#imagination poems on Hello Poetry

Liú'Jiāwén - 刘嘉文 1d

Whispers of the Eighty-Eight (2025)

Ebony and ivory.
Intermixed clefs.
A landscape of sound.
Not paint, but vibration.
Stories woven in air.

Imagination ignited.
Tales spun from silence.
Love, a melody repeated.
Swooning, a chord held long.

Emotions, a full spectrum.
Darkness, a low rumble.
Light, a high trill.
Hard, a percussive strike.
Soft, a gentle sustain.

Symphonies, vast and sprawling.
Rhapsodies, wild and free.
Logic, a precise sequence.
Mathematics, a hidden structure.

A language without words.
Universal, no translation needed.
Across every boundary.
No wall can hold it back.

Species, all ears attuned.
Culture, a shared experience.
A resonance that binds us.
A bridge built of notes.

Eighty-eight keys.
Eighty-eight possibilities.
Each a doorway.
Each a journey.

From the quietest whisper.
To the loudest roar.
A universe contained.
In the space between.

A heartbeat in rhythm.
A breath in harmony.
The soul expressed.
Pure, unadulterated.

No need for explanation.
No need for justification.
Just the sound.
And the feeling it evokes.

A timeless current.
Flowing through us all.
A language of the heart.
Eighty-eight keys, infinite feeling.

Found myself listening to Jordan Critz.... specifically "Starry Night" and "Novella"
Music can inspire just as much as lyrics, poems, paintings, or nature. They inspire feelings, emotional upheavals, joy, imagination, and can touch everyone a different way.
So, I present for your consumption - Eighty-Eight

#piano #inspire #feelings #emotionalupheavals #joy #imagination

Nishan Niraula 4d

Resistance

A will so rigid,
I could reject even my soul.
Memories of past so vivid;
They swallow me a whole.

Lack of pride and no approval;
He neither asks nor pleads.
Wouldn't even present a proposal
For the person his mind heeds

I wrote this poem during December, last year.

#resist #pride #rigidity #admiration #imagination

Man Feb 13

The Titular Default

If you harbor spite
For the perception of it in others
But lack the strength to investigate,
It's better to refrain from assumptions.
Perhaps you're picking up
On something that isn't real,
But a fiction of your imagination.
Perhaps they weren't serious.
Unless you have concrete evidence,
Something that confirms your suspicions.
But then, without cross-examination,
That's just another assumption.

#fun #silly #investigate #evidence #fiction #imagination #cross #examination #assumptions #suspicious

Iftekhar Feb 9

Oh, My Muse!

Oh, my muse! Without you these gardens,
Though spring still comes after frosty winter,
And flowers still bloom, in corners and center.
But there's none to admire daisys alongside,
No-one to watch bluebells and remnicise.

Oh, my muse! Without you these roads,
Though they are still bustling with public,
All moving, to and fro, healthy and sick,
But my walks are far from straight path,
Staggering forward with only little faith.

Oh, my muse! Without you these days,
Though I wake up and follow my routine,
And watch some old and some new scenes,
But somethings always missing from the play,
The lead whose entry seems to be delayed.

Oh, my muse! Without you these nights,
Though Luna spreads it's silvery moonlight,
And twinkling stars still light the dark sky,
But my heart is far from being tranquil,
A slight bump and the chalice may spill.

Oh, my muse! Without you my pen,
Though it still writes whenever it is asked,
And forms phrases any when needed,
But the poems in my mind hide in dark.
For you to come, ignite them with a spark.

#love #imagination #muse #inspiration

Dom Feb 6

Sketch

Razorblades grating the graphite
Sharpened to a point,
Infinite are the worlds pouring in torrid thought
Scribble them and refine
Render until the faces define
God of two-dimensional clay
Golems of creation,
My darling, characters.

#art #brevity #thoughts #imagination #creation #creativity #god

Zywa Jan 19

[ The sprinkles may crawl ]

The sprinkles may crawl

into the roll, the yellow --

ones especially.

"Psychiatrisch dagboek" ("Psychiatric diary", 1994, Bert Weijde), July 20th, 1962 in Wolfheze

Collection "Unseen"

#fantasy #imagination #sprinkles

Timothy Charles Carter Jan 17

Beauty in Thought

The beauty in the flow of thought, Lies in our imagination, softly caught.
A river of dreams, both wild and free, Crafting worlds for us to see.
In silent whispers, ideas bloom, Painting colors in the mind's room.
With every turn, a new creation, Born from pure imagination.
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Our thoughts take wings and learn to fly.

#beauty #thought #imagination

Jordin Jan 16

10T) The Fantasia of Old (D9311T)

Only the other day the vividity was insane
The world my eyes see was smelting/melting
& the world my I's see was smelting/melting
But just then, as I found my centre
The Fantasia of old would hardly enter
It was enough of the stuff & much more than most men
Yet a part of me wants back to that fantastical Zen

In regards to the poem's inception:
It was a day & I went on a walk.
Upon the latter part of my walk, my psyche shifted & there was a stark drop in the vividity of my imagination.
This poem was a reflection upon that moment.

At the time this decrease was unprecedented.
Typically my imagination is a kind of tripple vision.
There is my regular optical vision.
There is the vision of the mind's eye which is usually wrapped in a rainbow colour like theme.
There is the vision of the mind's eye overlaid upon the regular optical vision.

Whilst I have been thinking about triple vision as a concept for some time; predating the poem count by some margin--I later found a kind of parallel with William Blake's notion of Fourfold Vision.

In regards to the poem title:
The word Fantasia is a homophone for Phantasia; where Phantasia, among other things, is the root word for fantasy as well as the ability to visualise in the mind. The name Fantasia was chosen in part over Phantasia given its musical-like connotations.

In regard to the poem's attributes:
This poem is one of the first poems to concentrate on a homophone (eyes & I's).
Within my canon so to speak I play with homophones quite a bit.
This poem is also one of the first poems to have a kind of multipath-like structure (smelting/melting)...

(WARNING: DEEP DIVE AHEAD)

It may be worthwhile to touch upon the conceptual maps of the homophonic pathways.

For instance within eyes & I's & smelting/melting there are 4 core paths so to speak. If one wanted to map out these in a kind of symbolic chain, maybe it would look something like this:

…eyes…melting -> …eyes…process of heating to convert to liquid -> …eyes…liquid -> …visibility…liquid -> …visibility…(indistinct / impressionistic / dreamlike / fluid) ->

…eyes…smelting -> …vision..process of heating to convert into purest form -> vision…pure -> pure vision ->

…I’s…smelting -> …self concept…smelting -> …self concept…process of heating to convert into purest form -> …I’s…pure -> pure I’s ->

…I’s…melting -> …self concept…melting -> …self concept…process of heating to convert to liquid -> …self concept…liquid -> dissolution of self concept ->

#homophone #imagination #multipath #nequals7 #quaternity #vision #zen

Jonathan Moya Jan 14

Nightfall

The ramshackled town falls quiet
to the artist’s eye in the retreating light.
The old houses will truce their aged lumber,
antiquity, for the invading dark beauty of his creation.

He lived here once as a boy, in the sadness of his angels,
held hostage (he thought), by the catechism of  church
and steeple, becoming  a refugee from sawdust and faith,
believing being an exile will open his eyes to the truth.

He had returned from his long sojourn in the East
after seeing and experiencing the freedom of the world,
determined to posses this tract, once green space,the mountain beyond— to surrender it all, to the truth he  knew.

The canvas submitted to his violence.  The brushes
knew again, the small wars between mind and nature.
The hunger, the hunger, the hunger of eternal creation
that rises from the wanderlust in every artist and poet.

He did not listen to their prayers for mercy.
He wailed in his starvation “Come! Come!”
The shades of town, mountain, flower, deer, came.
And, as he must, he destroyed and devoured it all.

#nightfall #creation #destruction #imagination

Saman Badam Jan 5

In Poet’s Eyes

Do you discern the boot-prints in the sands,
Or castles constructed by ant-sized hands?
Are vermilion clouds from the sun's last ray,
Or crimson cotton from the dying day?

Are bent and broken stalks just trampled grass,
Or stooped elders waiting wisdom to pass?
Is the rustling just wind weaving through leaves,
Or unseen choirs crooning myriad hymns?

Are waves just battering the sandy shore,
Or armies, drawn by tales of monstrous lore?
Are those just flying dandelion seeds,
Or children fleeing to claim new house deeds?

Is lightning, just nature playing its part,
Or is it merely heaven's misfired dart?
Are missing parts just phases of the moon,
Or was it stolen by some thief in noon?

Let your Imagination run wild.

#imagination