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Metaphor Write Poems | Metaphor Poems About Write

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?


Details | I do not know? | |

Wrestling Verses


Wrestling Verses


Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,

fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,

remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.


Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,

scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.


My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,

your skin,
your bare back my canvas,

my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.


Wrestling verses,

lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,

still,

my fingers tickle your soft skin,

my ink would run dry,

were it not for your gentle touch


Details | Verse | |

Letters On My Arm

you won’t listen to me, so i write to you on my arms. 
this one says i needed you and you weren’t there. 
this one says i’m bleeding but you don’t care. 
i wrote you this one out of despair, 
seemed like you always had to be at some other somewhere,
and it hurts, because it’s me you’re dismissin’, 
with no time to listen, just need your attention, 
it’s your touch i’m missin’, look me in my eye,
i know you see my letters, so why don’t i get a reply?
i guess it’s worth it just to try, 
to get you to notice me just one more time, 
write you just one last line, 
but i’m runnin’ out of time ‘cause i’m runnin’ out of ink, 
needin’ more time to think, 
but i don’t have it, so i sign my last letter and address it to you,
i hope this one gets through


Details | Rhyme | |

On Writing a Poem

I wish I could write a poem perfectly
But, alas, the process escapes me;
Instead, I write what I think, see or hear
And, sometimes, my real feelings appear

If I could write a poem e’er so sweetly
I’d share it with the world completely
Perhaps, ‘tis best for someone to find it
After I‘m gone – then, a surprise behind it!

Oh! To be like the poets of yesteryear
“Golden daffodils” in “crowds” brought cheer;
Or as in, “From cocoon forth a butterfly”—
Flutter among those flowers would I

“The woods are dark, lovely and deep,” he wrote—
Mysterious beauty in the quote;
So, I’ll write with elegant simplicity
Lacking the format complexity

My thoughts shall flow in meters and rhyme
Until comes that metaphor in time
When a perfect poem I shall pen in ink—
At least, that will be what someone thinks!
                         -E. Pearl Anderson



			Quotes:    William Wordsworth, Daffodils, 1804
			Emily Dickinson, Art II Nature, VII, 1924
			Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, 1921


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!


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 | Free verse | |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt
10/3/2013


Details | Free verse | |

My Hiding Place

I hide here and there,
In a place that snares,
Sometimes full of my blares,
Full of ensnared traps...

I hide here and there,
In a place with many affairs,
Where my enemies are bare,
Where I can make them flee and hare...

I hide here and there,
In a place that only friendship knows,
A place located in the air,
A place below on earth,
Where no plow can cut its soil...

I hide here and there,
In a place with vast plains,
A place with deep and misty forests,
A place with an unreachable sky,
A place where flowers might bloom...

I hide here and there,
In a place where I can hide in my cloak,
A place where I breathe silently,
A place where I contemplate nature,
Where humidity longly persists,
In a place where I scream and no one listens...

I hide and there,
In a place where unwanted can get afflicted,
A place of bright darkness,
A place of dark lights,
Where nothing owns me...

I hide here and there,
In a place where my biggest wishes are spared,
A place where blood won't be splashed,
A place where tears might be shed,
A place where time and space are fair,
A place with some mare surfaces,
Where fear might be gone...

In a place where all sins might be forgiven,
A place where my instinct is tamed,
A place where my mind is thoughtful but reserved,
A place where my heart is controlled,
The place where my deepest secrets are held,
The place where I am the seer,
The place where my soul will forever reign,
The place I can call a hiding place...


Details | Lyric | |

Lacerated Wings

They are bound to the Earth like trees
Suffocating under the weight of an icy grave 
Reaching to be free, but only their limbs are seen
Hoping that one day someone will see:
They can't escape with lacerated wings

The ocean surrounds me, covering everything
Nothing will be clearly seen; confusion overwhelming
No-one can save you, you're on your own, left to die
Manipulating every bleeding heart you can find
I can't escape with lacerated wings.

Swarms of nets, waves of screams 
Entangle: your captive illusions and dreams
The mask has be seared - The truth now they see
The Liar - Vampiric Fiend; lowly thief
And now they know you can't escape with Lacerated Wings

There's reasons for your rejections:
Your Heavy heart's transferred oppression
The scars are too deep to pass the trials
But you can find peace in your cage of empty spirals
You Cannot Escape With Lacerated Wings


Details | Free verse | |

Three Inch Cliches

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the 
NO
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after 
The virgin vernacular 
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?


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 | Sijo | |

Sky Is As Black As Ink

The sky is black as ink, storms brewing sitting in the dark.
Hypnotizing effect, my eyelids closing in a trance like state.
A candle I did light, glowing, penning ink into words.



For Rick Parise's Sijo Contest


Details | Epic | |

Simply being

Simply being
Nothing more than 
Than it is gone out of hand
No winds to flow to grow in land
Given bright stars in darkness

Nothing more than  
Light years rose hope
Back flush riddles in game
Only hope once to face to face

As seen bleeding in tears


Details | Rhyme royal | |

Fading Colors

It's hard not to look back at the things that happened in my past,
but it's the past, they passed on, kept runnin' now they're gone and I seem to forget that.
I try too hard to keep my head low, my skin out of this blazing sun,
but no matter how hard I try, not a day goes by I don't wanna get up and run.

So I sit still as the time stops and the world around me begins to fade in,
a black darkness where I don't want anything but for this world around me to end,
but it keeps on going, and keeps on slowing, 'till I'm to slow to defend.
All these kicks, from left and right, 'till I'm on the ground cause of my opponent

And I'm dazing, my mind erasing, any counter attack and I give up,
I understand that he's got me beat, but I can't seem to get out of this slump.

In my mind, I feel untied, I feel crossed, and I feel denied.
And from somewhere inside, I feel the ignition spark, and I ignite.

I have the immense weight of the world, that you dropped on my cold shoulders,
I rather be six feet deep under the ground, I don't want a tombstone, give me a boulder,
It's like every day in this ice cold world, I feel like it's only getting colder,
carrying this weight on my back, as the fiery depths of Hell smoulder.

But everyday I, feel like I'm a little bit closer to breaking out of this shell,
I write a little bit more, 'till I develop carpel tunnel syndrome then I exhale.

My colors are fading, but black and white are all I need to sit still.
So I'll keep writing, and keep on fighting, as long as I can keep this skill.


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 | |

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 | Sonnet | |

Lost In A Poet's Thoughts

Floating black ink drifts away in my mind
Thin strands caught in trembling winds of thought
Winding through realms my body will not find
Climbing like vines on words my mind forgot
Within its blackness, dreams are surveyed
Rendering thought with a weathered disguise
Reason daunting, illusion conveyed
Imagination flows from formless dark eyes
Hiding in caverns deep in the mind's cave
This black ink rushes through, covering me
Exposing my soul, whose eyes I'm a slave
And captures the truth, before it can flee

Can I find a word to light my soul's wall?
Will I lay silent, with withering scrawl?


contest... Imagination
Frederic Parker
5/17/14


Details | Free verse | |

You Are Rich

Festered lament maddens me
Why must the despair of my heart’s desire
Truly enlighten me? 
I rested among the sick and lame
And found myself no different from the rest
For a troubled mind holds endless poverty
Penniless regret marks as a sickness no doctor can prescribe
For the bottles of balm are empty
And medicinal hope grows angry
I derived my madness from creativity
Revealing the remains of my humanity
‘Cool off, child’, I heard a soft voice whisper
But can’t you see I live off the flame?
It asks for no nickel or dime!
But it seeks to destroy all the same
The small voice returns at times
And often my heart listens
But we all listen
And only believe in the inevitability of pain 
I speak of the majority
Not of you
For you are blessed and beyond disgrace
You have a life—a beautiful face

And most of all, you are rich
With attributes I can only dream of 

You are rich with life and purpose
Holding inscrutabilities I can only wish to understand
You lift me without touch or care
Disposing me from your treasures
Because though you meant no harm, 
You are rich with blessing
And must remove all possible threats
So my festered lament
Remains an enlightenment

I can say I am rich in poverty
But you are forever rich
In Mystery

What hurts the most is knowing
I may be wrong about you
For you are so obscure in this mind
And as empty as I am I wish to be filled
In your richness
But we all are filled to the brim in the end
And sometimes I cannot distinguish the good from the bad
There is nothing I wish to discard
So I hoard in constant deficiency and despair  
And I hoard the idea that you are beyond compare

That you are rich
And always will be richer
Than me—or he


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 | Haiku | |

Graffity

Immortality,
youth`s luminous graffiti,
drawn on winter`s wall.


Details | Rhyme | |

heart, mind, and soul

father time in my chest
keeper of its own pace
just skin and bone depth
influences time and space
what are we but drifters
 in an unknown

see truth in a literal
belief before my face
stars with no funeral
light will win the race
here i am, not for long
death starts at home

where is this leading?
which story could it be?
despite all my reading
writings the cup of tea
i dont need to know it all
as long as im not alone



Details | Free verse | |

I'm Back

Hey, did you hear the sounds of a sorrowed heart
slowly thumping away in the evening sunsets?
There he is, baby, the man they call;
"The Blue Poet"
there he is in the flesh
with a book of poems in his hand,
look at the whores and the smiles turn to him
and say to him, "Where have you been?"
They look at him and he looks at us.
He sits at his desk,
he lits a cigarette and smokes.
He opens the big book of poetry that he had in his hand
and started to read.
There was a smile on his face,
reading to all of us;
as we sat around his greatness and glory
and we listened to his great poetry.
He looked at us through the dark
and with eyes a blazed and a smile so bright
he opened his mouth and out came the words of
a sorrowed heart and a master at his finest hour,
and he said in a calm voice;
"I'm Back, baby!"
And we all cheered,
and he smiled and drank his glass of red wine
and smoked his cigarette
He leaned back in his chair and watched us all
stand and cheer.
If you looked closely,
you could see a single tear form in his eye
and roll down his rough cheek.
The Blue Poet was back,
and this time he stayed.

-10/23/2013-

A dedication to myself. I am sorry to all my fellow fans and followers and poets and poetesses, I had left you all without a trace of ever returning, but now I am back and here to stay!


Details | Couplet | |

No Man's Land

Avoiding me, I cannot quite seem to catch you,
You slithery fiend, in decision I choose to loathe you!
Fatigued as I am, I chase ever after,
Be gone my tired eyes and fade into the laughter,
Walking empty streets until the sun doth shine,
Until clouds beckon on a ribbon of yellow line,
The beauty that is doth captivate so,
An enemy, my timeless foe,
Never have we once been a friend,
But does it not depend?
I cannot survive without thee,
Until my dreams invade to set me free.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Emotional Hole

I did not find myself to be so important
So I ask my friends do I seem distant?
When I ask the question I had received an answer, Yes
So I think that made it clear that I had been not the best
I am a friend of a friend that talks so many things
That friend talks to much it is insane and insanity it brings
I do care, about my friends they are all good people
They tend to stand on their high steeple 
Today I find myself not so aware
Disbanding my fear of regret and care
Walking many different paths I see that I have found holes
It is the path that people choose to use to fuel their rage with coals
Coals are partially burnt wood or fossils a piece of fuel
It is the source of burden and fire a rage of emotions that stands cruel
It can be warm and caring, but it also can be baring
I just start to feel so low, below the ground I keep on staring
I reach for my friends so many times I feel so ignorant at times
Just once I feel I should not rely on them when feeling I can not find 
I dig my hole deeper and I can not climb out
For some reason I am just full of doubt
I care about so many things and what I have is confusion
One person should be all I should think about to get out of that illusion
My battle in my heart and mind is not at all so pleasant
I feel so alone in an island that is shaped like a crescent
My emotions is like coinciding with a diameter of the semicircle
Not a full emotion that is complete like a circle
My feelings is circular full of incomplete thoughts, so much deeper
I feel it will wake up my evil half a evil soul that is a sleeper
What question should I ask myself? to believe that I am not so alone
As I feel like a person who is deteriorating to the bone
I ask my friends the same question once again
I figure I should do it, to know what kind of feelings I should end
So many thoughts that come out of my feeling
I feel like my friends take, an emotional trauma of stealing
They ask me questions and I answer theirs
But when I need mine answered I feel burning inside like a flare
Are they even friends when they do not take me serious in anyway
Just put me in my hole cause I feel nothing in their will be getting in my way
It's just so simple to answer someones problem
I answer friends with beauty of a rose, but when they answer mine I get the stem
I know the stem is very important in life, with out it how can a rose be a rose
With a hole to put the root and stem in how can it grow
The words we speak I guess is like all natural things we reap and sow


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ode to the Writer

Play you noted Lyricists! Let not your lyrics be missed! Your silence is the frequency, Enticed by a laced melody Condemned in a rhythmic spell Only time will really tell Your lyrical harmony Etched in life's symphony Oh Hail! Or Hale! Kings of speech! May your words reign or rain on minds in preach Let knowledge rule as you teach You are to blame for the popular fiction And the lost hip hop depiction Your vowel movement is the mission As they are tuning to wrong station So arise oh sons of scribes! Let not fame be your weakening bribes The mystery is your story is still empty but the words to be written are plenty I plant thy in the soil of possibility, growing history in eternity Let the acclaimed awaiting your spark, put page to flame, Illuminating the shame where fiction is no longer fame Arise masters of word! The creators of a new world. Your potency is cryptic avalanche in dormant To awaken minds with your content With an earth shattering rumble you move earth with your stumble Tripping all over your-self to cause a rampage and turn a page marked in history That leads to the bread crumbs of destiny, displaying your self-mastery Oh again rise blood line of prophets! Be not sold out by profits. Your words intertwine the future with the past As ignorance over knowledge shall never be surpassed So your prophecies can be for the youth’s benefits And lost in the realm of the elder’s forfeit While bleeding your ink work, flooding the stage Flowing ears steadily from age to age I say rage warrior of the Pens! This is the age of ignorance ends. As wielders of the pen die by the pen are heard Gutting and stabbing the paper in furry blurred Let those pens bleed till society flood Cleansing it with its righteous blood To awakened other giants from their slumber Killing silence's winter into summer Where ignorance is not left to its own devise Only your golden silence should be an adequate price


Details | Enclosed Rhyme | |

For The Sake of Poetry

That feeling you get,
When it rains & you 
wet,
that feeling you feel,
when you want to write
but you want to give up
cuz nothing  at all
is good enough not at 
all
to be put on that sheet 
of paper.

That feeling you get,
when no word in your 
poem,
Brings about a 
beautiful rhyme,
staying up late,
like you got late
for a date,
and its too late,
to go back and not be 
late,
so you stay up late,
like trying to fix a 
broken past,
it's impossible like you cant 
count dust
its impossible it's past
its gone it is past.

staying up late
for the sake of paper 
and pen,
for the sake of poetry,
just to write and feel it,
that sense of 
accomplishment,
that you are a poet too,
Like those great poets 
you read of.

Staying up late,
for the sake of Poetry.


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 | I do not know? | |

and I will come

…and I will come.
When the first snow falls down/ 
when the fall gives its rights/ 
to the winter/
you know I will come/
for good or for bad/
I’ll board the train/
Passing by / stations/ and countries/
I promised/ and I remember/
You said “there’s no fortuitous meetings/

…and I will come.
When the first snow falls down/
When you’ll lose the trace/
When my firmest snickers/ wipe out/
I will/ I will come…
Unexpectedly/ knowing solely the door/
Just the road / for sure/
Before/ take you I’ll ask/
“are you ready to go?” / 
You are ready/ I know/
All the noise doesn’t matter/
I don’t haste/ will be later/

…I will come.
When it finally turns out/
That November is overthrown by December/
When the first snow falls down/
Will be clear/ that nobody is remembered/ 

And I will come…
Somewhere in chest/ between ribs/
You slashed me/ with thoughts/ 
I can feel it with lips/ crawling under my cloths/
Our world is alive/ our life/ we’re alike/
And I….

I will come.
When the first snow falls down/
When the death is changed into fate/
When the winter gives up/ 
To wait/ for spring/
to stay with shining sun/
I will come.


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 | Rhyme | |

Naked

Only you
Only me
All bared out
Nervous
And shaking
Mouth is a drought 
Between a rock
And a hard place
Back against the wall
Not covered
Not clothed
We see it all
The distance
The thin line
It's not there
Your secrets
My secrets
It's time to share
No um's
No but's
Right here's the proof
No lies 
To hide behind
Only the naked truth


Details | Free verse | |

Verse Gets Annoying sometimes - argument for change in poetry -

Can one not speak in verse to the page?
 As if it were Darwin instead of David? 
 The words would flow better, 
 and not be hyperboled from California to the Atlantic.

 That act of styling would not work well. 
 Well, not in this sense of Socrates opposed to Tom Cruise. 
 The words would be simpler, 
 and with that, be a strike in the baseball game of wordsmiths. 

 Can this be rhetorical? 
 Only if the force of gravity on the moon is 
 six times lighter than on Earth. 

 This poem on politics of poetry shall be written in verse. 
 Only allowing the meaning to be mass, and the structure, weight.


Details | Free verse | |

My Petals of Words

Unfinished words I now retrace
Are drifting now like petals in the wind
Blown long ago, from some old hidden place
This is the night that calls me to that place
From deep within my vase of memory

I fell in love with words, but knew that love was fleet
My words recall, and help to write a poem
As if it were a thing to touch and feel
That time and years would take to make complete

 I write again on petals now retrieved! 
And still, somehow, sweet fragrance lingers near
When thoughts were flowers falling at my feet
I’ll pick them up, and dust them fresh and clear
                      
Tonight I bare my folly to the moon
O’ moon, you saw the ways the devil woos
How roses swoon to songs so out of tune
But hearts refuse to see the naked truth

A bloom that sought the sun to feel the glow
For gentle touch and whispers from the breeze
Instead of sonnets sung with warming breath
Each petal  has had his chance, and left with ease

I trace the choices made…each withered shard
Words strove to use me up, and follow scorn
I stand alone, stripped bare of self regard
As petals fell away, stripped down to thorns

My words now steal my breath, against my will
Made captive by a heart who seeks it still


______________________________________________
1/24/13


Details | Rhyme | |

In A Writer's Mind

There's a reason by my rhymes, but the angles acute,
Read inside of the lines, I'm only heard by the deaf-mute
The dead truth, is questionable you ask me for a fable
I'll let you respond to your self, see if your mind is able

'Cause Cain and Able, solved the first problem with violence
Violence will always be an option, until the devil is silenced
Let the violins, string on but there's never gonna be peace
We're missing a piece, unity is what we need at the least

Let the beat, roll on so you can vibe out in your zone
Let it provide you with privacy, so in the beat you're alone
And know, that inside of the beat is a million thoughts galore
Walking into those thoughts, is like opening up a locked door

You clocked war, within time the battlefield will immense
You're in the mind of a writer, and the war is intense
In past tense, it was hard but you made it and you slayed it
You knocked on a writers mind, so the writer portrayed it

In A Writer's Mind, you see through the Earth's core
In A Writer's Mind, you boil the lava and you destroy
In A Writer's Mind, you're a warrior in an innocent frame
In A Writer's Mind, you turn the alphabet insane


Details | I do not know? | |

Abuse

Trapped. No where to hide.You scream at me through the door.Though your words still 
sting me.
I sit on the ground alone.Blood drips down like tears. tears run down like rain.The room's 
spinning.  My heart bursts out of my clothes.We got into a fight.  Why is unclear.
I tried to leave.  You hit me. I fell.I started to cry.  You kicked me.A sharp pain burst out of 
my chest.  I could not breath. I have little energy,I kicked you.  You fell. I ran to our 
bedroom.
I am trapped.  No where to hide.I'm weak. I stumble to your Night stand.I see a gun.You 
break down the door.  I grab the gun.You start to choke me, squeezing my throat like you 
were trying to get some sort of juice out of me.
I pull the trigger.
BANG!Trapped.  No where to hide.Your grip feels looser.   Your face in pain.
You fall down. i fall into darkness.Free.  No need to hide.


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetic Surgeon

Sometimes my pen cuts as a scalpel in the surgeons hands
It releases my thoughts, it creates my plans
I can build them up, I can tear them down
Will I make them happy or will I make them frown
My words are filled with passion, they have the power of life and death
I can give you hope or make you feel there's nothing left
People follow the stanzas to the end of every page
Some titles express joyfulness while others breathe rage
Will my words take you to the skies, will they bury you in the sand
This poet is more than words, I am a still hurting man
So with each poem complete a part of my soul is released
When you take the journey, will you awaken or tame the beast
Creating is what I do, turning my flows into light
I will take you on a trip with every thought I write
So in essence this poet is the surgeon, the scalpel is my pen
I can take what was birthed in sadness and make you feel alive in the end


Details | Ekphrasis (Ecphrasis) | |

Cathartic Evolution

The consummation of this 
                                        escape
blossoms into unhindered perception;
Naked, amenable gushes of slated clarity
wrack the the bounds of form;
born to change
                         the metamorphosis of itself
and evolve into the beauty seen
by 
            your eyes. 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | Free verse | |

Short Wicks and Crochet Needles Don't Ignite a Flame

We are a crooked spinal cord,
unfixable scoliosis ,
intertwining our vertebrae,
broken back bone,
solid case of we just don’t keep each other upright anymore.

We are an accordion,
swiftly dividing and reconnecting.
The sounds of harmonicas, claps,
and the flicks of lighters
whistle at our performance of dysfunction-
Always parting as soon as we meet,
never meeting long enough to just be,
sort out things or carry on
because in a split second we are always gone.
Come back to me,
stay for a while and sing,
listen to the harp players finger pads strum amazingly.

You are a meteorite,
falling into my orbit,
puncturing the lung of my atmosphere.
You are a candles wick that is too short,
extinguishing my flame with your loss of words.
Silence and darkness,
harsh and bitter,
not willing to take the chance and just let be burn bright,
fill up the room with my light.
You let me die.

I am a crochet needle,
bending the yarn of you,
weaving together your threads 
to make you something that you’re not.
Maybe you were meant to change,
and I was meant to stay the same,
but our coping skills don’t cooperate,
and we put too much water in the flask,
diluting the chemicals.
There was no reaction.

We are a dance without a song,
offbeat drumming,
fingerless strumming,
out of place humming,
creatures that are becoming nothing.


We are a broken mood ring,
scratched record,
dull pencil,
chipped car paint,
two humans that just aren’t programmed to be together.

Maybe if crochet needles could light the wick of a candle,
or maybe if we didn’t step on each other’s toes when we danced,
or maybe if we calculated our chemistry correctly,
we could start a reaction.
And maybe I’m just making up excuses,
trying to find reasoning behind the puzzles pieces not fitting,
trying to discover something that will never be there.

But I have come to find that short wicks and crochet needles don’t ignite a flame.


Details | Free verse | |

Pollution

The prideful boast of bruises,

ingested by lurid carrion's grin

trim the passionate grit of 

words left at the altar. 

"You jest" I say. 

I am no hero. 

      I am nothing,

but the burden of

a tremulous wake. 

But the curve of your 

lips corrupt my resolve,

and sting the ego of 

a nauseated subconscious. 

I've always hated

the way I break;

the cold shoulder

of my legacy's regret. 

But you...

Quietly delve your

elegance into my 

crooked beat,

smile at my misgivings,

Call my pollution, art. 

-James Kelley 2014, All Rights Reserved.


Details | I do not know? | |

Renegade Heart

I'm a soldier, can't you tell by my wounds?
I've been tortured, I've been beaten, and I've been bruised! 
I have scars, I have stitches, I feel pain all the time. 
I don't cry anymore cause tears have stopped falling from my eyes.
I've broken up homes and destroyed countless bonds 
But I too have been lied to and conned! 
I've fought many battles and won many fights 
I've learned many tactics like when to shoot and how to shoot right.
My brain is filled with memories, memories of my wars
I've tried to erase them but they've filled my body like the sores.
I've played in fire and got burnt time and time again 
Destruction seems to be my one and only friend 
Cause my enemies are countless and are everywhere I turn
But the one thing I desire hurts more then the wounds I've endured,
Battlefields cause damage I could have suffered more
But when its all said and done all is fair in love and war!


Details | Lyric | |

My High

Another dose
Of the good stuff
Poppin all night
5 syringes 7 drugs
But it's not enough
Another dose 
Of the good stuff
Smokin,sniffin,inhaling
Cloud 9 of all highs
But it's not enough
Another dose 
Of the good stuff
Drink after drink
Shot after shot
Chug after chug
But it's just not enough
Take a high way drive
Feel invincible
Laughing
Joking
But oh so serious
110 mph
But all I do is
Sing
Write
Draw
Dance
Create
My talents
My skills
My love
My high


Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizaed wrote part five

But you cant keep this book intact its not allowed 
your soul will not bear it 
do you keep all the prophecies to be a part of the truth 
do you tear out the love and find just the directions to eternal youth\ 
do you keep the satanic metaphors to reveal the author had a horrible soul 
this test upon humanity is sitting by the riverside
Love for sale in western mail
Love for sale in western mail
Watching it all go down is given to every woman child mother father adult 
and then you create how its passed down to the future but its never whole 

one day I will write this book and you will all dream 
Pushing the limits
So many nights crying
The limits that limits that change
About its entirety 
go from house to house 
to read the book 
with pages missing to compare it to yours 
to fathom family legacies and opinions 
Born to please
to try to understand the truth of oppression and decisions and accuracy and 
creativity 
and in this book I will write stories and I will write traditions and I will write games 
and I will write sanities and insanities 
but what you keep and what you throw away 
stay away from the river man
The water is cold
Don’t ever set me free
Born to dream
Of those days of warm rays
No one has a clue
You’re safe when they hear me
But they’re gonna clue in
When they see the sneak
They clueing in
All their strength not to fall apart
Satellite secret moments shadowed in the heat of the afternoon
To the holiday
They will always want by their side

they’re cluing into the bird lady

Doing things my way
they’re cluing in to little miss daisy
is another test 
another dream another curse 
another prayer of metaphor 
another chain 
of soft spoken words
to never have answered 
something this generation had that memory can only answer 
and the death wish of not cooperating leave you upon a grave of cand’lit flames 
and hells passed on to legacies of hell the arch angels tell you to tear down 
walls to cripple you all 

Everywhere
Everything blue eyes
Unbelievable ways
Sky of white stars exotic
Magical times

Broken faith makes me
your new book of god 
And I’m running out of here
Or no way at all
Running out of here

BROKEN FAITH
makes me
YOUR NEW BOOK OF GOD

And I’m running out of here
And I’m running out of here
Come to the reason
You really got me
I wasn’t fake
come to the light
back to the middle


Details | Free verse | |

Self reflection

Self-reflection is an art
A two edged sword that no one teaches
No religion philosophized
my own personal goal 
to better myself 
and understand everything 
by seeing one another 
through the slide of me 
through another’s eyes 
and that person 
through yet another’s eyes

Four good qualities you truly possess is where I start
The good things about me
Actually that’s a lie
That’s what I recommend
I usually get a little bit sad sit here and realize 
That I think I’m deep and no one understands

I know through self-reflection of understanding history
and putting myself in other peoples shoes
Like a mental actor of how I would feel emotionally and mentally
and then writing it down
is like self reflection but not quite
close but no cigar I have learned we are truly all actors and life is indeed a stage
And when we learn how to manipulate the greatest acts of man for the history 
books
The next generations will be taught in school how to prevent wars and live in 
piece by us selling one perfect life or lie
And I wonder if I’m a 27-year-old psychological lie of a ghetto wizard
I’ve described

Through self reflection I know they're are things I need to change
Some things I never will
Some things I am a part of
And at least the parts and pieces of my life I live like poetry that if they were 
captured like dreams in a butterfly net
They would teach something to the future like Jesus or anybody would if they 
understood
Just how to self reflect emotionally mentally put yourself in another’s shoes and 
learn the lesson through writing a poem
or thinking it out

If each generation and the history books were all acts of men
and my generation has to top the last lie with a wisdom of the perfect metaphor 
to unlock the following generations thinking process
Is that the game of the planet?
Are those the reasons to the wars we fight today?
to teach tomorrow
When they write their essays that will become tomorrow’s politicians 
An insane asylum can teach politics and all we really want is to pay them to be 
rich and make global friends so we can have utopia
But in the history book of the essays they no longer write where life lessons were 
learned and taught through misfortune of man
there are gems to be uncovered of how to stop wars how to peace keep
How to mediate
How to live
How to heal
and every generation we discover it on our own as the teachers subtly shape our 
minds




Details | Couplet | |

metaphors

poets write with metaphors to protect their feelings
letting others read into it--pulling their own meaning
sometimes it hits close, no matter how vague we pen
obtuseness only goes so far when you see yourself in it

we write of unread books and things left out in the rain 
of dances left unfinished and songs that we once sang
we write about opening windows and about closing doors
of dense, white fog and shadows, shrouds and birds that soar 
we write of finding happiness, of thunder and skies of blue
of footprints in sand, the ocean tides and of the crescent moon

a metaphor does many things, it's left to interpretation
every singular moment, every singular situation
we pen these poems as lyrics or tag them spiritual
hoping others read them and pull from them what they will