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Metaphor Tribute Poems | Metaphor Poems About Tribute

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them


Details | Rhyme | |

A Rose with no Thorn

A Rose with No Thorn

In the Garden, the bouquet of life
There bloomed a rose whose beauty caught my eye
Incomparable is this rose’s design
Unlike the others, she is not the prickling kind

I know they say that every rose has its thorn
But here blooms the exception, of the spirit she is born
One of a kind, the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn

Oh what a fragrance, so lovely and fair
A scent of sincerity sweeps through the air
A pristine beauty from the realms up above
For she is the flower primeval of love

And as I bask in her blossoms of compassion
I find I am fashioned by love that’s everlasting
And in my heart she’ll always be adorned
For she is a rose with no thorn

Though weeds, thorns and thistles have tried to choke her
The rain has wet her; the sun has even scorched her
But she’ll not wither, neither will she wilt
For she is rooted in the love that God has tilled

Amidst great turmoil, never to be foiled
Arrayed in glory that could never ever toil
One of a kind, yes the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn



Copyright2008 by Kenneth J Thompson


Details | Alliteration | |

When Truth Came A Calling

There's A knock on my door,
 I ask "who is there". ?
Standing there are five faces. . 
They answer" IN UNISON "Truth"
I ask" Why the disguise"...?
It is I,"Truth" they all refrain.
 
How will I know which one of
you is to cross my threshold,
Let us all in and you will
figure it out in the end.
"No" I shouted I will never-
I will dismiss the one in
front he is much too "Clever".
 
Now there are four. Who shall I leave
to come through my door.
The next one began to explain,
every reason he should entrance gain,
a very convincing argument, I exclaimed,
"Go away you are nothing but" Rhetoric";
Everyone knows that the truth is Plain.
 
Now standing there in
front of my door left three,
The next one to speak
was beautiful, and very sexy...
"let me in, and I will prove I am truth.
You knew my mother her name was Ruth".
 
No! -You cannot lure me with sex
I read the story of your mother
and interpreted well.
If you do not leave my
door I will surely get vexed.
 
Now that I sent all but two away,
It was easier to tell ,
Who was left to welcome in..
Which of these two should enter my abode?
I had to ponder as to What truth really meant.
Was it something to be applied like a first aid kit.?
 
Is it true, that the truth is
sometimes ugly, and always plain?
Will the truth set you free after the pain.  
Hmm...
I pondered some more and let them both in.
 
One was life and one was death-
One was yen and one was yang.  
Truth number one started to speak, He said:
"No" The truth is not always in plain sight
Sometimes you have to search for it !
 
And:"Yes", The truth
can be ugly at times,
but you were right;
Real truth never wears a disguise. 
Some truth is Imagined and
real truth's are universal
 
Depends on the mindset of the
thinker. What he perceives to be real-
has had many rehearsals;
As his thoughts have been trained -
as to what he see's, knows and feels.
 
The truth is not convoluted,
nor contrived,and 
you will always KNOW
more than you think you do;
When the truth arrives.
 
When you enjoy the lies, 
and the rhetoric,
It's because the lies 
you believe, benefit you, 
Though PREJUDICE eyes
can barely RECOGNIZE
the TRUTH again ever.

And so you will remain 
as a BIAS SLAVE,
To the self seeking lies forever.
 
We are truth,they lamented-
We are the wide and the narrow 
THE good,THE bad,
The HAPPY, The SAD-
LIFE AND THE DEATH.
THE YEN AND THE YANG.
 
WE DO NOT CHANGE- ACCORDING TO
WHAT YOU BELIEVE-WE ARE A CONSTANT- 
AND WE ARE also CHANGE.
 
There was a knock on my door--
Someone had come,
disguised as one of truth's
predictions. 
Somehow he has come
to blame the innocent victims.
 
I prayed for my secret 
eye to be opened,
and my judgement 
to be discerning.

Because the truth, 
as it seems, I am learning.
Is subject to Interpretation.
 
And before "Truth" 
left my home, I was told.  
Man cannot reason out, that
which he does not understand-

If he thinks he understands the proof
but calls upon no spirit to discern -
He alone, is unable to interpret the truth


Details | Ode | |

Ode to a Twin




There is little difference between us.
It is as if Narcissus gazed again
to catch a glimpse of us for just a moment;
ourselves as echoes

Products of a common seed, divided.
Tiny ripples reflecting back at me.
Is this the way Narcissus felt, forever
gazing in a pool?

Living portrait of whom I see as me.
A perfect duplicate in flesh and blood
Where I end you start, and seem to be
 my echo and ripple.

Suzanne Delaney

Sapphic Ode.
For Skat's Ode Contest


Details | Free verse | |

The Storm

And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain 
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body 
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions 
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence 
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth 
I stand among the reeds in the basin 
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back 
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away 
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground 
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own 
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home


Details | Lyric | |

Coming From Where I'm From

Coming from where I’m from
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears


Coming from where I’m from
Every day is a battle to survive 
War is in session 
Right before our eyes

Each day we battle lessons
Just to be in the running for blessings
Coming from where I’m from
We move rapidly on missions

The dead is alive with every walk of the lifeless 
Limited income withholds wealth
The living is near death
Spirits are stripped of guilt

Coming from where I’m from
Deprived wealth
Creates bad health 
In occurrence to this 
Good feelings are killed


The worst gets exposed 
As times get worse
Financial situations become a disaster
No man on earth can rehearse
 
The world is broken
Hunger brings harm
Coming from where I’m from
Dictatorship is not fond

The environment brings the need to shoot
These activities loosens the roots
We’re grounded by values as thin as a pin
We lose ourselves at falling rates like bowling pens

No free passes
Prisons filled in masses
Separated by classes
Coming from where I’m from.



Details | Clerihew | |

Not, yet

I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.


Details | I do not know? | |

Tomorrow is Ours



Tomorrow is Ours.


Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear,
asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear,

the festering wounds of enslavement still remain,
juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain,

spewing out neo-liberal economic charades,
doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids,

but,

tomorrow shall be ours,

casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle,
no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal,

tomorrow shall be ours,

we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces,
we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces,

of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows,

we are here, now, alive with hope,


we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.





Details | Ode | |

Ode: to Loveliness

Loveliness that's deep and that's rare
     is like a rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
     lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
     letting all the sky breathe and mesh.

Its loveliness is hard to find
     unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its tint and with its rind
     it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
     my nose takes in its lovely scent.

Its beauty transcends its locus,
     imbuing the eyes of my soul 
with romantic, ideal focus
     that makes the heart and the mind whole:
without it the world seems callous
     and grace would not be in control.



















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 | Quatrain | |

A Labor Of Love


I look you up and look you over, 
better days have left you far behind, 
you're older, but to me you're still appealing, 
yet you draw comments that are less than kind. 

You're neglected, not consulted, 
when an answer is required, 
hidden now behind the others, 
avoided, disregarded, mired. 

I massage your spine with oil and friction, 
restoring your luster to cherish and keep, 
remembering when you were readily handled, 
sought after, popular, top of the heap. 

I'm so busy these days with my key restorations, 
I scarcely have time, and I don't have a say, 
so you'll have to wait for my deft ministrations, 
a labor of love, postponed for a quieter day. 


Details | Ode | |

Ode: to the Nymph

SHE floats in grace, like one in love
     with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic sprites above
     unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
     with the notes of a singing thrush.

With golden locks, as light as air,
     and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
     to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
     come to her for her balmy dew.

As cloud and rain Nymph and a muse
     with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
     or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
then let all Creatures freely choose
     to honor her without constraint.


1.) Ngoc Nguyen; 2.) Nature motif; 3.) for "Impress me II ! ( Old/New )" Contest















Details | Free verse | |

This City Inspires Me

The Chicago skyline.
You symbolize home.
You are me and I am you.

There you are Sears Tower!
Just like you I will stand tall and strong
Even through life's toughest winds,
I might sway back and forth,
But to the ground which I was built on, 
I'll remain.
Even when people try to change my name, 
I'll just reply "Watchya talkin bout Willis?!" 
Yeah, you'll always be Sears to me.
And I'll always be Joe to you. 

Thank You Chicago.

I promise I will get as fast as 
The trains and planes that transport your people
And when I get caught up in life's traffic,
I promise to keep my cool and my destination in mind.
I promise to get as strong as your culture is.
I promise to always be filled with as much vigor as 
Your raging college students are.
I promise to stay as passionate as
The struggling musicians that serenade your "L" subways are.
I promise I will work as hard as 
Your workers that are just trying to pay their bills do.
I promise I'll always stay as hungry 
As the poor that beg on your streets are.

And I promise I'll make you proud of me.
For I am proud of you!
Chicago, don't you know? 
You will always put the "O" in Joe.



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.


Details | Lyric | |

My Dear Friend

my dear friend
my friend is always open to listen
always open to hear
my friend has always been there for me
my friend is always near
from as far as I can remember
in my childish years 
my friend has always been clear
my friend has showed me which way to turn
many lessons from my friend I have learned.

my friend is one like no other
always honest & true
my friend will never lie
for my friend is none other than you.
the pen i hold in my hand
the paper sitting on my nightstand
the paints and paintbrushes 
tell stories of who I am
they speak as no one can
the words in my poetry 
are but an image 
of my secret reality.


Details | Free verse | |

Black Ink

My black pen.
The way you flow,
And tell my tale.
You spill my thoughts,
And always prevail.
My soul bleeds out,
Through your black ink..
Everytime that my thoughts,
Had started to sink.
You let me drain my pain out,
In smooth cursive letters..
And I smile,
As your black ink, stains..
My newly purchased,
Lined white paper.
You relieve me,
As you leave a trail of my angst.
Thank you black pen..
For being my strength.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


Details | Free verse | |

My Comfortable Chair

Like my special comfortable chair
I'm reassured your always there
when I need you.

Providing a comfortable cushion
against harsh ravishes and rigors
of life.

My sanctuary
my my love
my heart and soul
my wife
my life.



Peter Dome.copyright.2013.July.


Details | Lyric | |

Bicycle Beds

Written February 26, 2013


Its all this new slang
Got them banging their heads
Against their bicycle beds
And the foolhardy pledge 
To ride tricycles instead

We are the kings and queens
Of the wonderful yard
Of the street corner dancers
And panhandling bards

A generation will rise
So duck and cover your eyes
We're building up through the night
No need to put up a fight

Godspeed to those approaching death
They won't get to see
What we've got coming next
You'll faint from holding your breath

This cold case is closed
No need to stay in repose
To dwell on precious regrets
That are laced with vellocet


Details | Romanticism | |

Prime Mover

Like the seraphs whose wings unfold,
Christ's light and glory goes not untold;
as the love of his humble grace
moves inside me all time and space,

as the planets orbit heaven's sun
and encircle it one by one--
so, too, am I caught in his sway,
beloved of him from day to day.

Through hosts of astral dimension
God's angels fix their attention
with expectancy and burning pause
amidst the universe's First Cause.

He, the one true Incarnation  
that begets cosmic causation,
resolves the Infinite Regress
from the pre-Socratics' egress

with his omniscient wisdom
and the archives of his kingdom
where all can come and read and know
what miracles he'll yet bestow.


Details | Free verse | |

My Metaphysical Monument To JAH


(1 Kings 8: 27)



I Would Build  YOU  Seven Pillars
Made of Pearls of Such Dimension- Prized
I Would Build  YOU  Ten Giant Columns
Made of Pure Crystals Up To The Skies

And On That Holy Edifice
of 400 Cubits Elevated To Size
I Would Build  YOU  A Thunder-Temple
A Thousand Stories High

This Would Be My Metaphysical Monument To  JAH ...

And Inside The Thunder-Temple
I Would Build A Lightning-Fire
It Would Burn A Flame of Love So Hot & Bright
That Lasts Forever & Never Die

I Would Place  YOUR Name  On A Pedestal Throne
of Precious Gems - No One Could Pry
Of Such Height & Depth & Length 
& Everlasting Arms Wide 

This Is My Metaphysical Monument To JAH ...

O' My Rock of Ages  ... Because  YOU  Are My Strength
& My Fondest & Most Fervent of Ties
I Would Construct This On A Mountain Top
That Stands Up Past A Million Miles

It Would Touch The Moon In Reflection
And The Stars Would Be Inspired
and Eclipse Every Man-Made Structure
& Orbit  In  YOUR  Eyes

This Is My Metaphysical Monument To  JAH ...

I Would Fill The Air With Perfumed Prayer
Celestial, Sparkled-Incense Would Rise
I Would Fill The Space With Music
& Exalt  HALLELUJAH  In Chimes!

I Would Bow Down In YOUR Beauteous Presence
In The Aisles & Among All Tribes
& Exult In The Awesome  Atmosphere
of YOUR Essence So Wise

... In My Metaphysical Monument To  JAH ...

I Would Fill It With  All  YOUR  Worshipers
& All  YOUR  Wonders  & Praise  Realized
& We'd Sing My Metaphysical Monument
In Paradise ...   To  JAH !

This Is My Metaphysical Monument                
And Yes, This Vision Is Heaven-Sent      
Spirit-Height & Depth & Width & Length          
In My Whole-Soul, Solar-Sacrament            

&  My Devotion's Endless Measurements      
Built From A Bonafide & Blessed Blueprint        
Constructed Thru Carpenter's Consent           
& With The Master-Worker's Instruments         

It Will Tower-Up In Testament !                
So All Will Know - Everywhere I Went               
It's  The Metaphysical Monument                  
My HalleluJah - Horizon-Event!                       

... My Metaphysical Monument  ... To  JAH
 

              Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/27/2013 
                        by:  MoonBee Canady


Details | Rhyme | |

The Bourgeois and the Spinning Wheel

In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams

Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay

The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways 
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire 
She presses her finger on the thorn 
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede


Details | Free verse | |

Moon

Might I ask about what the moon means to you?
It means the world revolves in a transcending path with a satellite.
Why does the moon shine in the midnight sky?
It shines because it is a guide between the world of the dead and the living.

So does the moon fill the air with hope?
The moon itself is hope for people.
Why does the moon pull us in with such soul searching?
It is because we feel that the moon is part of our every day life.

Children who asks these questions; I have strive to tell them some truth,
And for the adults out there I created a little Moon lite poem to sooth.

So the moon is our light in the darkest hour of the night
With romance in the air that is so bright
We all hold hands once in a moonlit walk
And with such passion we would talk
The moon gives us our pull on each others heart
With a dinner that we take part
The ritual of wooing ones heart is a great feeling of love
The moon is always there to shine right above
In time we think we are blinded by the moon 
But to tell you the truth it reflects the sun light during midnight noon
It gives out a warmth in the darkness
We probably do not think of it less
Because the moon is our memories of our past 
It shows it everyday and night and always last

April 13, 2013


Details | I do not know? | |

Your Whisper

You whispered in my ear,
a breathy secret, hushed.

“I love you”, you murmured.

I said nothing,
lost, in your arms,
I found a home. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
I said nothing,
lost in my thoughts,
I found peace. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
words failed me then.

They still do.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Cat

Glowing eyes invade the darkness of the night.
A majestic hunter with prey in it's sights.
Slowly moving through the grass, as slient as an empty glass.
A creature with a sullen expression, embraking upon a hunting session.
It srikes from the shadows of the night; giving the prey little change of escape or fight.
 
A body full of warming fur and makes the sound of a meow or pur.
Pointy ears, thin legs and sharp claws; extending out from padded paws.
This cretaure wears a sumptuous looking coat always shiney and clean; walking with graceful posture like that of a ballroom scene.
 
It's younger form more playful and small, but soon will grow just as cunning and tall.
Masquerading as innocent family pets and balls of fur; hiding the true heart of a loin waiting to roar.
 Some choose to live with families in thier home; well others  like the nomadic people enjoy to roam.
Hedonistic in nature like Lord Henry from the story of Dorian grey, the cat hate's having it's pleasurable lifestyle taken away.
Roaming around night and day...... this creature of beauty is always on the hunt;  for it's next prey....


Details | I do not know? | |

Passion in D-Major

Passion in D-Major


Feeling, the sensuous brush-
strokes on a canvas,

swirling,

to a symphonic crescendo,

of our shared heartbeats,

fading between the notes,

feeling your soft body entwined 
with mine,

your form bathed in my infinite 
kisses,

our orchestral desire rising,

conducting a shared fusing of 
passion,

... the music echoing ...

over the precipice,

on the brink of dazzling rainbow 
hues,

lost in the void,
of an eternal instant,

plunging through the depths of 
rhyme,

pleading,
forever pleading,

for a prolonged,

bouquet of shared time.


Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

MLK...
(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


they shot you down
all those years ago

but

your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

so
your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
that
we shall overcome
someday...


(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)


Details | I do not know? | |

For Primo Levi

For Primo Levi

it darkened more
as light shone through
and the haunting past stabbed

you felt
wept
screamed
as
silently the blind were led
'thieves' you called them
emerging from nowhere
yet everywhere
'thieves' you called them
no one
yet everyone
you felt
wept
screamed
till
finally

you left


Details | Free verse | |

The Metaphysical Monument

(Deu. 32: 4 / Rom. 11: 33 / 1 Cor. 2: 10 / Ps. 104: 24 /1 Kings 8: 27)


Nature  -- Is Just  The Noble Hands of GOD
Setting Our Reality's Ruler & Cosmic Rod

Existence  -- Is Just His Massive-Energy
Radiating, Invigorating & Acting Wondrously

Creation -- Is GOD's Canvass-Splendor
It's His Image In The Greatest Artistry Mirror

The Universe  -- Is GOD's Deep Ocean Space
Where His Marvelous Mysteries - We're Allowed To Chase
& The Universe Is GOD's Cosmos-Credential Briefcase
& His Valise-Vessel Carrying Each Planetary-Vase

Heaven  -- His Domain: A Holy, Golden City of Purest Glass
Where Angels and Kings and His Son's Light Basks

Eternity -- Is GOD's Dynamic Door
and Those Who Are Nice - He'll Let Enter & Explore

The Wind  -- Is GOD's  Fearless Feet - It Soars When He Steps
& Time  -- Is Something Only GOD Knows Where It Goes & Where Kept

& Time  -- Is GOD's Constant Record -That Has Never Lept
Yes, Time, Is GOD's Eyelids - Which Have Never Slept

Life  -- Is GOD's Property, His Possession - That He Leases Out
& If Humans Look In Their Hope Chest - There Would Be No Doubt

Love  -- GOD Is Love - So Love Is Loyalty & Mercy-Fair
Love Is Grace & Kindness & Honor & Goodness Is Always There
Love Is The Highest Emotion & Purest Passion That Shows GOD Cares
&  Joy  -- Is The Journey of Each Living Moment That GOD Shares

Peace  -- Is The Products of GOD's Purpose &Ways & Promises
Hope & Faith  -- Is Always and Ever GOD's Dewdrop Audiences

Wisdom  -- Is GOD's Keen-Mind: Genius-Designer & Intellect-Architect
Beauty  --  Is GOD's Look & Lightning Sight & Views All-Seeing Perfect

Truth  --  Is GOD's Voice, His Words, Written Passages & His Whispers 
&  Rain Showers, Cyclones, Thunder, Ocean Waves & Mountain-Echo-Fixtures
GOD's Sounds, Abounds & Are Poetic Sayings To His Listeners
&  We Hear GOD's Truth In Many Audible, Sonic Mixtures

Trust  -- Is A Line To GOD That Stretches To Infinity
That Trust  -- Is A Cord That Stretches With Complete Integrity

Judgement  -- Is GOD's Balance, Like Night & Day - Light & Dark
GOD Keeps Law & Order & Obedience - Like He Keeps Eden's Park

Power  --  Is The Traces of Glory - GOD Leaves In His Path
Forces -- So Explosive Awesome! - &We Haven't Seen Close To Half

Holy Spirit -- Is GOD's Touch & Breath & Moves All of These
& This Is My Metaphysical Monument To GOD's Image & Breeze


O' Who Could Not Love A GOD So Good
& If You Really Think About It - You Know You Should


Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/27/2013 
by:  MoonBee Canady


Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
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
unyielding


Details | Free verse | |

Zoe

She  was there, but just passing by, 
never mind what it is said, 
nor what it seems, 
if she we're a gypsy but she's not.

Maybe a woman of mysteries and stunning 
qualities that delight the eye, but
yet a dwelling tree wont even blink, 
nor drop a leaf for her.

She's beautiful as a flying
myth of some fairytale princes with no prince to chose. 
Beautiful and charming, but a bleak vissage look that 
question her truth. 

She's a walking venture to men kind, 
but again she's a lament soul, 
a lonely heart with meekness eyes, 
with a glamorous voice, 
and enchanted moves.
 
Her hair so black that blinds the eye, 
she was there passing you by, 
you were there blinded by her charms,
her name was Zoe; a beautiful life.

Copyright©ElenaToledo2011


Details | I do not know? | |

For Joni Mitchell

for joni mitchell...

wistful strands slipping by

of grounded dreams

that i once believed would fly...

strewn around this emptiness

where once there soared,
dreams, not of riches

but of simple happiness...

'both sides now' you sang,
from within

and from a feeling of being without

you moved me so, i cried, i laughed

i wanted to run into the falling rain and shout...

'its life's illusions that i recall' your voice soared and dipped and with life breathed

as every one of those words you sang

tore into me, as my very core seethed...

not with bitterness or loss or with feelings even vaguely sad

your words seethed and burned through me

igniting memories of this life i've shared...

with those who aren't illusions

of those who've embraced me

each time i've slipped and taken yet another fall...

for like you...

'i really don't know life at all'


Details | I do not know? | |

Ludwig and Vincent

Ludwig & Vincent...


‘They said that you were mad, Vincent’, whispered Ludwig to a silent Vincent.


‘I still am, quite insane’, replied Vincent, ‘but you, dear Ludwig, you were deaf, and mad, I hear’.


‘I listened with my soul, Vincent, I heard it all without hearing a sound. Yes, mad and deaf indeed I too, still am’, Ludwig said, smiling at Vincent.


‘just look at them now’, Vincent replied, smiling with Ludwig, ‘look at them now, as they hawk sunflowers, blissfully oblivious of exquisite starry nights’.


‘yes’, smiled Ludwig, ‘look at them now, they crave joy, yet they cannot hear an ode, dear Vincent, they cannot hear it! They do not care enough to hear’.


‘Yes, dear Ludwig’, Vincent sighed, ‘they do not care enough to hear’.


Ludwig and Vincent smiled, each tugging an ear.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

YOUR Signature Part 1 of 2


" YOUR  Signature  ... "

( Genesis 1: 1  /  Rev. 4: 11 )


YOUR  Signature ...
Scrolls On Each Wave of The Sea
As It Starts To Signal
With The Smallest, Written-Water-Ripple
YOUR Beautifully, Bold-Signed Name ...
Is In Each Crystal, Droplet Initial ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Reflects, Embossed Upon All Skies
Floating In Bright Cloud-Notes
and Brilliantly Arc'd Written-Rainbows
And In The Sun's Flourish-Omega-Flares
... YOUR  Radiant Calligraphy - - Glows ...

And YOUR  Signature ...
Has Atop Each Imprinted 'I' Or 'J' As Symbols
... A Capital, Comet-Dashed-Star
In The Consonant-Cosmos - - Rows & Rows
and In Each 'O' In Orbits & Global-Rings
...  YOUR  Silver-Lined, Signature Shows ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Is Written In Autumn Leaves and Winds
and Cyclone Summer Seasons
and The Softest, Articulate, Evening Breeze
and Inscribed In A Snowflake's Misty-Breath
& Each Author-Rised, Airful - -  We Breathe ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Is Written With Moonbeam-Pens
... Upon A Book of Life, It Is Plume-Penned ...
& YOUR  Pencil - Draws Golden, Treasure Maps
Upon All of Earth & World of Men
As Signed Images of  YOUR  Autographs ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Sometimes As A Title of Position & Authority
... Powerfully Appears ...
And YOUR  Signature Bears YOUR Glory-Fame
of GOD, LORD, Almighty, King, Father and  Love
All As: Character & Crests of  JEHOVAH's  Name ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Is On The Edges of Eons and Eternity
... It Cannot Be Erased
... Will Never Fade -- Nor Ever Brushed Over
When It Is Written - - It Is Written ...
and Authenticated - - As Owner ...

YOUR  Signature ...
Carved The Majestic Grand Canyon Gorge
... It Cannot Be Matched Nor Forged
YOUR  Signature Covers Now & What The Future Expects
It Is:  Its Own Distinct Style and Collateral Dialect
YOUR  Signature Signs All Wealth & Royalty's Checks ...

YOUR  Signature ...
... On Covenants; Contracts - - In or Outside Our Margins
... Is Written, Stamped and Sealed ...
Waxed In Vowels, In Cursive-Cure-Ink, That Bled
Signed On Dotted Lines of Horizons & Our Hopes ...
YOUR  Signature - - Is What We've Read ...

( Part One of Two)


       Written & Copyrighted © :  5/8/2014 
                    by:  MoonBee Canady



Details | I do not know? | |

We Shall Always be Many More

We Shall Always be Many More
(For the dispossessed of this world)
 
we shall always be many more
we who roast in your designer factories
our brows dripping with our salty sweat
we who may forgive but shall never forget
 
we shall always be many more
we who reek of cheap moonshine
we who stagger and often stumble
we whose stomachs never cease to rumble
 
we shall always be many more
we who polish your fine bone china
we whose pay gets docked if one cup is chipped
we who fight your wars, and off to battle get shipped
 
we shall always be many more
we who clean up after your pretty children
we whose kids are hungry, naked and get swept
into the bowels of desolation, as mothers’ tears are wept
 
we shall always be many more
we who do your dirty work each day
we who you treat like vermin, foul and rotten
we whose trampled dignity is always forgotten
 
we shall always be many more
we who will rise up and seize the light of hope
and reclaim what is ours for our daughters and sons
though we will always be in the cross-hairs of your guns
 
we shall always be many more
and there shall be many more of us still to come
to rid you of your smug arrogance and endless greed
for we too have children whom we have to feed
 
we shall always be many more
‘and the meek shall inherit the earth’
or something like that though we no longer care
for we shall rise up one day to demand our rightful share
 
we shall always be many more...


(With thanks to Ken Loach’s movie ‘Land & Freedom’)