"imagist" poems - Hello Poetry

start set the scene... somewhere enclosed, close and closed like a bed (tight, restricted like, uh, the world all around me, how fitting now it’s political) on a morning and maybe the sun will be rising, or setting−yes−to represent the ethereal dusk of my cognition, Say I’m with someone−don’t identify whom−it’s meant to be a mystery: unfinished, left. it could be you and I’ll search the dictionary for words to make my pseudo-philosophical, imagist, absurdist poem obfuscated, esoteric, tanquam yet favillous; beyond recognition So that it sounds like Dr. Seuss, that is, a Dr. Seuss that knows Althusser, Derrida and the early writings of Flaubert. add some random enjamb- ment. cut out the capitalizationandspacing. start a sentence; end it. Section break Oh, I’ll need more words, you know, to remind my peers of my intellectuality, -out of place words that don’t actually mean anything: Specificity or literati that’s good. Now, to end- bring it to a close in one all-encompassing word: (to be read over-dramatically) pretension.

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Jul 31, 2013

Jul 31, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC

colt

Plans While Writing a Poem My Self-Proclaimed Postmodern Peers Will Appreciate, Like Really, Really Appreciate.

start set the scene... somewhere enclosed, close and closed like a bed (tight, restricted like, uh, the world all around me, how fitting now it’s political) on a morning and maybe the sun will be rising, or setting−yes−to represent the ethereal dusk of my cognition, Say I’m with someone−don’t identify whom−it’s meant to be a mystery: unfinished, left. it could be you and I’ll search the dictionary for words to make my pseudo-philosophical, imagist, absurdist poem obfuscated, esoteric, tanquam yet favillous; beyond recognition So that it sounds like Dr. Seuss, that is, a Dr. Seuss that knows Althusser, Derrida and the early writings of Flaubert. add some random enjamb- ment. cut out the capitalizationandspacing. start a sentence; end it. Section break Oh, I’ll need more words, you know, to remind my peers of my intellectuality, -out of place words that don’t actually mean anything: Specificity or literati that’s good. Now, to end- bring it to a close in one all-encompassing word: (to be read over-dramatically) pretension.

28

Through past/present/future, the Imagist Express still clatters, bending time, space, and everything else that truly matters. The eclectic, mingled aroma of Turkish coffee, French onion soup, and spicy Kung Pao almonds, wafts from the kitchen, stinging the ornamental eyes carved into the lounge car's ceiling. A draft clears the air— squinted eyes become wide-angle lenses; pupils melt like hot candle wax, dripping onto toes that are tapping to the rhythmic beat of iron bones spinning 'round below. Barely—just barely, the passengers feel the engine's migratory yearning as the conductor switches the tracks of thought, so mesmerized they are with their reflections in the windows: pale faces dangling from a moistened, black bough. The strange, intoxicating fruit hangs amongst the smudges of fingerprints, their spirals, bending time, space, and everything else that truly matters.

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Apr 1, 2010

Apr 1, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC

chris-d-aechtner-1

An Ode to Ezra Pound - musical accompinament performed by audio-visual hallucinations.

Through past/present/future, the Imagist Express still clatters, bending time, space, and everything else that truly matters. The eclectic, mingled aroma of Turkish coffee, French onion soup, and spicy Kung Pao almonds, wafts from the kitchen, stinging the ornamental eyes carved into the lounge car's ceiling. A draft clears the air— squinted eyes become wide-angle lenses; pupils melt like hot candle wax, dripping onto toes that are tapping to the rhythmic beat of iron bones spinning 'round below. Barely—just barely, the passengers feel the engine's migratory yearning as the conductor switches the tracks of thought, so mesmerized they are with their reflections in the windows: pale faces dangling from a moistened, black bough. The strange, intoxicating fruit hangs amongst the smudges of fingerprints, their spirals, bending time, space, and everything else that truly matters.

24

there is a door obscura in my mind a black ocean that smears alizarin mist between love and the dissolute i hear a storm of thick whispers a breath calling in free fall my malleable lover plays voodoo poppet carousel of lady buddhas diagramed unholy ***** ***** with scumbag eyeballs contort for eager ruin an ornamental cadaver bejeweled in a lake of tears give me flesh smell my rich **** bouquet of **** the ***** transfixed eyes of flames spread legs wide thigh spillway buttered loving the snag and strangle of a silk tourniquet watch me shunt and glassy stare a glittering doll shimmies blood bauble and flapping tongue torrent of curving jaws clever teeth to tear and lips to be torn a cockeyed brain drowning in illegible consciousness for foot slaves in a sweat and **** magick show body of irresistible horror in descending spirals to love in the grotto of furies imbued with prayers that fill the spaces in her throat martyr of transfiguration she falls as dust falls i depend on her tapestry of shuddering lust in moist air locked behind a blood stained door marked no exit this savage pageant

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Aug 24, 2020

Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC

zebrablack

****** Imagist.... Flesh for the Beast

there is a door obscura in my mind a black ocean that smears alizarin mist between love and the dissolute i hear a storm of thick whispers a breath calling in free fall my malleable lover plays voodoo poppet carousel of lady buddhas diagramed unholy ***** ***** with scumbag eyeballs contort for eager ruin an ornamental cadaver bejeweled in a lake of tears give me flesh smell my rich **** bouquet of **** the ***** transfixed eyes of flames spread legs wide thigh spillway buttered loving the snag and strangle of a silk tourniquet watch me shunt and glassy stare a glittering doll shimmies blood bauble and flapping tongue torrent of curving jaws clever teeth to tear and lips to be torn a cockeyed brain drowning in illegible consciousness for foot slaves in a sweat and **** magick show body of irresistible horror in descending spirals to love in the grotto of furies imbued with prayers that fill the spaces in her throat martyr of transfiguration she falls as dust falls i depend on her tapestry of shuddering lust in moist air locked behind a blood stained door marked no exit this savage pageant

62

O fog, shrouding the busy highways softly muting their resonant roar to distant growls Unfurl your smooth fury, crumple these cars, shatter their frames across and beyond their concrete tracks that separate forests and hills and thicken the air with acrid smells from exhausted horsepowers. Embrace them, O fog, and guide their screeching tires over the embankment roaring hearses unreigned by your moist arms * * * &) Discovered recently among H. D.´s unpublished papers at Yale University Library, malevolent scholars take this poem as proof for the poet´s befogged imagination during some of her post-imagist periods. More englightened critics, though, point to the stunning topicality of H. D.´s mythopoetic mind in its accurate presentation of mankind´s archetypal struggle against nature. There is as yet insufficient biographical evidence that the mature H. D. possibly had a short but intensive attachment to the infant Ralph Nader, who later became head of the U. S. Environmental Protection Agency. – For serious information on the poet, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H.D.

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Jul 27, 2015

Jul 27, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC

wwhoelbling

F O G &)

O fog, shrouding the busy highways softly muting their resonant roar to distant growls Unfurl your smooth fury, crumple these cars, shatter their frames across and beyond their concrete tracks that separate forests and hills and thicken the air with acrid smells from exhausted horsepowers. Embrace them, O fog, and guide their screeching tires over the embankment roaring hearses unreigned by your moist arms * * * &) Discovered recently among H. D.´s unpublished papers at Yale University Library, malevolent scholars take this poem as proof for the poet´s befogged imagination during some of her post-imagist periods. More englightened critics, though, point to the stunning topicality of H. D.´s mythopoetic mind in its accurate presentation of mankind´s archetypal struggle against nature. There is as yet insufficient biographical evidence that the mature H. D. possibly had a short but intensive attachment to the infant Ralph Nader, who later became head of the U. S. Environmental Protection Agency. – For serious information on the poet, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H.D.

22

Be all and good but in ancient wood carving . henceforth hang it if you pretend a new reviving . oh, i know you may not laugh openly . if its not the common alluring of society . its marked already , you will think how they once done it . and your dream is the firmament of dull old hulk conceit . but you , you never whispered all time due a hint . aught ,you will drag along the ramification of what others mint . its not for the cause or how its dread to be dried sapling . nay , your originality of colors its what is faintly retiring . ' Man of Men ' what story do you behold for proof ? cynosure , but the aurora of ancient mound and Petra . i know you will write if you have found the old dream as roof . clockwise , no objection cause wanton will recollect the gloom era . dont talk lest rave , of telling you Achilles slain Hector . but never try to hint a command till you hear your facilitator . put your robe all over your face and let the brand shine as a secret . hereditary , from your dream all thing will gush and no deject . you cant be knave nor a drudge cause you put on the national crow . and set aloud the secret rampant hag , its truly the antique best row . oh , why , the truth ? they know it already so do confine with it . all the commons have learned the universal prejudice as holy lit . comrade you drag up to Gladiator combat then tell us what we expect . evil should it be if you dont know Grecian's myth in all aspect . but clad yourself as symbolist or imagist with Elagabalus or raven . though let your poetry be past Zeus carving in austere glen . but be hell wit it if you think that you doubt about Phocion . but be all and good , metaphysics , symbolism , are holy glorification .

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Jul 29, 2015

Jul 29, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC

adabadji-blessing

Beguiled heart .

Be all and good but in ancient wood carving . henceforth hang it if you pretend a new reviving . oh, i know you may not laugh openly . if its not the common alluring of society . its marked already , you will think how they once done it . and your dream is the firmament of dull old hulk conceit . but you , you never whispered all time due a hint . aught ,you will drag along the ramification of what others mint . its not for the cause or how its dread to be dried sapling . nay , your originality of colors its what is faintly retiring . ' Man of Men ' what story do you behold for proof ? cynosure , but the aurora of ancient mound and Petra . i know you will write if you have found the old dream as roof . clockwise , no objection cause wanton will recollect the gloom era . dont talk lest rave , of telling you Achilles slain Hector . but never try to hint a command till you hear your facilitator . put your robe all over your face and let the brand shine as a secret . hereditary , from your dream all thing will gush and no deject . you cant be knave nor a drudge cause you put on the national crow . and set aloud the secret rampant hag , its truly the antique best row . oh , why , the truth ? they know it already so do confine with it . all the commons have learned the universal prejudice as holy lit . comrade you drag up to Gladiator combat then tell us what we expect . evil should it be if you dont know Grecian's myth in all aspect . but clad yourself as symbolist or imagist with Elagabalus or raven . though let your poetry be past Zeus carving in austere glen . but be hell wit it if you think that you doubt about Phocion . but be all and good , metaphysics , symbolism , are holy glorification .

28

Voidward, Sindark, starknell, Seraphim Wow! Weird words woven in each other Neither librarian nor dictionary can help To figure them out, you have to ask him All against Imagist instructions - Where is common language? – Poem needs to alter its definitions! Will intellect select help? Can we get out of the vague cage? Look! One of the words shaken Burden of ambiguity, taken Scorpions shout: send me an angel! Calm down singer! I said Look the last word, it’s indeed an angel! Coming down from heaven with a mantel red No one can’t help watching, even dead This is Seraphim! Don’t hesitate to ask him! Said player of Being wearing ****** red But I extremely fear of him It may be a devil in disguise Like a child I take refuge in ***** of my mom, kim Although it’s against what done by all other guys

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Nov 14, 2020

Nov 14, 2020 at 11:40 AM UTC

ms-newhadney

Seraphim

Voidward, Sindark, starknell, Seraphim Wow! Weird words woven in each other Neither librarian nor dictionary can help To figure them out, you have to ask him All against Imagist instructions - Where is common language? – Poem needs to alter its definitions! Will intellect select help? Can we get out of the vague cage? Look! One of the words shaken Burden of ambiguity, taken Scorpions shout: send me an angel! Calm down singer! I said Look the last word, it’s indeed an angel! Coming down from heaven with a mantel red No one can’t help watching, even dead This is Seraphim! Don’t hesitate to ask him! Said player of Being wearing ****** red But I extremely fear of him It may be a devil in disguise Like a child I take refuge in ***** of my mom, kim Although it’s against what done by all other guys

22

an astounding sounding guitar in its fall against a plump porcelain pig brings thumps from three goldfish squirming on newspaper about to be dumped into a bowl of fresh water and faux flora by the maid in a cute yellow taffeta cap and strawberry red shoes lifted on toes at splash

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Aug 7, 2016

Aug 7, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC

ronald-jones

MORNING DOWNSTAIRS-An Imagist Poem

an astounding sounding guitar in its fall against a plump porcelain pig brings thumps from three goldfish squirming on newspaper about to be dumped into a bowl of fresh water and faux flora by the maid in a cute yellow taffeta cap and strawberry red shoes lifted on toes at splash

12

From my window the night is framed, The stars thrown between the black. Darkness turning through after-rain, Grass that defends its green. A moon dyed with henna Falls behind the tree-line. Frost cold as your hand; O pull me down to the stones !

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Sep 15, 2018

Sep 15, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC

leslie-philibert

Three Imagist Poems

From my window the night is framed, The stars thrown between the black. Darkness turning through after-rain, Grass that defends its green. A moon dyed with henna Falls behind the tree-line. Frost cold as your hand; O pull me down to the stones !

8