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Metaphor Son Poems | Metaphor Poems About Son

These Metaphor Son poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Son. These are the best examples of Metaphor Son 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 | Imagism | |

Something good

The smell of coffee: hot and bitter in the cold winter night 
With the rhythm in the left hand and the rhyme in the right, 
He wrote a poem in his secret pocket,
A wistful star like a speedy rocket
Ready to leave this planet intense blue
In search of other traces of life anew.
He remembered after mother had died,
In the cold touch ,stalagmites and stalactites cried.
Father and son felt a strong taste for sweets.
As in the sunset, the blind boatman meets
With an awkward touch the water`s ring
But generally they needn`t to eat anything
For a while they rested an extraordinary team:
Father insistently (sometimes boring) told him
All his recollections:childhood,war and the rest…
All muscles and teeth pressed hot, like ice on the crest.
The son learnt them by heart, and later
He would retell them to father, even better…
One was on duty to wash the dishes;
The other tried to follow his wishes…

Their only joy was to read and read and read…
One had to cook at home ,and to bake the bread
In a bread factory:He was happy even when he was sad.
He could recognize each bread: All his loafs were bad.
He was like Chaplin in “New Times”.
He was speaking in figures and rhymes.  
He wore a monk beard and father was much more younger.
Looking through the window: grey hunger and anger …

At the weekend, he used to ask his father 
About the favourite meal, but rather
He would find a surprise the next day.
Each day was windy winter and grey…

Father had the same touching answer:”Something good”.
In the strange interference ,water and fire ,one was rude.
Solitude  was their common friend stealing in like a lizard,                                       
But, in the afternoon they played sweeping their courtyard.
They had leaves in autumn and snow in the winter.
The sky was grey without sun, the clouds were bitter.
Father was counting the leaves, in the old horizon
The son was painting the days ,in the cold horizon.


The war with the falling down leaves fighting hard 
With red faces like an inveterate drunkard .
And years after his father met his final hope,
The son would stop in front of  the sweets shop , 
Ready to buy recollections as Christmas tree sweets.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012

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 | Free verse | |

To Mother-Nature

I seek immortality in two days’ life, Preserve me mother-nature,in your greenary. I seek no mutability My destination is not grave, Save me mother-nature, in your lap. I seek peace in your surreal beauty, Permit me mother-nature,to play with your colours. I seek longevity like that old mountains, Entwine me mother-nature,in your essence. I seek no disappearance like that morning dew, Let me flow mother- nature,with that river. I seek joys In your broader chest, Hug me mother-nature,with your strong boughs.
[to my mother and also to beautiful nature ]

Copyright © Kiran Bantawa | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Rising Son

                                   Son of the Sea TrilogyPart2 
                                  The Rising Son/ Dedicated to: The Slauson Village


On hot summer night lovers lay along the beachfront
Caressing each other so gently as the amber coals in the sandpits slowly melt away
The waves rise and tumult with such majestic force and beauty splashing against the shoreline relentlessly
Infinite as time itself and ever constant.
The pulsation of the conga drum permeates every pebble and grain of sand on the beach
The tinkle and the rat-a-tat-tat of empty bottles and discarded tin cans are transformed into precise percussion instruments
The melodic shrills of the magic flute weave it's translucent web encompassing the gritty growls and riffs that emanate from the golden mouth of the improvisational sounding sax...

                                      The Dance Has Begun

Slender black bodies glisten in the soft moonlight...jerking and gyrating in perfect rhythm to the beat of the drum
The sweet aroma of herbs fills the night air and wine flows freely
Emotions are high and love abounds
The music reaches a crescendo and comes to a gradual halt
A long awaited sigh of relief can be heard then solitude follows...
Dawn ushers in the distant light 
Destined to radiate its warmth and shine in the new day of the rising son


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authors website:apluszips.com
 
Thanks and pass it forward!

Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Oil Paintings-3

One Big Cracker

Dear God,
I don't know what to write you
I wrote many lines and then scribbled
I know you like neat and tidy things
I have been sitting by the window since morn 
In my grandma's home
You made her alone, remember?
But I visited her daily after school 
She is lonely and keeps waiting for me
She bakes my favourite cookies and cakes
You gifted her with nice hands and thoughts
Two days ago she brought me over for keeps
I didn't go to school today 
My heart is iron heavy and my legs can't carry it
Do you like to take moms and dads
Only on Friday the thirteenth? *
You also took James mother at the same time
Sara was seen crying, she didn't tell me why
I didn't see her playing with her brother next door
Do you have enough room for so many people? 
Granny, Uncle  Mark held my hand at the funeral
Uncle Richard, Aunt Jane hugged and kissed me
Many many people came to wish them goodbye
Granny is old, she placed a letter on their coffin
The graveyard was full of flowers, candles and tears
Mom and Dad were buried together and 
Granny says she also wants to lie with them
But I don't know where my bed is
I thought you would also burst one big cracker at the cemetery**
So that we could all be together with you
God, when are you going to burst the next cracker?
Love,
Jim


FIRST
Balveen Cheema
November 15, 2015
Contest: Oil Painting-3
Sponsor: Eve Roper


* Paris terror mayhem on November 13, 2015, is no less than any terrorist attack in the world. Innocents die and families suffer.
** A bomb goes off at a funeral in Baghdad.

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015

Details | Monorhyme | |

Life Mistake Were Many In Silence Wrung

Life Mistake Were Many In Silence Wrung

I got married a child and far to young
With no life experience, seasons stung
Charlatan future sticking out its tongue
Pretending life was a concert that swung
Son born full piss and vinegar I clung
Then one day my prince came when my head hung
He sang songs unsung and the chain lock sprung
To feel, think, love, in arms I was among

Life Mistake Were Many In Silence Wrung

6/27/2016

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

SON RISE

open your eyes
sun rise 
‘ye are the sons of God’
we are suns of God
rise every morning
feeling good
being god

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

MORNING STAR

Mason
my son
look what you’ve done 
you and your goodfellas
your Bloomberg's and Rockefellas
Illuminati’s and Scottish Rites
the  LAW  says you’re not right
I’m freeing my sun’
love unchained me
knowledge illuminates me
freeing my son
all heirs of Jacob
time to wake up
take off the foreign clothes
and makeup
freeing my sun
my sun
freeing my son
Mason
freeing myself
Mason

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric | |

Prodigal son

Hello again my heedless sun
I greet your beams in daily fusion
I am like your rejected son
No hope no vision no illusion.

You smiled to me, but I am sad
You ask me, why, I have no answer
I saw you rose you were so red
Your first beam was like shining dancer.

You smile again through lead of skies
You try to wake up sleeping glory,
But there’s no sense in all your tries
I cannot smile to you I’m sorry.

Hello again my heedless sun
I broke my self your constitutions
I am like your Prodigal son
I’ve lost your beams with my illusions.

Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2016