68 Poems about Imagination to Celebrate Everything Possible

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

       by Robert Louis Stevenson

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,



Master Buffoon

To wed Mistress May Lune

Raced to the church in July

On the day set for June.


Mr Snide’s

Contempt and pride

Prompts him to pinch

Then run to hide.


Missy Strutter’s

Angry mutters

Could fill and flood

The empty gutters.


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


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


anytime ~




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…




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


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.


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.


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:


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


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-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


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


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


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


(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


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,


that fire,

and I wrote the first faint line,

faint, without substance, pure


pure wisdom

of someone who knows nothing,

and suddenly I saw

the heavens


and open,


palpitating plantations,

shadow perforated,


with arrows, fire and flowers,

the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,

drunk with the great starry


likeness, image of


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



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


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,


I put the blade to my wrist.


I start to add pressure.


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


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


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.

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