life`s final stage,
When the body aches with pain
And walking a hundred footsteps
At a stretch is a task in vain,
When climbing a dozen of steps
Leads to outright gasping for breath,
I feel like taking a due rest
Instead of still moving uphill
At the behest of my own will.
When the mind is as ever strong
And the spirit is still quite fresh,
When the self is as ever young
And the soul is as ever blessed,
They long for rhymes and rhythms to frame
And divine hymns to sweetly air,
They long for the light of their flame
to impart to those with a flair,
They long for their emotions to share
With those who truly wish to care,
They long for their thoughts to partake
Amidst those with a real stake.
As the seat of reason, the mind
Aims at a fine balance to find
Between what the body cherish
And what the ego do relish
While the sole yearning of the soul
That keeps body and mind in control,
Rules over the heart and the will,
Keeps desires at a standstill,
Reigns over thoughts and the passion
And leads the imagination,
Is neither to retreat, nor to bend
But to pursue its journey to the end.
Squeezed in the midst of the cravings
of the body, the mind and the soul,
Can I construe which chord to string!
As the Lord sways and and does control
The whole universe and the soul,
A very minute particle
of the eternal Supreme Soul,
As a creature meek and humble
Let me cede myself to His will
That He may guide my path until
The end of my journey in life,
Until the last breath I shall strive.
2. You Are Part of The Universe
by Clive Blake
You are part of the universe
And the universe is part of you,
For the universe is infinite,
And therefore, so are you.
For between you and the universe
There is an unbreakable bond,
For you are crafted from stardust,
From the cosmos and beyond.
For you are part of the mountains,
And you are part of the sea,
You are part of the landscape,
And you are part of a tree,
You are where the dolphins sleep,
And you are where the eagles fly,
You live in the core of the planet,
And you live in the open blue sky.
For you are part of the universe
And the universe is part of you,
For the universe is infinite,
And therefore, so are you …
3. For You, Love
by Paula Goldsmith
How does one say I Love You,
not in words for words are cheap?
To show love takes action,
action taken over many days years.
It is easy to love in the good times,
love is love when there are bad times.
The times when I was sick,
you were always here.
Over the many years,
you have been there for special days and holidays.
As you think about me,
your actions say I Love You My Dear.
4. I Wish Somebody Would’ve Told Me
by Paula Goldsmith
About life and people,
the pain and the hurt.
I never dreamed in a world of love and beauty,
pain and hurt would blossom like an evil flower.
How can you say you are my friend,
then stab me in the back.
Jealousy only makes you turn mean,
then you turn many shades of green.
Your golden halo turns to solid tin,
since your true self has come out.
I am a peaceful person,
asking for peace and love in my life.
Guess asking is all I can do,
in reality it will not always come true
5. Break The Mirror
Paula Goldsmith
Do we break the mirror of life,
to reach the other side.
Our life’s journey can be long or short,
we never know when it will end.
We are not given the time table for our life,
one day it is just over.
Can we hear the mirror break,
can we see the mirror break.
Some have died and come back,
what can we learn from this.
Could it be we cannot learn from them,
since death is a personal experience.
This is truly a one way street,
most do not return to do it again.
Life and death are both mysteries,
many questions with few answers.
6. As Clouds Pass By
by Jennifer Hartley
I lay in the cool green grass,
Getting ready to watch white, fluffy clouds pass.
I lay on my back, facing towards the sky,
And watch in amazement as clouds go by.
Clouds of all sizes and shapes.
That cloud looks like a bunch of grapes.
Here comes one that looks like a four leaf clover.
And I should call that one a dog named Rover.
Maybe I will have good luck,
And see one that looks like a duck.
The clouds are playing peek-a-boo with the sun.
I just spotted one that looked like a gun.
Watching the clouds is a great way,
To spend a glorious, sunny day.
But now, the clouds are thickening and turning gray.
It may not be a good idea to stay.
Suddenly, I see a flash of light streak across the sky.
7. The Beauty We Cannot See
by Jim Yerman
We are blessed to live in a world surrounded by beauty…
in the sky…on the land the sea.
but today I’d like to take a moment and celebrate
some of the beauty we cannot see.
We cannot see the wind as she lifts the branches of the tree.
We cannot see the air we breathe…or the force of gravity.
We cannot see a child growing…even a child of our own.
Their growth is imperceptible…we only notice that they’ve grown.
An artist’s painting, an author’s book, a composer’s music…
these are things we are able to see…
but we cannot see their moment of inspiration…
their imagination
their creativity.
We cannot look inside another person and see their hopes, their dreams, their fears.
We cannot see the words ‘I love you’ travel from our lips to another’s ears.
Where our wishes are created…this we cannot see…
or where these wishes end up…once we set them free.
We cannot see the sadness that surrounds the soul when two lovers part.
We cannot see the hidden room where love begins in the comfort of our heart
I will never take for granted all the wonder…all the beauty surrounding me…
but every now and then I like to close my eyes and give a little thanks
for all the things I cannot see.
8. The Prisoner
by Wendy Evans
Here I reside inside my head where Devil and Demons fear to tread.
My imagination is my sanctuary from a world I do not wish to see.
Sheltered from a setting repugnant to me.
Outside I am invisible, but not here, not in this place.
Here I am relevant in my illusion, my sanctuary, my safe space.
Brick by brick this wall I have built up around me, inside lies my creation, a life as it should be. A beautiful place, people filled with dignity and pride, congregate to celebrate peace side by side.
Children of men are tolerant and giving, have a passion in their heart for a life that’s worth living. People are not judged by the colour of their skin but by their morals and compassion of the soul within.
In my world people are free from the chains of oppression, they embrace indifference and never show aggression.
I don’t want to see the flaws in humanity, their avarice and selfishness that test my sanity so here I take refuge inside my head, safe in my cell.
This is the place I have chosen to be. in my own prison, holding the key.
9. Break on Through
by Frankii Fame
Chasing rabbits, unending distractions
Forever falling, upside down actions
Limited expectations, traveling hues
Sunken ships, washed away clues
Face-off illusionary fears, go through
Sparkling glamours, fantasy floo
Unlocked doors, keys of initiation
Bewildering mazes, limitless creation
Spoken silences, incognito vibes
Natural simplicity, collective tribes.
Poems about Imagination And Creativity
Imagination and creativity are two powerful tools that can transport us to places we never thought possible. This collection of poems is inspired by the beauty and power of these concepts.
1. Poetry
by Pablo Neruda
And it was at that age … Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
2. Imagination
by john Davidson
There is a dish to hold the sea,
A brazier to contain the sun,
A compass for the galaxy,
A voice to wake the dead and done!
That minister of ministers,
Imagination, gathers up
The undiscovered Universe,
Like jewels in a jasper cup.
Its flame can mingle north and south;
Its accent with the thunder strive;
The ruddy sentence of its mouth
Can make the ancient dead alive.
The mart of power, the fount of will,
The form and mould of every star,
The source and bound of good and ill,
The key of all the things that are,
Imagination, new and strange
In every age, can turn the year;
Can shift the poles and lightly change
The mood of men, the world’s career.
3. Pure Imagination
by Roald Dahl
Come with me and you’ll be
In a world of pure imagination
Take a look and you’ll see
Into your imagination
We’ll begin with a spin
Trav’ling in the world of my creation
What we’ll see will defy
Explanation
Refrain
If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world, there’s nothing to it
There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you’ll be free
If you truly wish to be
Refrain
There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you’ll be free
If you truly wish to be
4. Muse
by Anna Akhmatova
When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient,
Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread.
What just means liberty, or youth, or approbation,
When compared with the gentle piper’s tread?
And she came in, threw out the mantle’s edges,
Declined to me with a sincere heed.
I say to her, “Did you dictate the Pages
Of Hell to Dante?” She answers, “Yes, I did.”
5. Nightmares And Razor Blades
Emile Pinet
I stare at my ceiling,
I start to wonder, why am I not healing?
Then it dawns on me,
The nightmare clip starts to roll.
I shake and shiver and wince at every little thing.
I’m scared to death,
What does this all mean?
I start to cry,
I feel as if I might die.
Then I grab my blade,
The tears come quicker.
My breath starts to quicken,
My grip on the blade makes my knuckles turn white.
In the mirror is where I see that my ivory skin is now blotchy and red.
I tell myself, “This may be the last time, if you finally cut deep enough.”
So I try my best not to make a sound
As I sit up in bed and hold my wrist out in front of me.
I count to three,
One,
I put the blade to my wrist.
Two,
I start to add pressure.
Three,
I yank the blade across my skin,
It pierces and then I start to bleed.
I suddenly want it to stop,
But there’s no going back now.
I wonder why it came to this,
I know nobody cares about me,
I know nobody is going to forget me.
Quietly I say, “I’m sorry.”
But nobody is there,
No one will ever be.
I start to fade out of this world,
My addiction would finally be gone,
And so would I.
I was lost,
Lost and angry.
Suddenly, it was gone,
I woke up screaming.
The pain was oh-so real.
6. I Wish I Were A Unicorn
by Mackenzie Lakin
I wish I were a Unicorn
So smooth and white with shiny horn
To prance and dance on clouds up there
And spend my days surveying air
I’d stop and visit clouds of rain
Those darker ones that are a pain
When they release their water flow
on earthly beings down below
I’d then check out a fluffy one
The kind that always blocks the sun
There would be best to take a snooze
While ‘neath blue sky I’d float and cruise
I’d love clouds more at sunset time
When glowing colors make them shine
A Unicorn would like it best
Upon a cloud that’s shiniest
At night, I’d fly up near the moon
See how the tides are kept in tune
Come morn, I’d go close to the sun
to see how brand new dawn is done
Again at dark, some stardust find
The finest and most brilliant kind
To sprinkle on my wings of white
And store to share the starry light
Perhaps I’d make it way up far
to find the place where blessings are
I’d seek the ones with greater worth
And gently throw them down to earth
I wish I were a Unicorn
So smooth and white with shiny horn
I’d monitor the earth below
And sprinkle it with stardust glow.
Poems about Imagination and Reality
This collection of poems explores the contrast between imagination and reality and the complex relationship between them.
1. Imagination or Reality?
by Habzy Bèzay
We have acquainted for a while,
as we worked, studied, or hanged around.
and as we subconsciously fade away,
the words are written on our face.
Although we already know,
we don’t want to reveal it,
as it is already concealed,
in pockets deeper than you know.
No explanation but we use ‘busy’
as an expression. in confession,
I am pleased, I am at ease.
It is not clear how you have disappeared from me,
but in my mind you are still here.
So I guess this where we can say ‘goodbye’
I think we bonded more in my imagination than in person.
Though you weren’t really there. I responded anyway.
I am deceived and you need to leave.
disturbed, and I panic.
There is no one around, and I won’t be found, so I grab the gun…
2. Imagination
by Anonymous
Everyday
I watch the world
Seeing its beauties and its disasters
Run on a thin line
Where reality strikes its soul
And little imagination is left to spare
I feel the chains over creativity
The decaying hope in the bright hearts of man
And when I look to the sky
I see marvelous creations
Such that thrive in many young hearts
But are locked away
Casted deep into an icy caldron
Where light fades
And darkness descends
And pride in life is swallowed whole
My mind reflects upon this
Seeking out ways to revive what has been lost
And being in doing so
Every kindness I give
Inspires me to imagine a brighter world
Where man is free of harsh reality
And released back into a world
Where imagination rules the sky’s
3. Wanderlust of Imagination
by Susan Ashley
In the endless expanse
of what exists
and the magic of what can be…
fantasy is the luster of opalescence
conceived in a continual curve of mother-of-pearl panache
spinning through a sacred spiral in effervescence
they arise – in bare necessity
and break the surface –
perceptions of prismatic potential
bending colors in the light of consciousness
daydreams delve
between realms of serenity and dampened spirits
amidst meditations
to unfurl the waves’ curl of life’s mysteries
where faceted riptides flash sun-diamonds
and twilight’s bruised beauty is but an abstract –
in mixed moody moon-shades
of earth’s passion and human nature
enriched with celestial nuances
I reflect within this mirrored space
as I search to adorn my naked thoughts in nacreous chic
breathing bliss and sipping soulful seas
my wild whimsy in wanderlust glides like an albatross
seeking the iridescence of the abalone shell —
a marvel of profound imagination.
4. Wild Orphan
by Allen Ginsberg
Blandly mother
takes him strolling
by railroad and by river
-he’s the son of the absconded
hot rod angel-
and he imagines cars
and rides them in his dreams,
so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown
to create
out of his own imagination
the beauty of his wild
forebears-a mythology
he cannot inherit.
Will he later hallucinate
his gods? Waking
among mysteries with
an insane gleam
of recollection?
The recognition-
something so rare
in his soul,
met only in dreams
-nostalgias
of another life.
A question of the soul.
And the injured
losing their injury
in their innocence
-a cock, a cross,
an excellence of love.
And the father grieves
in flophouse
complexities of memory
a thousand miles
away, unknowing
of the unexpected
youthful stranger
bumming toward his door.
5. Reality Vs Imagination
by Angelina Pandian
The thirsting Soul inside each man
Is unique in its mould craving
For its own imagined goals
Unfettered by barriers it is allowed
To build its own Kingdom fair
With its rules as just as it thinks
Sometimes a clouded mind
May include a moat, a fort
And prejudices few thrown in
Whatever is imagined it is so
Within each one’s mind
The idealistic imagined world
Is alone, Isolated, undisturbed
Remaining free and unconquered
Each Soul remains an uncrowned king.
But, from childhood we find
We are unable to establish
Our rules in reality – Father
He refuses and disapproves
Mother raises her objections
Teachers want us to keep quiet
Not just our enemies we find
Even our friends want their way
Each step in life is caught between
Obstacles and opportunities
Situations beyond our control
Clash of each ones inner rules
Leads to chaos in reality!
Some Souls want to rule the roost
Some just want some peace
All opt for some easy compromise
All other than the lonely poetic Soul
Silent observer sensitive to all
Be it people, nature, experiences
Both physical, mental or sublime
Unable to compromise he remains
Athirst in the desert waiting
For the early morning dew
To quench his thirst upon
He remains true to the dream
Which he holds in his heart
Sitting by the busy street of life
He cries out his wares – Free!
Free! ! Wisdom and Truth for all!
He cries to an unheeding crowd.
Final Thoughts
Imagination can be a powerful tool that can help us to explore the world, to explore our own minds, and to create something new.
Poems about the power of imagination can also be used to bring joy and happiness into our lives, and can bring us joy and make us feel more connected to the world around us.
We hope this poetry about imagination has helped you to understand the power of imagination and why it is so important to us.
We’d love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment below with your thoughts and feelings on imagination.
