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Best Analogy Poems

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Details | Analogy Poem |

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

ONE WORD~

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my mind,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my veins,
                                   
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night, 
Cool air beneath and above the sea.
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand.
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing.
Up ahead in a virtue distance, 
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-     
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods. 
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality.  
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again.
Twilight, rain stranger than strange.
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture.
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"

Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow.
PERHAPS NOT!
If I accept, and then decline.
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways.  
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?	
When I no longer value the values of the young.
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart.
They're the voices give and take from our health. 

Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me.
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria….
UNITY! 
YES UNITY! Fantabulously-fantastic!
Always, wanting more than love can touch.

We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup.
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips.
Prisoners and doers; 
All night…. Too late for a treatment.
Lungs, decaying, evil rats. 
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation.

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my lungs,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________

By; pd


Details | Analogy Poem |

ELEMENTS

As  I continue fighting what's on my line,
a flash of a fin breaks border.
Excitement extinguishes exhaustion
as I reel my recordbreaker ever closer.

Out of the depths of its element
it leaps into mine, displaying attainable
through diligence. As I pull, it dives back into 
the blue boundary determined to be lost.

In order to bring both of our elements 
into coexistence, I step out of my
comfort zone into the fish' element and 
continue reeling. It relaxed and swam to me.

Blessings are hooked fishes fighting for freedom,
Perseverance is the net when you need them.

 
Touched by another.
I can't remember the other
lines you altered!  Thanks!


Details | Analogy Poem |

Simple Words For Simple People

If I had a pretentious brain which acts faster than my heart Maybe then,I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse Maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words I would scrutunize each and every coma dot and exclamationmark believing I know best But I would never let that happen I'd rather stay at bay Writing firstly with my mind and not my heart leads only to an asylium within the being of myself Poetry is my voice,my shadow The sacred shrine of great escape Each stored emotion processed within a yesterday Poetry is the inner of my existence breathing softly,bleeding deeply exploding in death,love passion and romance In every verse a whisper a thought that I would scribe of a silent cry expressed Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by me Tread your footstep on my ink and spit saliva in my face But maybe in a today a broken -hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world Maybe a prisoner,a tramp an insane soul or outcast would pick these scattered scribbles and gather them as whole Maybe through each criss-crossed puzzle finds a narrow passage which leads his faith to home Maybe a little child whose blissful giggles depends on little words would turn the dusty pages of silly rhymes I penned Rhymes which know the moons stars,faries,and the magic land Rhymes which know each fantasy and how to be a friend And maybe He would smile Maybe He would laugh Maybe He would dream Maybe He would grow up to write the most eloquent sonnet there has ever been Or maybe He would grow up to write simple words just like me about daises or dandelions and expressions to be free


Details | Analogy Poem |

Dear Lucifer

I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I? 
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw 
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown

There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me

What I will never be

Dear Lucifer,
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared


Details | Analogy Poem |

A Poet With A Priceless Pen

I am poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I wonder what mortal mirrors reflect...
For me, all races deserve respect.

I often hear the splashing of rain,
and flood rushing down the drain.
I see the petals of the morning bloom
and dawn peeping into my dusky room.

I strive to forget the tales of ages long gone
when dreams died as deeds undone.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I pretend to be a terrific tree
sapping the tears that betide me.
I feel old scars opening each time
my heart tends to commit new crime.

I touch the heart of the gentle moon
and worry if the Sun will shine at noon.
I cry for the youth and aged in need
and for gluttons in the grave of greed.

I hear the whispers of wealth and wisdom
flowing freely from the field of freedom...
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I understand the chains of our choices;
frailties of our fate; our darn differences.
I say let us not preen on what is not ours,
we will leave them in the six-feat towers.

I crave a world without woes and worries;
the mortal mall of matchless memories
where everyone trades a lasting legacy...
and love is shared on the platter of mercy.

I long to see gray skies turn blue
and my sweetest dreams come true.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.


Details | Analogy Poem |

Rose of thorns

Rose of thorns

The crimson hue became a thorn and everlasting blossom
- its imaging was tho' entombed inside his convolutions
so braving bloomed the pasture was, forever his and blithesome;
the fine drops dropping, turned to be the moistening ablutions.

Amid the shadows of the dusk, the myrtle mauve enhances
the passing of the veil that dark descends and hides the ridges;
while the eternal rose of thorns, that agitates and dances,
his crimson solitude embraced and life, amidst the breezes.

Aeonian, the blooming rose, his destiny reverses;
the jagged reasoning of thorns and emptiness that signals
consequently becomes a tomb, betimes chivalric verses
while in the rain dilutes and flows along the windy fiddles.

© 03-22-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Decapentasyllabic verse)
(new poem)

Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Every Rose Has It's Thorn
Deadline: 4/20/2014


Details | Analogy Poem |

The Flight of Tempest Reigned

Upon a glorious night
A burning fire lit upon my unrented spine
Deafened by fleeting sight
I flee the home that never was quite mine

Crushed in garish fight
Within the corridor I dare to flee
Blinded by his might
While all the sad spirits return to me

Oh Tempest, you blow in me hope
Of sorrow more true than any other light
Oh Tempest that guides my departed
To your soul so bright
Rejoining each of us—the broken-hearted 

Upon that vaporous eve
Enclosed in bond beyond mortal grief
Lost to the foggy reef
The fog that so lingers in these glistening eyes
That vapor drew me near
Bedazzling more than the moonlit mirror
To where I see him fly
Twas a heart-reaching place I always fear

Oh Tempest, you blow in me hope
Of sorrow more true than any other light
Oh Tempest that guides my departed
To your soul so bright
Rejoining each of us—the broken-hearted 

Between the beat of my breast
A heart that beats only for him
He slumbers in the clouds
The clouds that pour my poignant prose
Beyond the darkened seas
The wind does carry the scent of his bequest
Within the folding of the storm I cease to rest

Oh Tempest, you blow in me hope
Of sorrow more true than any other light
Oh Tempest that guides my departed
To your soul so bright
Rejoining each of us—the broken-hearted 

To him my sorrows lay 
And fall into the arms of strangers' trembling spine
As light and pain fall gray
Twas there they grayed and blended with the rain
Twas there they grayed and blended with the rain
Twas there they grayed and blended with the rain 


Details | Analogy Poem |

WRITTEN IN THE SAND

WRITTEN IN THE SAND The Big Five—Africa’s pride in the vast open wild Buffalo, Rhinoceros, Elephant, Leopard and Lion Their prey—scattered Impala, Kudu and Waterbuck On hardened dust… their footprints prevail and stand WRITTEN IN THE SAND The proposal day--- carefully planned- a beautiful beach Red Roses, a Picnic, Sunrise and Diamond ring The petals—scattered on the soft damp sea tabloid Lover’s plea….a stick his pen, “Marry me—take my hand” WRITTEN IN THE SAND Early one morning--- He entered the dusty temple to teach Scribes and Pharisees brought her in—an adulterous Large stones…scattered for all to throw and accuse Jesus bent down… wrote with His finger on condemning land What was His message…..? WRITTEN IN THE SAND


Details | Analogy Poem |

SURVIVAL IN THE MIDST OF IGNORANCE

My prayers are not asking you to
 
save me from my enemy.
 
My children have turned their backs.
 
They praise dance with many
 
Adversaries-
 
When they need be refuking,
 
protesting and rebuking.
 
Among-st those who fight against me-
 
be my offspring.
 
I fear not the man who
 
I already know to be the beast
 
While my eyes follow my historical foe:
 
Those created in my womb,go
 
behind my back sign treaties with known
 
enemies
 
Chiding our valuable place in history. 
 
They do not want to know how they got here-
 
They do not care.The nature 

of the beast consumes them.
 
Eyes full of temptations we 

kept their butts covered,
 
and gave them what we could never have.
 
Instead of gratitude they give us latitude  
 
we cannot reach them.
 
They love the enemy, like a favorite pet-
 
Stroking the dog and biting
 
the hand that feeds them wisdom.
 
We walked miles with no shoes -
 
Prayed for our families-
 
Now our families-prey on us
 
With every thing handed to
 
them through the struggle;
 
Our children render our efforts
 
useless and in vain.
 
Vanity be thou sanity 
 
Consuming life from 

the top shelves in cafe's...
 
Thinking non -sober thoughts-
 
Who knows why we now be despise.
 
Deaf are their ears when they hear our names;
 
Holding us accountable, For the shame. 
 
Never ready for the change.
 
My prayer now is;
 
God save me from my people:
 
The joy that settled in my
 
accomplishments is now
 
unsettled disappointment,
 
disturbing !
 
They want to have 

their cake crumbs
 
and eat them too.
 
Save us from the

 disgrace of how they
 
discount all we've sacrificed - 

We made it through
 
and we have shown our 

strength against all odds
 
How now they praise-

dance with the enemy
 
They drink no more 

from separate fountains
 
Never sat in the balcony-
 
never knew the colored section;
 
Never stood on buses.
 
Those of us who never found a soft
 
place to land in the concrete jungles;
 
 have lined your bottoms with cushion's
 
from the sacrifices and suffering we
 
endured.
 
Watching you again discount us as you
 
leave us to the ridicule of your own judgment.
 
As you praise dance with those
 
who aspire to see your detriment.
 
Never before have so many brave elders
 
have had to watch their own children rob
 
them of their glory and dignity.
 
Even an imbecilic knows when he's better off.
 
That's the sad difference between an
 
slow learner and a fool.
 
A fool never cares nor takes responsibility..
 
The slow learner finally learns.
 
And is delighted to be enlightened.
 
Where the fool continues
 
to waddle blissfully in his own ignorance -
 
Resenting all who shed light on the
 
error of his ways....
 
Those who have his best interest -
 
Become his stumbling block.  
 
Difficult now for them to blame others;
 
With bright lights shining on stupidity--
 
We give them proof-
 
blinded and overwhelmed
 
by the truth-they are not interested our story
 
Never realizing that while their
 
stubborn heads were buried-in the sand.
 
We still have to stand-- guard
 
over their protruding azzes 
 
Until my children have learned  
 
where they fit in on earth,
 
and what they are truly worth
 
they will continue " Praise-
 
Dancing" with the enemies
 
They will continue to be as eaglet's
 
flapping around the yard ,
 
clucking with the chickens...
 
never soaring-never getting off the ground
 
Bewildered by our "diminutive etymology":
 
The Elders and The Ancestors;
 
We look dumbfounded,and mutter....
 
"Where did we go Wrong" ?
 


Details | Analogy Poem |

Seasons of Life and Death

Under the care of sun and rain
My leaves have unfurled
My buds have burst forth
My own will has been done
This was my beginning
Through the seasons
Spring brought me to life
Summer grew me to new heights
The fall must come sometime
The frost will encase my barbs
And I will return to meditation
Waiting patiently for my rebirth
For your light to peek through clouds
Your moon to hold me within night
When spring returns...
I will dance in the wind
A never ending flower


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