Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Metaphor Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Metaphor

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

123
Details | Narrative |

Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…


There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…


I have never looked at rain the same way since then.






For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest



Details | Narrative |

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time
She was watching the Sun
And she told her; ``Burn me!``
Then she wrote a poem
Which was so beautiful and sad
So beautiful and sad
That she destroyed it
But once, she was watching love
That resembled many dawns
And clouds over a plain field
And she felt that they became
A part of her, and for a moment
Only for a moment she experienced
Something that was whole and complete
And she thought that this particular moment
Defined her life


Details | Narrative |

Two Trees

Oh tree to my right how you mirror the left
Tree on the left, with great vigor you grow
When waters run dry, your roots search below
To the ends of all branches; lush fruits like Eden
Hundred thousand leaves dance in the wind

Oh tree to my right what phantom did come
Yielding fruit no more; nor vivid leaves to sway
All branches have ceased, no more but a stump
Fifty thousand leaves dance in the wind

Oh tree to my left so valiant, so true
A whip of your branch & firm grip of the wind
To the right, one seed you give; let life grow anew
Solitude tis as fire bound for a tree, a simple truth to all
Fifty thousand leaves dance in the wind

Oh tree to my right; look, now you're grown
As was, now are; from the tree to the left came your rebirth
Teeming with life & beauty displayed
Hundred thousand leaves dance in the wind


Details | Narrative |

A Land Bearing Green White Green

Which way leads to the 
land of green white 
green?
Which way are we 
heading?
   A country the wicked 
bears the rulership, and 
the people sighing 
continuously.
   A terrible thing sprouts 
beneath the sun: a 
pregnant woman 
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light 
by snuffing air from the 
goose that laid the 
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
blind.
The weak suppressing 
the strong-a terrible 
thing.
Like the overthrow of the 
gods at Mt. Olympus by 
the Titans.
A country where also 
thieves appear as men of 
integrity.
Land of green white 
green,which way?
A land where the 
enlightened ones are 
overshadowed and 
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that 
eat the crumbs.
 Which way to go you 
Land?
Iliterates stand on 
podium of power 
bellowing orders as milk 
of sorrow known as 
dividends of democracy 
is passed around.
The machine of progress 
manned by the 
unproductive.
"There is better 
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white 
green,my country 
where rule of law walk 
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced 
to adversity,and there 
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People 
dancing on thorns 
whimpering as they 
throng 
along.
  I see a new sun rising 
from the horizon,hope is 
rekindled as its rays 
grace on hopeless bodies.
 Look!! there soon be 
change!



Note: 
This 
is 
poem 
full 
of 
Nigeria 
political
 angst.


Details | Narrative |

Love Fast , Run Far

	Search
Patrick Kail
Long ago I lost a precious thing that used to lift me up as it lifted burdens shouldered with it's way of 
tender holding .How barren now that what has left it's mark to shame us .Just in a role and this acheless 
rage so apt a trick it lies alone as so in many ways reaching each as it denied us. Tertiary paid in knowledge 
first an icon green so paramount.Strip ped barren now and left us naught but naked thoughts of whats 
spilled a path while denying everything but woe to us the wickedness to whats yet still left so easily still 
wanting.
Apr 17 at 3:25am ·  · Like · Share · Remove
Patrick Kail
Love Fast Run Far 

by James P Kail Wednesday April 17th 2013
Like · Edit · Apr 17 at 3:56am


Details | Narrative |

The unexpected


The man in the dark mask turns his head 
To face the crowd with evil eyes,
The crowd cry out with screams of dread
But he carries on amidst their cries

As he emits a booming laugh,
Which seems to echo, through the night,
He carries on his reign of wrath,
And slaughters everyone in sight
 
But one small, frail, child
Decides the masked man will be beat
And runs though crowds with bodies piled
And kneels down at the masked mans feet

The rogue looks down with chilling eyes
Upon the small child on the floor
And as he wields his knife to strike
Lets out a sudden painful roar
 
Beneath his legs the child had crawled
And stabbed his spine with one small knife
And when the brutal man did fall
His throat was slit to end his life.


Details | Narrative |

The Forest

A woodland path stippled with sun, hushed and quiet -
but the path I found myself on was a dark and dangerous one.
I'd been blackberrying - bramble-scratched, branch-slapped -
snapping from barbs berries fat as leeches
seeping blood-juices on my fingers.
Wood anemones opened pale hands to reach for me,
their fragrant star faces enticed me.
They beckoned, pulling me further and further away
from the world I knew and deeper into the wood.

The forest closed around me, trapping me
in a tangle of twining paths and trembling trees,
the ground layered with brown and golden leaves. 
Treetops cackled with the black caws of crows,
bushes bled red berries, grasses lashed my legs.
And every time the footpath forked
I went deeper, I went darker.
Tick-tock time slowed to a crawl,
watch hands wound backwards.

The whispering wood grew dimmer;
what little light there was struck trees and disappeared.
Fly agaric mushroomed into blood-raw open sores,
ivy ropes dangled nooses from branches.
Crying was useless, my panic-forced tears were hopeless.
Moles mouldered, luminous with maggots,
rabbits rotted, their throats ripped out.
Sky turned ink-dark, lonely wood-wild nights engulfed me.

With time, thoughts of home began to fade,
the seething forest seemed friendlier;
trees were a tease of teal and green,
rippling with strange and teeming life.
Amber algae scorched sunsets on umber bark,
wood sorrel crept, beetles burrowed, lichens came alive.
The forest floor was feathered with ferns
and plush with sponge-soft moss.
Now and again I caught the briefest glimpse of blue,
cool and welcome as water,
and once or twice, through distant trees, I spotted
what I took to be the twinkling lights of a town,
but it was only rainbow flickers glinting on leaves.

I've been gone too long, I'm too far gone.
Faint memories of home still siren-sing to me,
but just when I think I've found the right track
the forest tightens its grip, drawing me back.


Details | Narrative |

The Emptiness of Life

Oh how frail is the life of mortals
Look at how our tongue treasures the taste of food
Without oxygen we die
We sleep as though we're dead

I've seen demagogs rising and falling
History hasn't been fair to their very great powers
In our virtues, our pride lights our vice
Oh such hypocrites at heart

Oh how our desires hook us like fish bones
Into doom we gleam
Until we see our fragile weakness on Earth
True repentance is just a dream

I've seen the Light I believe
The truth of God who lived as man
His sacrifice made me free
Oh such a hope of eternity I share


Details | Narrative |

The Truth of the Dragon-Knight

Last knight Eye dreamed Eye was a dragon with wings made from disdain and shaped like quaking fear that burned holes through my subconscious imaginings. Eye was gliding soundlessly thru dark clouds, thunder, and rain, while the Slayers stood below, grounded in tyranny and trying to pull Me from the knight sky...Then Eye could hear, then Eye watched thru Dragon-I's as arrows joined my flight...trying to penetrate the hard scales of My spiritual skin. The muted sharpness of the arrows' dancing ricocheted off of Me.

Then Eye cried. Not in agony or pain or sadness...no

Eye cried in echoing defiance of the oppression of blind slavery and meaningless denial. Eye belched blue and green flame and roared aloud--as loud as my Dragon-voice would carry. Eye scorched the minds of the lie-ers and self-made martyrs (there, the ones who were carrying the omission of Truth of this world).

The Slayers still stood their ground. They kept circling  around and around under Me...but Eye kept pumping My neck, Eye kept beating My wings, but still the Slayers came...more and more of them...

Eye dived down deep toward their barren landscape (My Own Hunting Ground!!); Eye needed to see their torn, hated faces...Men, all. They kept their hoods drawn, their faces hidden from My I's. But their bodies were bare and naked to My Dragon-flame, naked to the force of My righteous wrath. Eye swept down closer, closer until Eye could smell the scents of their sweat and dried blood (of conquered servants before), and Eye could see, even count, the dark hairs sprouting from greasy, dirt-clogged pores. Eye could see that some bore vehement scars, jagged marks streaking across their man-flesh.

Their weapons were crude, mostly: wood axes, scythes, cudgels, kitchen knivez sharpened to a murderous edge...the only sophisticated armaments were their bows, their arrows. The bows were of blood and bone and tendon and blind fear, the sinewy string woven with acceptance of the  Truth...how odd (the Truth that they must stand and fight a common enemy as a single unit, that they must stop war amongst themselves to do so)...and their arrows were bound with Hope and Reason, that Eye would die before them, that they would live on. The bows were more beautiful than the Slayers deserved to wield, but they commanded them with such grace and poise and proficiency...

The Truth is Eye, the Dragon-Knight, and the Slayers are all of mankind's fear and war and social stigma among thorns...

Their bows were the making of Truth and Love and Acceptance, only constructed and command-able when mankind will stand together and open their I's and see.


Details | Narrative |

The Garden Spider

Among the flowers of beauty bright,
Upon leaves of green I sight 
Graceful webs of intricate fashion 
Of labor and of passion. 
No architect so proud can craft this shroud; 
Its sticky vines of ensnaring gloom 
Tell little of an impending doom.  
Hidden fangs await the unwary,
The thirsty, the greedy; 
Entangled vivacity thrashes about 
With a dreadful shout. 
The spider’s banquet is short and rich 
As it savors every twitch. 
No prying eye will dare to spy
On death’s descending cry. 
At dusk it drops from a canopy sky 
To taste the spoils from its ravenous eyes.
Death wrangles a martyr, wraps it in twine
Then dangles it from a vine. 
Flowering sprouts enjoy the morn, 
Marveling at the horde of spiders born. 
A cloud of spiders take to flight 
On currents of air lassoed
Just right.


123