Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Metaphor Tree Poems | Metaphor Poems About Tree

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Ottava rima | |

The Morning Mist

The morning's mists
mix with the
woodland's scent
To fill me with such
wondrous happiness;
I see her wet but
gentle hands are
bent
And reaching out to
touch with
loveliness
The trees, and fills
my heart with
wonderment
At how her fingers
curl with
curiousness
To stroke the ragged
faces of the rocks,
Or run her dewy
fingers through the
phlox. 



{Written by Isaiah
Zerbst for the
poetry contest
"Through the Mist"
on the 20th of
August, 2014.}


Details | Free verse | |

What Is It To Be A Tree

What is it to be a Tree?
Do trees ever mind being so close ...so intertwined ?
Do they ever long for space as I do? 
Do they prefer to be so meshed…branches touching branches
 all the time or do they like me long 
............................................................for autonomy

Do their branches reach for another’s touch? 
….................stretching to find it?
Do they cling and pine when isolated …as we do sometimes?

When a tree falls does another one grieve?
...............................................................

Do they sometimes wish to be free?
To be as free 
as he does....... from me?

Does life always include such serious stuff? 
Or do trees simply shift in the breezes
of superfluous fluff?

Do they ever 
wish 
to find
the sea?
To fly 
to fly?
just 
like me?
What on earth is it like ....to be?
to be a standing…a standing only ...are they lonely? 
beloved tree?
What is it?
to be a tree?



Details | Verse | |

Wildflowers

Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
 
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB


Details | Free verse | |

The Autumn Affect

There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench 
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy 
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home


Details | Ballad | |

Ode to a Cherry Tree

Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view, In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew. Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck, By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck! By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played, Million blossoms wide open one February day. This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels, Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals. From those all around laying dormant in state, Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake. And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash, Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash. But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense, In the short time required for fresh java to dispense. Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass, The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass. Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II! 1) user name: wedge 2) choice of motif: nature


Details | Tanka | |

Natures Umbrella

  


  a weeping willow

    never really shedding tears

      nature's umbrella

        branches trailing to the ground

          green leaves sparkling in the wind


Details | Free verse | |

Snowflakes

a slight breeze and loosely packed snow on yonder branch comes tumbling down in myriads of tiny snowflakes each flake becomes a miracle glistening in the streetlight like a diamond


Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Free verse | |

Tree

Tree,
whose bony fingers
stretched above gloved branches,
you danced in the sunlight,
elegantly bowing
for scampering squirrels
and gifts of birdhouse rings.

Tree,
whose springtime blossoms
scattered petals
for make-believe weddings,
you caught up children
and hugged them tightly
in games of hide and seek.

Tree,
I run my fingers
along your weeping scars
where Earth’s fury tore
your hand from mine.
Splintered memories,
I have less air to breath.


Details | Monorhyme | |

Beckoning Beckoning is The Night

Beckoning … beckoning is the night
In its ice blue grey and snow gold light

Beckoning … beckoning is the night

The swallow has long since whispered away 
the cardinal and so too …blue jay

have strayed but now in the beckoning light
the beckoning …beckoning of the night 

comes the sweeping and keeping 
comes sweeping and keeping 
in the night

The sky is still ….but wild edged with light 
Bluish... high... tight ...grey 
but the branches swirl and deeply breigh  

beckoning…. they are beckoning 
the night into night

Come wild and courageous into fading light
Tis just the beckoning beckoning…. of night

the sky dark blue does and does not ....betray 
the coming… coming of end of day

and still it comes the end of day
with the beckoning ...comes beckoning 

the…beckoning of night
The light is waning and so day’s might 

beckoning as we bridge to night 

the wild things move on stealthy flight 
beckoning beckoning into night

The beckoning beckoning of the light
wild things shudder and take quick flight

The beckoning beckoning of the night 
the wild things move and take to flight

When tomorrow's dawn will cast 

first light!

@Ingrid Showalter Swift


Details | Free verse | |

A Tree

I am a tree
Sitting contently
Atop this hill
Solitaire
Flourishing beautifully
In the springtime
Confident
Turning my foliage
Lush and green
Unbreakable
Until Autumn 
When my leaves drift away
Parting
Surviving the cold winter
Bare and fragile
Delicate
And the cycle continues
Looking out over the world
Wise
Yet childish
Courageous
Yet weak
I am strong
I am a tree


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…. 
WAIT! 
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.


Details | Rhyme | |

track 18

thanks for the tea, heres something about me
nothing beats poetry, sitting underneath a tree
thankin' my family for a strong identity
people watching cause its free, beauty in the scene
has me staring with a cheese, a smile at what i see
possibly a dream,  caught up mentally 
imagining a few things, with this human being
who has the sweetest energy, soulfood like collard greens
all fools falling means I'm really dumber than I seem
being intelligent isn't just from memory
its handling impermanence light and sensibly
and lady I'm feeling your sultry melodies
we'd be crowded if its three, sit and be my company
must be a chemistry major cause the reactions meant to be
the love we can achieve, is safe from any thieves
 hold em from my queen, hearts tucked into my sleeve


Details | I do not know? | |

The Happy Forrest

Whilst I was walking through the country
I came upon the strangest path
It took me to a little Forrest
where all the plants and trees could laugh

At one tree I stopped and sat 
Then asked "What are you laughing at?"
The tree replied with greatest glee
"Because i am a happy tree.."

"The air is clear, 
 The sky is blue,
does that not make you happy too?"
I stopped and thought for just a while
and as I thought I came to smile
Our earth is here to give us pleasure
so all the good things we should treasure.

And as I laughed there, with the trees
upon my face i felt a breeze
Then suddenly it all was gone.
No laughing trees
Not even one.

Written by me aged 13...


Details | Free verse | |

Tree Houses and Trigger Fingers

I wish I could take this noose from my tongue.
It doesn’t seem to work against the honesty of silver anyway. 
I wish I could hang it over the neck of my thoughts and pull it tighter every time they try to choke me with guilt or pessimism.

Well versed in the words it takes to build things up. My lips and sounds paint pictures and build grand cities where the price would be too high but, people would still pay to live there.

Better versed am I in the words that call for demolition. I need not even speak them before, I set all the beauty ablaze and cast those cities to rubble. All the people paying too much can flee or stay but, as the founder and captain I am charged with going down with my ship.

If I could just speak a balance.
Articulate a safe place. 
A perfectly leveled tree house with room for one or two.

Lately though, my words and thoughts shake and stutter. 
Trip over themselves like my hands reaching for a pen or a pill bottle.
At least that bottle is half way full, I guess.

In love with the thought of the very idea.
I see now, with no lenses, softening my harsh reality.
I must once more, try to focus on myself. 
Love myself and prove it. 
Reach for the things I need with conviction and not the unsure hands of a child, I've been sporting so well.

I can find a meadow.
No path required.
I will not rest there, I promise but, I may take in the scenery along the way. 
I need no hand to hold my own in respective appreciation.
I can see the wonder painted even brighter when it burns with a pang of solidarity.

I will work my words,
My tired feet,
My heavy lungs,
My heart with dented armor.
I will train my hands steady.

And this time when I put something in my sights, I won’t have to hesitate before I pull the trigger, painting the walls and ground with my red victory. 

A flower may yet hold promise,
Even in the wrong climate but first, the seed must be planted. Will it bloom?
We are getting ahead of ourselves.

Clear the board and start again.


Details | Free verse | |

Window

In one corner of my room,
That is shaped like a tomb,
There is a window, where I sit
And see my world through it.

I see the rising sun,
I see the melting dew,
I see the blooming flowers,
I see the sky’s changing hues.

Through it
I embrace the fading sun,
I live the joyous rains,
I feel the flowery fragrance,
I walk those lonely ways.

Through it
I float with the summer clouds,
I breathe the winter breeze,
I touch the autumn leaves,
I celebrate the cuckoo’s springtime songs.

Through the window,
I see my world.
Neither the autumn leaves,
Nor the springtime songs;
Neither the winter sunshine,
Nor the summer rains;
Would have been great
Had it not been through my window rails.

Through my window,
I see the world.
In the window, lies the entire bliss;
Beyond the window is only an illusion.

Suyash Saxena