"visualise" poems
Picture yours, put it out
to your kaleidoscope.
Like the day at the full-blown noon
or the night on the cheek of the moon
a flame burning on the underlying dark
a dawn switches on the first light
a sun comes out of the night.
Visualise your latent one
put it on before your mirror!
Princely give the eyeballs a designer treat.
Paint your masterpiece at the day’s peep.
Hook the browsers at their first click.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
Wait before you start thinking,
You should wait and complete this reading,
Can it not be a tool for worshiping?
Inspiring idols of deities like Durgā,
You feel so cared for by their motherliness,
Can you otherwise visualise an imaginary God?
Teachings from the idols of Saraswati,
You get connected to a Goddess's wisdom,
Where else you'd rather gain blessings from?
Wealth from the idols of Lakshmi,
You gain financial security & confidence,
Or is imagining a formless promoter God easy?
Cutest idols of deities like Gaņeshã,
You will love a naughty deity Bãl Krshņã,
Why should you not use idols for worshiping?
Mature idols of deities like Šiva,
You would feel them bestowing their calm,
Should it not be fun visualising them?
Statues are made with dedicated love,
They all invite such respectful admiration,
How would you ever feel the hatred?
I am aware that none of these idols is God,
Neither stones nor pictures can be Gods.
But what bad is a peaceful polytheism?
Do not please be jealous of their art,
And do not hate idol worshipers.
Feel confident and so peaceful,
Try worshiping stone idols.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
A paintbrush on fire
it isn't yet done.
Paints in broad daylights
in cool cloudy darks
often relaxes down the line
when the rain pours down
and the flute is on play
it isn't yet done.
The sea at the clement eve
strives to splash over
this rainbow-kissed brush
the moon will thaw the billow
with moonlight
before the waking
sleeping beauty's eyes
and the night will pour over it,
it's full bowl eternally pitch black
only to see lighting up
zillions of stars
on the paintbrush
it isn't yet done!
Apparently that looks only kohl
the night eyes in within a colour
eternally weighed down
out of sight mass hues
looking to visualise a scoop
paints yet one more first light.
Full of colours the paintbrush
it isn’t yet done!
Aug 17, 2022
Aug 17, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
If love is pain and pain is pleasure,
Then these bruises she shall use as,
your affection measure.
To visualise love,
To feel your feelings,
To sense it as her wounds are healing.
Seeing, hearing,
Following Your scent,
To know just what it represents.
She’ll take the leap,
relinquish control
As further she delves down your rabbit hole.
Enjoy the journey
but were’s the destination?
Your marks, your love? The correlation?!!
Some want to hurt,
some want to bleed.
To watch the inner anguish freed.
A world, a life,
A religious order?
His canes the relics to to this mental disorder.
See external pain,
is internal anaesthetic,
His marks she believes to be truly stigmatic.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
#9 | 31 Poems for August
I can never visualise God without the pulchritude that is you.
Nothing compares to the love that you give out to the world.
No matter the train of thought, it all leads to you.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink holds us together.
As I write, these words become intertwined in the veins of loving hearts.
In the rain of your presence, my words always form a rainbow.
Forever overflowing, God’s love will never run out on you.
Confidence, happiness and love look absolutely good on you.
With such pulchritude, who wouldn’t believe in God?
This is for the women who taught me how to embrace God’s love.
Ever since that day, my demons questioned the value of their existence.
This is for the women who don’t seek the world’s acceptance and validation.
This is for the women of a different status, 31 to be exact.
This is for the women who know the true value of trust, the ones that always have each other’s backs.
To the women who are phenomenal in every single way.
To the women who eat, live, breed, give and sweat love; this is dedicated to you.
This is written for you, and to all the women who are still trying to find themselves this is for you too.
Every woman is phenomenal in every single way.
Every woman should have poetry written about her.
Every woman with a soul like a library deserves a chance to fall in love with a world that loves reading books.
Every woman is God’s resplendent work of art.
Every woman is beautiful.
“There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.” - Steve Maraboli
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Pathological neurotic co-dependency,
Rhymes with toilet brush gastroendoscopy,
I visualise that toilet brush,
Shoved down his throat thrush,
Or up his male ****
Not even an excuse for a man,
Bullies don't get, says my nan,
Way too early to be awake,
Way too early to cook him steak,
What does he think he's going to eat?
That toilet brush he'll meet and greet,
Pathological neurotic co-dependency,
Rhymes with toilet brush gastroendoscopy,
All budget friendly and medicine free,
(Guess who swallowed the dictionary!!!!)
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
*Claw beneath your ribs
Hold down wild you
Just for a little while
Feel the anguished flutter
Begging these gruff hands . . .*
1.
Fear takes commotive hold
Makes wooden legs
Delayed dance…..so delayed
Causing silent attendance of synchrony
No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone
Will meantime practise wing-span
iron out brittle energy
attempt to fortify links
..
2.
Careless snubs to fragile sapling
Did absolutely nothing
To the course set out
Only hypocrites squander even half-truths
and wallow in obsequious words
rendering paralysis and decay
I will continue to claw beneath your ribs
Covert trove awaits us
In the tormented form of
Crashing waves on a broken coast
Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching
3.
Loss is not wasted
unseen by its absence:
evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes
I challenge you to visualise our melting:
perched on fate’s right shoulder
re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token
summoned by that primordial, blue light
..
*the sun may well baulk and melt
at the ruddy sight of
such intense clawing beneath your ribs
(like your customary digging into my bristling blades)
To find my foetal place
within the calling drumbeats
of imperative you . . .*
S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Bounced
a mother figure
to two, a name
on a Christmas card
to four
when I realised
I was still a
child
and bitterness
wasn't an
option
I grew up
like a broken
nose
out of joint
Bounced
at the service
there are tears
beside me
I imagine a
body burning
and feel
warm
the lick of flames
on gray skin
my indifference
grows like I
imagine the
fire roaring
behind the curtain
heating up
Bounced
the house is
empty and
smells
unusual
like something has
been left in there
too long
they are not
there now but
it lingers
I tried to take
her dresses but
she was thinner
as a girl than
I am now
jealously
is a feeling
I'm familiar with
and it's easier
to understand
Bounced
we are waiting
for a buyer
and I imagine
how it feels
to have a piece
of your heart
trapped in bricks
and mortar
Bounced
one time,
I wanted to ask her
how it felt to
take notes of
the war
if she'd ever thought
of waving a white
flag and crumbling
drowning in the
rubble rain of
The Blitz
I wanted to hear
her say something
human
so I could
visualise and
see a bit of
her in myself
Bounced
I'm still caught up
on the autopsy
like a piece of
fatty tissue on
a scalapal
and my thoughts
are metal and
cold
the number of
zeroes on a
cheque
Bounced
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
I have them in my mind, a place for me to use and abuse,
when alone and where no one can see.
I visualise what I need, those lovely ladies recorded
in thoughts used by me.
My neighbour she's as hot as could be,
but after to many usesshe has become a bore.
What once went hard with a thought,
now my cheese stick slumps not content,
new **** bank material is needed so on goes the TV
O ye this is good, weather girls low cut tops
in the bank they go for use later for me.
But I need that girl to light the meat, to get me well hard,
so I see one woman in the bank ready for me.
I test drive her not as good as could be,
so I swap parts saved in the file, now perfect for lonely fun.
The thought of her **** and me.
All men and woman are nearly the same,
they have a **** bank for those times when lonely.
Be it butts,legs, ******* or meat hanging or the
slit between the legs.
We all have that special some one that is with
us when are fingers and palms get happy...
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
The knot,
Perplexed at its simple complex elegance,
tying two loose ends,
The weaves and tensions that holds together,
unifying bonds yet as far as they can be.
A knot is all around, those who knot and those who not.
I was not.
I didn't know how to knot.
Strings all around tangle but rarely knot,
the simple geometry without angles nor shape,
the beauty when a knot takes place,
a consistent loop they make
nothing spectacular for a circus but interest took pace.
trial and error, the two ends are brought closer and closer,
they pass and meet, the excitement and anticipation of the feat,
to what will the knot take place; fascinating,
dream or visualise but know not the form this knot takes.
The strings tangle and tangle,
the string beginning to take the form of a loop,
success is always a thought and a want,
but sometimes is what we seldom get
sliding past and they untangle with such pace as to realise,
the strings flew part.
This interest this passion for a knot,
as a fire burns its brightest the more fuel it use;
if the fuel is not enough, this fire quickly tears away at its sustenance,
leaving only a hollow hulk,empty.
An ember that is burnt and unkindled.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:25 AM UTC
Bugs are crawling all over my hands; yet they're the kind only I can feel and see -
the germs I visualise as cockroaches covering everything around me.
A 3rd change of clothes in 5 hours to protect myself against their power to bring me harm,
my umpteenth hand wash trying to get rid of them; my brain turbulent with alarm.
My head is noisy; full of chaotic sadness and voices,
peculiar images and blurry characters are all I can see - not by choice.
I cannot sleep or think let alone live,
waiting for The End; I went mad with the battle so determinative.
Sitting on the shower floor
with the water raining down on me more and more.
A map of water induced wrinkles trace my skin as if by disguise,
with a river I cannot stop running from my eyes;
intoxicated with madness, these voices I need to **** -
so with a bottle of ***** I wash down a pretty little pill.
Tonight I lay with just my teddy to hold dear; loneliness creeping in - no doubt,
feeling like a child who just wants to be loved and cared about,
wishing to be protected from the monsters inside my head
as I bury myself under my covers and cry myself to sleep in bed.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
Crystallised syllables.
Words fall from harsh tainted lips,
like a syllable of crystallised black,
Caressed at the touch of fingertips,
encouragement seems to lack.
A heart of steel encased within,
the shattered depicted glass,
I pray that you forgive my sin,
End this forever song fast.
Your life is plainly satisfactory,
demeaning in all you do,
waterfalls of crimson refractory
broken, diminished, by you.
Wicked and nocturnal eyes,
return your weary gaze,
reflections hard to visualise,
incentives gone for days.
Leave emotion to drown itself,
in this scarlet river abyss,
place your feelings on the shelf,
and give me one last kiss…
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
The finesse of the grand piano captures a certain acceptance of historical bereavement and resonating relief. The paradox of the saxophone is like the stillness of a winter morning where the deer stares into the steamy eyes of humanity with traumatic gaze.
Now, something has just occurred, my connected soul-mate of universal relativity. We have dominant chords and major scales, and we aren’t even puppets or fish.
Visualise the wheat as it sways in the gentle breeze, whilst the rusty pick-up truck races down the gravel roads of Southern enticement.
My porch creaks as the chair of astral projection casually rocks her sincerity back and forth in epistemological fornications.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
Dear Me,
I Hope this reaches you in time,
Fifty years down the line,
I am not yet you but you are still me.
Is the future worth it?
Or is the world still where we left it?
Ambitions still bound, waiting to be set free?
Does India still cry out in pain?
Do her daughters still lie *****
Is it the present unchanged?
Does violence still define our religions?
Worship places still soaked with the blood of the pious?
Is the present still the future unchanged?
I hope you don't regret me,
I promise I'll help You grow,
This is the generation I will change,
Lets lead this nation to heaven above!
I will strive today so that,
The poor, homeless and hungry,
Don't rot and die on every street, in every city.
Strive so that corruption is forgotten,
No penny is ever ill-gotten,
To lead this nation, into unity.
Let us stand as one,
The present and future,
India, Pledge today to shape the future right,
Just we visualise its glorious light.
Sincerely,
You.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
Whenever thinking on you, it is fair to say,
Daydreams race, they pulse, and they thrive,
For I am thinking on you, every single day,
My soul singing, soaring, feeling truly alive.
Sometimes, I visualise us hugging; kissing,
Rocking you in my arms, holding you tight,
I shed no tears for the things I am missing,
Comforted by cuddles, deep into the night.
Imagining you, gives me enormous pleasure,
Sensing how love has flourished, and grown,
You might always be, unobtainable treasure,
My constant companion, I am never alone.
Sweet dreams my Muse, love endures, tis true,
I have hope, within hope, I always have you.
Copyright with Paul M Chafer
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Corrupted by the polution we visualise through our television screans.
Acting out sin as life because of the stage of immorality this world is in.
Exchanging love for lust because of the confusion soap dramas and movies bring.
Having unlawful urges convincing us to sin cause of the ****** they are said to bring.
Unknowingly chasing hell because it is hidden by short skirts and alcohol, the pleasures we indulge in.
Dieing every day.
Sining cause we know no other way.
Truelly all man have gone astray.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 11:59 PM UTC
Insecurities are usually masked by specific external characteristics.
Looking back, I can visualise dead wasps as they floated in water-filled jam jars on the foundations of the Campsie Fells.
Please, will you save all your kisses for me amidst this mass observation of our voyeuristic society?
I give thanks for the blood that pumps through your veins. Can I explore your labyrinth within these flittering and electric shadows of death?
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Can you imagine it?
I can imagine only an illusion
Can you picture it?
I can picture only an elusive dream
Can you visualise it?
I can visualise only a false hope
Can you?
I can only dream
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Poetess, rare in contemporary usage
yet, not rare in actuality.
Am I a poet? Or a poetess?
The word "poetry" derives from the Latin feminine noun poetria, meaning not "poetry" but "poetess.
So, confusion reigns in my mind as to what I am
but not what I do, or why I do it.
Do I write because I want recognition? Fame? Accolades? No.
Do I write because I need to? Yes.
Words soothe my soul, whether they be dark words or
words forged in the light.
Poetry allows the poet and the reader to visualise
nay experience all forms of love, hurt, pain, madness,
and suffering, the poet, the poem and the reader become as one.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
I’m so aroused
By the love of yours.
The love which makes me elated
Every single day I witness you.
I’ve kept you in my heart,
Incessantly.
I visualise you in my dreams
As if I’ve endured every bit of it.
No matter how distant or adjacent
You’re to me.
I’ll always be the one
Loving you insanely and unconditionally.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
Fantasies can be futile, but fun,
Better than fixations for some,
Fantasies are great for everyone,
When company at your side there's none,
Let's fantasise,
And visualise---
Impossible dreams my brain ran,
All over some intangible man,
Must believe in the invisible,
So not really credible,
But better than fixations for some,
Fantasies can be futile, but fun.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
If seeing is believing
then I guess you will be leaving
every emotion, every feeling
that you were receiving
behind.
For every person you have ever loved or even hated
you once shoved or even dated
was just a lie
as love and hate are just emotions
a state of being
a set of notions
that don't involve seeing.
A blind man doesn't need his eyes
to see the truth
on them he does not rely
he just needs the proof
as through his minds eye he can realise
because his minds eyes are his real eyes.
For he does not see the wind
but feels his coat being pinned
to his very skin
and can't visualise electricity
but with his real eyes he does see
that the power it generates
is real to he.
Now even though we can't see God
doesn't make him a concept of mans mind
dreamt up by all mankind
all you have to do is read
his very word through the bible
then you too will believe
and be liable to see.
The truth from fiction
the reality from prediction
for every past conviction
isn't a contradiction
as some would have you believe
because they only use their eyes to see.
Now even though you're reading this with your eyes
you're now slowly starting to realise
that believing comes from the mind and being wise
for the eyes are just deceiving
and seeing isn't believing.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
As the night creeps
Your essence have overpowered me
Time and time, the canal overflows
I'll hold your chimes and claim your trophies
As I doze you infuse my mind
I promise that if you are a drum
From the empty crevices of my soul
I would beat and amplify our tunes and times
As the days strokes and fly away
I feel my eyes shut and your shadow slithers
I visualise the sweetness of your flavoured love
A horizon of endlessness from my head to toe
As you draw 6 I trace the 5
I find myself in a cage without boundaries
Drifting on the honeyed stew of our fullness
I'll always love you in a way I will never understand
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC