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Metaphor Baby Poems | Metaphor Poems About Baby

These Metaphor Baby poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Baby. These are the best examples of Metaphor Baby poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Precious Shell

Rose-veined, you opened the heart vein in me
as I crested each white wave of grief.
Nipple-rosy, you suckled sadness like mother milk;

miraculous, whorled in warm salt waters -
small sea-curled shell, rocked by my body's waves.
When sea-voiced songs swirled into the pearled

shell of your ear did you hear
my breeze blown words, wave-whispered?
Small, balled conch of cute, ocean floating

but clam-clamped to the placental shore,
tethered by a soft seaweed sway.
Little love limpet, lodged forever

beneath my heart's carapace -
a memory mollusc
clinging to my dry driftwood days.

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

TAX BABY

Hospitals slave trade
give us the baby’s name
they will not RELEASE the baby
unless we give them the baby’s name
operating on fear
we give them the baby's name
certificate of sale, contract
they own our baby’s name
slavery 
nine digits becomes our baby’s names
zeros  after  zeros
taxing our baby’s names
hospital slave trade
give us the baby’s name
they will not RELEASE the baby
unless we give them the baby’s name
birth certificate of sale
  contract
tax I.D. the baby’s name

Copyright © BLUE33 NailahBaniti | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Child

My child
You are the fresh spring air,
You are the warm sun upon my hair.
You are the cool morning dew,
You are the summer skies so blue.
You are the strong ocean breeze,
You are the gentle falling leaves.
You are the light that brightens the night,
You are the mountains filled with might.
You are the ever so changing snowflakes,
You are all that is good, which God makes.
You are my soul, and every heartbeat,
You are the one who makes me complete.

You are, my child.

Copyright © Kelli Settle | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

MOM OF GAZA OR A BANNED SONNET



An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.


As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.


But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
  

No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!

Copyright © PRITHWISH MUKHERJEE | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

and I will come

…and I will come.
When the first snow falls down/ 
when the fall gives its rights/ 
to the winter/
you know I will come/
for good or for bad/
I’ll board the train/
Passing by / stations/ and countries/
I promised/ and I remember/
You said “there’s no fortuitous meetings/

…and I will come.
When the first snow falls down/
When you’ll lose the trace/
When my firmest snickers/ wipe out/
I will/ I will come…
Unexpectedly/ knowing solely the door/
Just the road / for sure/
Before/ take you I’ll ask/
“are you ready to go?” / 
You are ready/ I know/
All the noise doesn’t matter/
I don’t haste/ will be later/

…I will come.
When it finally turns out/
That November is overthrown by December/
When the first snow falls down/
Will be clear/ that nobody is remembered/ 

And I will come…
Somewhere in chest/ between ribs/
You slashed me/ with thoughts/ 
I can feel it with lips/ crawling under my cloths/
Our world is alive/ our life/ we’re alike/
And I….

I will come.
When the first snow falls down/
When the death is changed into fate/
When the winter gives up/ 
To wait/ for spring/
to stay with shining sun/
I will come.

Copyright © Ilya Emelin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

boungiorno

hello! hey! boungiorno! what is the date?/
this world of dimensions created duality/
no letters/ no words/ are enough to express/
someone like you/ in reality/

i filled all your emptines/ MY still quiet bay/
as Jhon opened world in his Yoko/
you searched perfect princes/ looked for "right him"/
now at only one overman looking/

i swear/ i will hold you/ as much as i can/
would become all the axes/ and outer space/
voice is speared by the screaming wind/
falling down/ flakes to your place/

going crazy just seeing your knees/
don't regret anything/ my Benito/
unbelievable/ perfect/ unbearable/
you whisper/ "la comedia e finita"//

Copyright © Ilya Emelin | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Come on Baby

Hey, come on baby,
lets blow this place;
come with me and lets make love
under the tall oak tree.
Hear the birds sing,
they tweet and tweet,
and the sun bakes our naked bodies,
as ants tickle at our feet;
making love with me,
making love with you,
and nature is watching
as we perform art.

There is a place out there, somewhere,
between Neptune and Cloud 9,
as asteroids collide together
exploding silent bombs in space,
like the love we make, except not so silent,
we go to that place, you make me love you even more,
when we love each other in that place.

There is a place out there, somewhere,
and as we finish and cuddle, smoking cigarettes
and watching the sun set,
we go to that place,
between the walls of Neptune and Jupiter
on the rings of Saturn,
and Pluto just sits there minding it's own business.

There is a place out there, somewhere,
a much better place than here,
let's pack our bags and go.

5/10/14

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Esperar

I love that moment before the storm.
The world goes silent
and dozes and snores.

A prayer summons this bliss to last;
for regular breath,
much unlike the past.

Peace that ends in a series of pours. 
Inevitable.
Thunder snaps the core.

The world's awake and is frantic.
Breath turns to howls.
Rain. Tears. Panic.

Copyright © dani wil | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

In Bed

                                      In Bed

                The central nervous heating system
pumping the womb
					floating free
				in seminal fluid
        sucking on the umblical chord

Curled in the bed 
          		in the Reichian curlicue	                     
          between clean silk sheets   
in the cosy cage
	away from the cold and the sleet’s scorching bone beat
             tumbling only when the flushing revolving door pulsates
         the thunder knocking to come crashing in
    the blood in the mother stream choking in the throttled rush

Who wants to be out
                                in the rain  in the shine 
      worrying about work  about degrees
                         no work   lack of opportunity
    of hurts through  making love
                         warding off pain  shame  and the retributing conscience
        of justifying every action   every little game
    of the mind  
              from our own standpoint
                                                                     by running everybody down
       even those who stand up for us
                                                         brother sister mother father
    backbiting in the sweating bed
                                                      in the haven   imagining triumphs glories rosy utopias
  
Who hates not some one                        
                                                          hates himself
       hates some  body  if not his maker
 at the thought of his plight
					    out the safe mother  oven	
        harrowing hate turning the dynamo of pretence
hypocrisy   basking in blind bigotted bile
         		hate stoking the intense rocket-thrust furnace
   consuming the guts
				   till
   everybody hates everybody
			the most intense force hidden in the pleats of the neuronal strata
		hates the entire world    all humanity
     the strongest human force generated by man		 
 
Who would want to be out
           before time
before we’re called upon to mind others we have put out
   of the womb 
        of the world
             of the safety of the dream bubble bed             
unless   if you call   we can say
                                                    go away   i’m in bed
   or hold on   just a sec
                                     come to bed   
                                                                        bed with me till the morrows never end
               or something like that
                                         and keep the terror of the slinging mind from plunging through the cul    
           de sac

        for yet a while longer                          


April 26, 1997 – Paris
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 1997 ; revised from the cvollection : longhand notes (1999)

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Cosmos Lady

a blossom of a roadside cosmos seems rather sad because colorless,
raises the eyes to find the tomorrow at the moment when wind stops 
and roams, through the rifts the wind cunningly manipulates,
to look back the trying passage

the cosmos lady tall and slender, a lonely and pathetic woman,
“why are you humming berceuse Jocelyne, while rocking 
an empty cradle?  whom do you wait for in this chilling night, 
under the moonbeam scatter the fallen leaves?”

for she is not able to conceive a baby,
plucks a star from the sky beyond the morning glow
the other side of daybreak; she wraps a star in the blanket 
instead of a baby the woman never had, 

and tightly holds it in her bosom pressing her cheek 
against the folded blanket, and walks on the cold morning dews 
for another day yet to come.  nevertheless, each time she takes 
a step forward the west wind hastily returns to retrace

its own footmarks which it has left in a bygone day, 
and compels her reminisce unpleasant memories, 
the memories of whole of bad fruits once the west wind 
has had carried away

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015