"visualisation" poems
As potential grew, a desire to write, disclosed to few
Imagination immerse, but yet to thirst for knowledge, accrued ambition address
All aboard the express, thoughts of Harry, a plot to marry
From fanciful flights to greater heights
Capturing such visualisation, twas the formation
Characterisation, of wings to soar, with metaphor
From Dumbledore, yet taking shape
Professor Snape, assume the plot, lest thoughts forgot
A forest to roam, a philosophical stone
Such creative flair of which to share
Joining of the dotted line, artistic mind
Transporting train, journeyed acclaim
Of whom to impede, the will to succeed
The ability to write, the capacity to teach, the desire to reach
An impetus for change, a literary role, a priority
Of which to seek with tenacity
Beyond horizons, beyond confines, stand undefined
Awe-inspire, great readership, a due reply
To simplify, a noble shift, outstanding writer in the midst
Dynamic plot from pen to page, persistence through to published stage
A realised dream, challenge overcome
A victory won definably, stocked supplies to library
Broomstick flight phenomenon, a mystical tale was to become
Would generate, the bus of Knight, to render right
A rebuilt life, a legacy made
From chosen craft to final draft, a world of creativity
The right to type, to innovate, an intriguing wait
A shining star that would liberate
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
Fend off our victimisation
Our celestial visualisation
Help to keep the harmful at bay
Tell us how love will find a way
In times of ruinous meandering
When our cognitive strengths are weak
As baneful people take to slandering
I will be there just seek
I'm where you alone will find me
When my troubled times will grind me
I will seek my comfort in you
There is nothing we cannot do
The jealous, vicious, ugly hate
That others land at our door
The pain in their lives must be great
To think they can destroy our core
Life takes over it beats you down
But your accomplishments renown
The person you are in my eyes
As through the ashes you will rise
We stand, as always, together
As one potent heart forever
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
the world was a scary place and sometimes i felt like i couldn't quite breathe. the invisible walls of the outside world would close and i wouldn't feel like i belonged anywhere.
but then i met you. well, not physically, which makes me giggle because it's amazing how one person, one person out of a thousand could suddenly mean the world to you.
like to me, the concept of loving somebody was hard because i know myself that i get bored of people easily and i mean that in the nicest way possible.
it scared me, the fact i mean, that i could fall in love yet get bored of the sweet personality i once swooned over.
but it doesn't feel that way with you. you've opened up a new space. a new visualisation in my mind, one that doesn't scare me to the point where my minds plays silly games.
when we talk, i get those butterflies in my stomach and when you're gone, i miss you. your voice is like a present when you've been gone for so long.
how i wish you understood how much i adore you.
(a.t)
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
My problem with meditation
is not a lack of focus
my problem with meditation
is not a lack of visualisation
My problem with meditation
is not an inability to control breathing
My problem with meditation is rather
that the one focus I have
the only images I get
are of bodies, of heat, of heavy breathing
because I cannot close my eyes
without envisioning us.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
How do I think of thee? Let me count the ways.
I think of thee with a smile for our memories are sweet.
Your red hair, your attitude such a confusing maze,
And your goofy smile, can almost make my heart miss a beat.
I think of thee with laughter as it glistens in my eyes,
While I listen to your jokes full of brevity and wit.
Butterflies form in my stomach, I can’t lie,
Then they flew away after you said three words to such a misfit.
I think of thee as tears are streaking down my pale coloured cheeks,
Seeing you hurt in the memory that I just remembered.
But this visualisation is now an antique,
Yet I feel guilty for I did not give the help that needed to be rendered.
I think of thee like a chapter or even a book itself,
Not ever wanting to put you back onto your shelf.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing
No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding
No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…
A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft
A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe
Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend
I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step
Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend
Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding
The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 1:28 AM UTC
Thirsty for tasty spicy
Tardy latter days of visualisation
yearning of our souls, albeit impecunious
longing incessantly to own a *** of tarmasalata
Norms beheaded, of course we ain't the wretched son of a pauper
plastic spoon turns silver, someday the table will turn
we will own pakora and samosa
with a tantalising subtle lemony taste
oh-oh-one our language
But soon, we'll throw a birthday party
with hamburger patty
Rays on our green pasture
The sun will smile, moon will grin
Then, our murmur will transmute into voices
Quenched! our thirst for tasty spicy.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 10:39 AM UTC
We all have that one person who broke us more than we'd admit but sometimes they break us for all the right reasons but in the wrong way.
Our basic human nature is to love and be loved but our basic human defence is to avoid pain.
We fear love in the torment of pain but we embrace it in the gentle calligraphic visualisation that we call love.
We create a contradiction within the balance of our soul causing us to love the hate of love and we create a perfect imbalance within us and our results are no more than complete and utter self destruction.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
magic what?
squares?
sudoku, i mean,
isn't even remotely related
to kabbalistic "magic":
the sort of bum-note
intellectualism in trying
to tune a violin...
2 9 4
the easiest argument from
the qu'ran readers is the common
joke about Moses
taking the distraught path
into the desert for 40 years...
therefore i think the zigzag works...
7 5 3
6 1 8
hell, i'm in the immediate
state of conjuring Belial with
no. 9916 of the times
sudoku puzzle box!
i'll figure it out...
but on the frontline of attempting
to give a ****
about the seven "mystical" seals?
that sort of **** gonna give
you the lament of Solomon
for seeing too much and then...
a harem for a parkbench
scenario as an afterthought?
i honestly think i masturbated
every chance i had when
in the pitiful relationships i was in...
O(micron) falls short of
the idea of sudoku,
hence the equation...
a crude 6... or 9...
depends whether you want
to do cosine or sine inconveninece
of a twirl, abyss...
and ziggy-ziggy...
"crude" 6
visualisation, beginning with
dissecting omicron,
ending in eastern european
symbol for multiplication (⋅)...
which, in orientating one's
optics with a sudoku,
becames a #,
get the picture?
they teach the algebra variant
of "x" in catholic schools
for the term: multiplication...
scarred, for the rest,
of my ******* life!
now... back to no. 9916.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC