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Metaphor Daughter Poems | Metaphor Poems About Daughter

These Metaphor Daughter poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Daughter. These are the best examples of Metaphor Daughter 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

Details | Free verse | |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Elegy | |



Many times, I saw my spirit.
Many times, I felt my soul.
In life, I lived courageous.
Now it is time for me to journey home.

If you cry, that is fine.
If you laugh, that is better than a cry.
Rejoice in my life and shout praise.

For I am 
Therefore, I shall be
In peace, I leave this world.
To my love ones, I am with the Lord.

Sure happy to have lived
Not sad that my time has come
The benevolence of the spiritual realm is a breeze from a waterfall.

The Lord is my keeper.
He called me home.
No more sadness let us all rejoice.

Ms. Carrie Mae Sexton is now reunited with Jehovah God Lord.  A woman of statue... 
A woman of worth... All that knew her will truly miss her.

Never a life lost but one done with the world and because she walked a virtuous path, her life is shown.  The Lord knows best and we must know the same.   Our mother sojourns and in peace, she lays.

[“Be assured that just as an hour is only part of a day so life on Earth is only part of eternity.” C.L. Allen]

User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Grief and Bereavement

-Contest Enter: Space & Time - Metaphorically written... Eternity is space and time...  February 2014

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Quatrain | |

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
this flower bed,
is just for you.

Among the stone,
and in the mud,
a flower shone,
a beautiful bud.

It grew so tall,
proud and strong,
it learned all,
right and wrong.

Giving it water,
and warm sun,
your only daughter,
learned about fun.

Mommy come see,
look what I did,
now I can be,
a grownup kid.

This flower bed,
is just for you,
with roses, red,
and violets, blue.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | I do not know? | |

'Little bird, what troubles thee'

Little bird, what ails thee
      is it the bread in your belly
little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the bread of misery

is it the bitterness in your heart, 
     or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive 
is it the cancer of bitter love, 
     or the loss of deserved affection 
is it the cruel withdrawal of 
     his tenderness and compassion 

life is much too brief
      and youthful love's even briefer still,
your forestalled relief 
      keeps you from seeing His eternal will

what befalls you 
      is neither unshared nor a mystery
God sheds tears for you
      in the midst of your painful agony

little bird, what ails thee
      is it the bread in your belly
little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the bane of misery

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen

Details | Sonnet | |

The Broken Girl-not me

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see? 
I am broken as can be. 
My heart is torn. 
My tears stain these perfect floors.  
Why are singing with glee? 
Why do you not care about my every plea? 
I am trapped in your arms. 
I am the hopeless moth. 
How did you pick me? 
What is it that you see? 
A girl untouched by life? 
A flower blooming in the desert? 
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.  
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily

Details | Free verse | |

Her Final Words

"No." She whispered before drowning into her sorrows.
Her life had been a simple happy one. 
There were no pains and no troubles.
Life was life and people were people.
Life was simple.
and life was all about tomorrows.
Life didn't know about sorrows.
Her sorrows.
Those same sorrows that she drowned in never existed. 
They were never there, but where?
First to be sad in the naive town of joy.
Sorrow became contagious and what was known as happiness no longer was there.
It was non-exististent. 
A meager thought 
and a blessed memory.
She tried and tried.
She failed and failed.
Life was no longer hers.
For Pain was her only possession.
Her curse.
She lived and she died.
Yet, her legacy was passed on.
Never was it gone.
"No." She whispered before drowning in her sorrows, 
"Save them."

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily

Details | Romanticism | |

Save Me From Myself

Save Me From Myself

I was tangled inside your words to the point I knew once I tried to escape I’d be broken.
Could you have eve imagine how damaged I was once I escaped it was more then what I could have bare. Soon I became deranged and trapped inside myself not able to feel not even your ray of light could pull me from the darkness I had formed to shield myself.
Be proud are you not? This was all your doing and now I must live on knowing that I am no longer sane, yet yearning for you with every breathe I take. Who will be my knight in shining armor for it were never you, or shall I be forced to save myself from myself? Once trap in tangled of  lies ad deception  escaping just to find out everything that had happen was all my own fault. Should I be saved or should I be left to kill myself slowly.
It more then enough poison in the world to destroy my body, but not the broken soul which now know no safety. Don’t bring me back to this world for I wish to be saved. So I shall wander through time ad space until I am at peace. Save me my knight from what’s eating me, hurting me, killing me to the point I’m unrecognizable. Save me for I am selfish, destroyed, conceited, and without a purpose. Who shall be my knight in shining armor? I’ll be waiting for you, save me from the darkness that I call myself.

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes

Details | Free verse | |

Winter Winds

Winter winds blow all around. 
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps. 
All of this should never stop. 
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound. 
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today. 
You should see the angels pray. 
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want. 
But time has changed, yes so have children… 
Santa seems as if a villain. 
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying. 
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.” 
But that’s the product we provided. 
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for. 
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here. 
He gets ready to take it all back…. 
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away. 
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day? 
He turns around, not time for war. 
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect. 
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic. 
She just wanted one small thing… 
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day. 
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair. 
She’s so weak, and all alone. 
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways. 
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”. 
So she has lights to see. 
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea. 
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree. 
She needs a new heart extra bad. 
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad. 
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent, 
He’s saving Christmas today. 
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying. 
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life. 
He waits for her to wake up. 
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.” 
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land. 
Christmas is still a special day. 
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful. 
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.

Copyright © Deanna Schaub

Details | Free verse | |


The phone call went badly, again -
the old arguments about ego & neglect
and how you didn’t love me, not really.
And the weeping.
At 50, she was still stuck,
repeating the same accusations.
“The damage, the damage you caused.”
She didn’t want her mother to think
she’d come through it unscathed.
Not ever. She’d worked too hard to
become something she wasn’t,
someone must be to blame.
She was so clever, so clean, so intelligent -
how could she be so unhappy?
The unformed artist weighed down
by someone else’s baggage.
When her artist/mother said:
You have to work with it, use it, create with it,
she howled: “Stop talking over me.”
It was like saying get rid of yourself.
Knowing herself that well,
she hardly knew what she was.

Copyright © Billy Marshall Stoneking

Details | Verse | |

Watching Homer Struggle

Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may thereafter live with minor pain

and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional

while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)

anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones and groins
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter

alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)

forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (on Huck Finn's raft)

where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).

We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot

and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.

What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.

Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.

We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)

and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents

(when) (once) (soon)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Free verse | |

The Sire's Journey

Off to mountains he climbs
Whilst staying in his mind.
Off to battles he goes 
Defeating many foes.

The nature of his quest
Unruly as it may be,
Sings noiselessly in the air.
It cries and screams,
Yet pride smirks on his face.
It wriggles and squeals,
Yet his begotten one he will not yield.

His words speak kindly to it,
Soft like the wind,
Yet harsh they become
Like leaves rushing through the mountains’ wrath,
To those who may bring it harm.

Invisible string links them no matter the distance,
And at the beckoning call it grows taller than trees,
And has become stronger than the foundation of the earth.

Off to mountains it climbs
Whilst staying in its mind.
Off to battles it goes
Defeating many foes.

Copyright © Lauren Johnson

Details | Free verse | |

An Agent of Life

My names symbolize and mean victorious.
I am a soldier of a higher power.
I am one that is here on a direct mission:
To defend the defenseless.
I am a sword.
The sword strikes those who attack the weak.
So that the attackers feel the wrath given to me,
And understand that I treat them as they treat others.
So that the weak know,
They are never alone in this fight.
I am a shield.
The shield defends and respects.
It respects that all are human,
I am wisdom.
I step back and watch the skirmishes of life,
I review them rationally,
So that when I join a battle,
I know, I am on the right side.
There is a higher power.
It inspires me to act.
But It is kinder than I.
It would forgive where I would strike back.
But I will fight anyways,
For it is my duty to fight other battles.
Life is a fight,
But I…
I am a sword.
I am a shield.
I am wisdom.
I am…

Copyright © Lauren Johnson

Details | Blank verse | |



Mindfulness is being in the moment, with the past
A dim memorial and the future ripe anticipation;
Without investment of self in uncertainty and “when I…”,
Just living life in the now.

I read the book of recipes and am drawn 
Into its world of pungency, lost in imagined tastes;
And I linger at this altar of sensual delight,
And am mindful.

A glass of Riesling sits close by, cold, crisp, 
With subtle oiliness hinting at future promise;
Its acidity bites at my tongue as I imagine
Lemons in Greece might do.

Fragrant prose makes my nose twitch, as though some 
Herb, roughly chopped to embrace the warmth of spice,
Is thrown into the bubbling pot to lure the hungry,
And I think of you.

The spell of the moment is broken by your
Presence, uninvited and unwanted but irresistible,
An imagining, without form, that brings emptiness, longing,
The elements of grief.

Why do you do this, Madame, why do you 
Not leave me to be at peace with my present?
Why do you intrude, when you have been silent
This long while?

I want to be with you, or rid of you; 
There is no compromise, I cannot be an acquaintance;
There is no possibility of a hint of love, like
A hint of chilli.

I imagine inside your mind, where I have no 
Place, no presence; I am forgotten, like a withered
Posy, whose scent is as dust and adds nothing
To our pleasure.

And I live in this moment, dissolved in
My emotions, swept up in thinking, and wonder 
When it will end and you no longer disturb
My present.

The ascetic monk reminds me of the impermanence 
Of all things, and the unhealthy possession you have
Of my thoughts and feelings, putting my happiness
at your command.

Miserere mei: soaring notes wash my mind clean, no 
Thoughts or emotions can find space in this reverberant
Cathedral of penitence; transient music that lives forever,
Unlike that pure treble.

I am again mindful and you slip behind the 
Curtain of music, an actor quitting the stage,
Your speech done, the plot carried forward
To its end.

Copyright © Edward Clapham