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Metaphor Work Poems | Metaphor Poems About Work

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

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Details | Verse | |

The Canvas

This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do 
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."

Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream Of a picture whose tone, texture and style Would have made this work worth all the while Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty Of a person who lived his life and did his duty Of a person who lived life the way it should be Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.


Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’


Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13


Details | I do not know? | |

I Don't Care

I Don't Care...


I don't care,
if you're battered black and blue,

I don't care,
just as long as I can drink and screw.



I don't care,
if you've lost your damn job,

I don't care,
you're just a kernel off the cob.



I don't care,
when I see you begging in the street,

I don't care,
I get to suckle on capitalism's raw teat.



I don't care,
about the elderly, the poor, or the weak,

I don't care,
if the earth will be inherited by the meek.



I don't care,
if the climate is warming, I'm so much cooler,

I don't care,
in my penthouse I'm the boss, the only ruler.



I don't care,
for those rolling for scraps in the muck,

I don't care,

I really don't care, cos' I don't give a f**k



inspired by Bob Geldof's "The Great Song of Indifference"


Details | Haiku | |

Teamwork

Teamwork could happen.
Challenge to get ahead now.
Expect some to crash.


Details | Rhyme | |

HANDY MAN

Nail fools when I bang this hammer, construction worker

I use my tool, that's my chick, I love to work her

Ain't putting her on the strip, no prostitution

She's my problem solver, always got a solution

Put haters to sleep, tuck 'em, not in the bed

Love to give head, no sucking, fill the dome with lead

Me and her have intercourse, love to bust

A wonderful relationship, filled with trust

I'm twisted, like an almond, I'm a nut

Loose screws, gonna force me to tighten ya'll up

Crazy, Bang! Now ya' really lost ya' minds

Mess around and squeal, skin you pigs, call that pork-rinds

Demolition, I level fools, leave 'em flatline

Better not slip up, I'll run down on you, like your spine

Haters wanna hate, it's time to segregate

The real from the fake, hope you can relate

Backstabbing fools, smile in your face

That's why I'm handy, the hammer's on my waist

Mess around, make me catch a big case

Gotta' get away, try and make some space

Hopping on planes, to get away from lames

'Bout to change my name, ain't switching my game

Can't trust haters, trying to mess up your life

They're filled with strife, cut 'em off, where's my knife

They done made me mad, go grab my tools

For my craft, time to put work on these fools


Details | Lyric | |

I Can't Say It Without You

I was your never ending composer
We spent many a nights, and many an hour together
But now you’re lost inside
And I can’t find my way, again.

( chorus )
Cause I can’t say it without you		
It hurts to be without the feeling		
Never knowing when it will return		
But I know that you would stay with me	
If you came back, again some day		
But till then I’ll wait till you appear.	

I really miss the way you make me feel
People said we were meant to be together
Why’d you leave me so unexpectedly
I hope you come back soon.

( Chorus )

It’s been two months since I’ve written you
All I’ve got to show is crumpled bits of paper
The passion and creativity is now gone
So come back home so I can work it out.	


Details | Haiku | |

The Boss - Maybe Tomorrow

With the boss pulling and the workers pushing, with the Square Wheels on the wagon and the round wheels in it:

The boss views the path.
Roll forward faster better.
Maybe tomorrow...


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Puzzle Me Not

When I awake to winter skies of gray
And poetry that would defy my mind,
I'm not tempted its phrases to display
In hope some gem of wisdom I might find
For such a task I'm truly disinclined.

Nor do I bother with  careless poet
Who has not pride to edit chosen word.
Neither he nor spell check seems to know it,
Same sound, another spelling is preferred.
The one he's used is just a bit absurd.

To be sure there are poets in our band,
Who turn a phrase in a peculiar way,
Well worth the time it takes to understand,
So richly clever they deserve a stay.
You'll find them in our pages here today.

I love poems with soft and easy flow,
Not writings that assault my intellect.
Spot of wisdom or bit of "in the know"
And a new metaphor just for effect,
Is enough for most readers, I suspect.


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 | Haiku | |

All About the Music: The Infinite Magic of Lyricism

Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.


(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")


Details | Haiku | |

If bosses would listen

With the wagon rolling forward on Square Wheels and a cargo of round rubber tires, the wagon pushers need change.

Are Bosses unaware?
Square Wheels are always thumping.
Listen. Small improvements here.


Details | Bio | |

Why I write

I write because my father died
For there are feelings I no longer can hide

I write to swallow tears when they let me down
To overcome fears that ever caused me fright

I write to forget past plight
So that I can sleep during long winter night
So I can believe I could touch the sky
Even if I’m too short to reach so high

I write to comprehend what I am
To explore what floats in the air
To understand why roses are red
To express my deep affection to Her

I write because I dare
To share joys and sorrows
No matter if they care


Details | Free verse | |

Metaphoric Maze

Metaphoric Maze
 
Still damp from the wash of a waking dream I realize the pain from the past and how much 
its lied
Although not by force I was led to believe in the dimmest of truths thus kept awash in grief 
All of the many things now remade as they truly were splendid things simple hidden treasure
Grasping at the meaning from the other side of the murky metaphor is finally a thing not so 
futile
It has always been worth the while even as the seconds have become long yet timeless years
My epic life a work of art the masters of fate around me still hard at work in bliss and 
contempt 
As I look down on the tableau from where I’ve become the high road, I can see it very 
clearly now
It has never been the easy path filled with twist, turns, danger, and despair but so worth it all
Erected by cause and effect as a monument for later travelers to ponder as they reach for 
the summit  
Yes as feeble as it may seem the wizened ones were so right, the journey is its own reward


Details | Free verse | |

The Sculptor

I feel Him chip away at my flesh.
The vibrations shake to my bones.
Pieces that were once part of me now fall helplessly to the floor.

Every scrape of the chisel,
Every pound of the hammer,
Every piece that is broken from me stings with immense pain.

Why doesn't He stop?
Why is The Sculptor so cruel?
Doesn't He realize that each swing He takes is a nightmare to me?

I would be better off as stone that was never touched,
I would be more content without the suffering that comes apon me,
But I wouldn't be a work of art.

Each chip of the chisel is intended to remove a piece that shouldn't be there.
Each pound of the hammer is meant to force the hideous fragments far from me.
Each move The Sculptor makes, takes me closer to His plan for me.

I must trust, knowing that He never takes off too much.
I must be ready, knowing that He never leaves His work incomplete.
I must be thankful, knowing that I am being made beautiful in His eyes.

The acute pain is only a short part of His plan.
The lasting anguish fades in its own time.
Though heart, and soul, and body all grieve, the permanent state will be that of finished work.

I may not know the reason for each strike,
I may not know the fault with each sundered chunk,
And I may never know.

I know the sting of the chisel now,
I know The Sculptor has a plan,
My part is to trust that He will not work forever ... but that He will be done.


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

Paradise Women

The one for whom literati’s at quiet, 
Mysterious, invisible could only imagine at sight, 
Enchant beauty captivate hundred hearts, 
Naïve glimpse can bewilder this world site, 
 
The best Eden abode where thee dwell, 
Essence with flipped pain might be well, 
Beginning to end, hoped this to befell, 
Cause intruder thoughts can’t be Quell, 
 
The worth of whom is pre-written, 
Won’t thou catch thee, with desultory walk in, 
Endow of her to follow Almighty Will, 
Synoptic praise of  her is not hidden, 
 
Will wed to a paradise women, 
Blue eyes, fluffy cheeks and intact human, 
Of which there be the distinct one, 
Assumed to be with her, not an omen, 
 
Ideate, if she put on silk attire, 
Cosmos world burn to fire, 
Enriched with pure affection and sublime beauty, 
Of before worthless the charm of Hawaii pier.

M. Shahid H. Chouhdry
shahid817@gmail.com


Details | Haiku | |

Square Wheels on the wagon, Round Wheels IN it

The landscape. No blame.
Should have been designed downhill.
Thumping could be fixed.


Details | Rhyme | |

Staged Recovery

The cleansing heat of the midday sun
Warms my soul
The ladder proffered down to escape my hole
I sit, we sit, they sit
The aches take their toll


Details | I do not know? | |

No Fariy Tales Allowed

Pause
Preach
Adapt
Reach
Roar
Wire the letter
Describe
Enter the weather
Feed
Forget
Weed 
Make a script
Dice
Slice 
Describe
Entice
Rotate
Be nice