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Best Analogy Poems

Below are the all-time best Analogy poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of analogy poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Analogy poems are below this new poems list.

The Iceberg Analogy by McConnell, Gordon
Love Analogy by Negron, Nayda Ivette
Analogy Between Good and Evil by Negron, Nayda Ivette
A Bovine Analogy by Camp, Elton
An Analogy by Camp, Elton
The Mark Twain Sausage Analogy by Devonshire, Carolyn
Analogy of Life by Mukherjee, Pinaki Ranjan
The Love Analogy by Brown, Jasmine
The FireWall (A Computer-Lingo-Love Analogy by Canady, MoonBee
HEADID-AN ANALOGY by Smith, Michael

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The Best Analogy Poems

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

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

More great poems below...


Details | Analogy Poem | |

The Library of Trust and Hope

The Library of Trust and Hope
The Bank of Trust and Hope

(Cant decide on title, so feel free to pick or suggest one)

She was all but four years of age
Birthdays were such magical moments
The cake was filled with candles
The balloons still in their package twelve on the table

Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!!
They are not magic like you said!!!!!
Do not fret Maria, its daddy who is magical
I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons

Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons
Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers
She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile
Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be

Maria was now ten years older
Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories
On this fall day, home from school
There was grandpa in the back yard as usual

He was tending his garden of roses
When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses
Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden
From the heavens above


Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop
A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table
A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes
This is for you, beauty for beauty


She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance
They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime
Until the morning she awoke, completely alone
Both lover and credit cards did abscond


Now twenty one, and wise to the world
Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age
A chilly fall day in an empty library
A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose

Hello he says! I drew this for you!
Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one!
Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken
This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter

The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine
He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose
She politely declines his advances
Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks

The twelfth week and here he is again
What is the poor girl to do?
She is curious, and she can not quite help herself
She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers?

He smiles kindly and replies
How about next week, I show you?
We can have a coffee, and discuss art
Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness

They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself
Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation
He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red
She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard

She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her
Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw
You? she stammers, you made this?
He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings

Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness
Her husband of all these years has passed on
To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting
She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories

She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance
Contemplating the wisdom's of life
I miss you so much my love
You taught me trust is earned and not given
	Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, 
		I am yours eternally





Dear Reader

I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me. 

Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.

I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness

God bless
Maria Sefue

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


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

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013


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

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | |

December Rain

Unexpectedly the timid sun made an appearance an orb of flames silent amidst the peaceful horizon wistfully the harmony was short lived ferocious winds blew with merciless tones melancholic rain returning with little remorse inclement storms battering emotions brutally defeating them to oblivion raindrops soaked like predatory demons in conjunction with bloodthirsty winds lost within the abyss of anguish and pain seeking shelter from vicious venomous daggers I stumbled upon the marketplace of sorrow surrounded by souls lost to a religion of perturbation ambushed I remained, impatiently in this downpour degradation counting down the days of disturbing December deterioration 6 December 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

A Poet With A Priceless Pen A Poets Worth

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.

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | |

If walls could speak

You can't break something - already broken
Can't heal something - that can't be healed
Can't love something - not worthy to be loved
Can't fear something - that does not exist
Can't murder something - already deceased
How can you live - when you fail to exist
How can you see - when your eyes are ignorant
How does your heart beat - when it is plastic
How can you listen - when you hear no sound
Why do you speak - when your words confuse
Why do you cry - when your tears are artificial
Why do you follow -when you don't know the destination
Why do you hide - when the truth will set you free
Why do you not ask - when the answers will save you

Walls hide so many secrets..... If only they could speak

The Silent One
2 December 2015




Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Prophet of DOOM

Fabricated whispers seduced by falsehood
have the grapevine shivering in notoriety
Pernicious vile glutinous serpent revels
in poisoning the innocent children of Eve

The prophet of doom gossips about scandal
fictitious storytelling with inaccurate slander
deception, deceit, dishonesty, disinformation
leaving behind a trail of falsification myth
Venomous words spoken form into miasma
toxic breath pollutes mutating malignancy

Children of Adam, were born to be together
but, the Devil, conceived demonic partition
Divide and conquer, Apartheid are his work
sadly, some still give devotion to his creed

Silent One
20 January 2016
Remember God is always watching and knows the truth
Just because somebody says something - does not mean it is true

Triple Filter Test
In ancient Greece, Socrates (the famous philosopher) was visited by an acquaintance of his. Eager to share some juicy gossip, the man asked if Socrates would like to know the story he’d just heard about a friend of theirs. Socrates replied that before the man spoke, he needed to pass the “Triple-Filter” test.

The first filter, he explained, is Truth. “Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to say is true?” The man shook his head. “No, I actually just heard about it, and …”

Socrates cut him off. “You don’t know for certain that it is true, then. Is what you want to say something good or kind?” Again, the man shook his head. “No! Actually, just the opposite. You see …”

Socrates lifted his hand to stop the man speaking. “So you are not certain that what you want to say is true, and it isn’t good or kind. One filter still remains, though, so you may yet still tell me. That is Usefulness or Necessity. Is this information useful or necessary to me?”  A little defeated, the man replied, “No, not really.”

“Well, then,” Socrates said, turning on his heel. “If what you want to say is neither true, nor good or kind, nor useful or necessary, please don’t say anything at all.”


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016


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

Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Ode to spring

The light breaks free from winter’s bone
to cast its warmth; to life atone,

to warm the dark; to thaw the chill,
to synthesize through chlorophyll,
a dormant seed to resurrect,
and coax a soul from introspect.

Awake! And breathe the wafting spice
of lilac buds and wild rice,
the lavender; the orange puccoon,
the sweet of honeysuckle bloom.

An overture, the sparrows sing,
to celebrate the oeuvre of spring;
while wind and weeping willow dance
to promises of new romance.

Come alive! Draw in your breath,
let winter die a noble death.
The seeds of yesterday are strewn;
it does not do to weep and croon.

If you seek, so shall you find,
as true for darkness as divine.

Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Sombre November rain

It won't stop raining dismal, forlorn murky skies above similar to a depressed painter's palette bring torrent outbursts becoming heavier and heavier descending louder and louder drowning me in a deluge of emotions soaking the sanity from my drenched soul Sombre November rain is always different colder and sinister like a virus rapidly spreading poisoning my body with intense anxiety battering me like a hail of bullets in the line of fire Twilight is swallowed by blackness briskly stars illuminate, as the moon glows but nature continues to immerse me bathing like a forced baptism How I long for a glimpse of the sun to shelter but there is no sign of a rainbow any time soon The Silent One 17 November 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Miracle Divine

In the midst of great turmoil and strife, 
There is a force manifestly to be heard…seen….touched
A voice—ever so soft… yet loud enough to break mountains at their base
It can make a grown man cry—can distort the finest face
Lead the mother eagle back to its nest…
Run its hands against a tumultuous sea to rest…
Shedding tears of empathy when the woman,
With child, is seen- alone…sore. . . distressed

With mind enduring beyond mortal endurance
With arms stretching across the universe of opportunities and darkness
With eyes blossoming like those crazy sunflowers reaching to the sky…
Suddenly… you will feel its yellow fires 

It is the very storm that knocks us down 
To the depths of humility...patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike, 
It comes like an earthquake and tremors the very soul into action... 
It is the war of mercy that will devour to create and rejuvenate! 
It tells the geese to fly south, whispering them in the right direction... 
It is the soft growl of the lion that wakes its babe to safety...

Like music, it can soothe, or agitate,
Its rhythms changeable…forgivable… 
When you take a wrong turn, a dissonant chord harsh as lightning will expel
Suspended in the air—colors more mysterious than hell
And when you love—oh how sweet love carries cherished lips cosmically….
A smile of the most precious melodies ring
New colors—see it, new colors shall spring

What this light truly means is to be revealed
Only for the precious few who listen and truly feel
Wrapped in the soft ribbons of love beyond all mortality 
Beyond space and reality
Beyond the very tip of the mountain,
That never had to be touched to be brought to its knees…..
Not once did this force ever have to take the woman by the hand
And say with conviction… “everything will be okay….”
Because phenomenally… she would simply hear it in melody,
Inspired by the blazing sun of a newly dawned day-
Freshly caught tears of joy priding the lonely spider’s web

For Justin Bordner’s Divine Intervention Contest
Thank you, with love,
Laura 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 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 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013


Details | Analogy Poem | |

The Lady Of The House

It’s siesta, yet one can hear from the second floor of the house the animated sharing of juicy news some visitors have brought to the gracious host, the lovely widow of a wealthy sugar planter.  The sound of laughter is carried over the charming veranda bordered by lacy cast-iron grillwork, with its delicate oak leaf and acorn design and colorful, overhanging ornamental plants and flowers.  

Three Creole society matrons in their typical 1840s long dress fashion despite the sultry heat are being served their tea and fanned by the owner’s black slaves. They are talking about the strange happenings at what used to be Dr. Louis and Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie’s grand house at 1140 Royal Street, a few houses away from the where they are having an afternoon gossip. Apparently, the last tenant abandoned the Lalaurie house not only because of some ghost sightings and agonized sounds that were heard from within.  His furniture business inventory was also being mysteriously destroyed at night. 

The lady of the house remembers how Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie used to be a respected member of New Orleans society.  After the fire in 1834 and the subsequent discovery by firemen of seven emaciated slaves at the attic with obvious traces of abuse and torture, the couple and their four grown-up children had to flee in the middle of the night, or be lynched by the angry townsfolk.  

Were all the stories true?  Six years later, no human bones were discovered at the backyard, nor actual records or reports thereof, negating further accusations of slave murders, including that of a young girl who allegedly fell from the rooftop trying to escape her lady’s wrath.  If Mdme. Lalaurie was the inhuman monster the press accused her of that time, then all of her contemporaries were also guilty, including all plantation owners, for the practice of slavery was fundamentally immoral and depraved.  The lady of the house tells herself it is best to keep silent and let one person take all the condemnation.  This removes the attention of the press and the restless community away from her social circle and her own guilt. 


privileged mindset 
and undue exploitation -
cancer cell takes root


Inspired by Lin Lane’s A House in New Orleans Contest – did not meet the deadline 
27 January 2016


Note:  The Lady of the House is a fictitious character, but relies heavily on historical background from:

1.	Mad Madam Lalaurie: New Orlean’s Famous Murderess Revealed  by Victoria Costner Love and Lorelei Shannon
2.	Old New Orleans, a History of Vieux Carre, Its Ancient and Historical Buildings by Stanley Clisby Arthur
3.	Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie, Wikipedia

Copyright © Kim Patrice Nunez | Year Posted 2016


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Tranquil waters

Poisonous gasses pollute, like a gun to my head unaware a swan floats upon tranquil waters delicate cherry blossom buds blow in the breeze creating a pink tapestry resting upon the water resentful, in envy the sun hides behind grey clouds torrent rain falls accompanied by thunderous flashes of light interrupted, the swan swiftly seeks safe sanctuary those around panic - yet he remains elegant intense rain drops destroy the formed pink tapestry like daggers piercing on dusky meandering waters eventually - the sun wakes from her slumber dehydrating the rain - annihilating the clouds Picturesque - the enchanting rainbow sing's her song Mother Nature's symphony highlights the horizons oblivious - a swan floats upon tranquil waters The Silent One 19 December 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

The Merry Go Round of Earth

One half is submerged in light,
the other in darkness.
Half says goodnight and the other
tugs the harness.

Kids climb backyard trees tinged
with school bus yellow.
As lovers play hide and seek
in the nighttime meadow.

Training wheels lay abandoned -
youthful eyes bear cornea confidence.
The silver spokes whistle through copper leaves -
once in a lifetime decadence.

August stars say their last farewell
in glorious beelines.
Whilst wrinkled fingers grasp the moon
in delicious daytime.

A woman dressed in white walks down the aisle -
her father proudly flaunts.
As a preacher recites Scripture at a funeral:
The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want...

A newborn's laugh lights the whole world up
with effortless ease.
Whilst a pair of liver-spotted legs
unbuckles its knees.

One takes the first step -
the other reaches the end of the line.
One is a wealth of wisdom -
and the other is a gift divine.

Tiny toes to caress the sand,
ashes to sprinkle in the sea -
as if Nature itself has read aloud
Ecclesiastes Three.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | |

The Winter Blues

The Winter Blues
Robert J. Lindley 

Winter blew in with a scant little whimper 
Fall skulked away with hardly a peep 
Deep cold, blowing winds fit some's temper 
Yet others they sadden enough to weep! 

Snow brings its beauty and shining charms 
Frigid air sets furry critters about 
Blizzards blasting forth set great alarms 
Where frozen forested cries ring out. 

Nature knows best and gives as she pleases 
Hardest season sets the coming stage 
Death and pain, of which Spring then eases 
Time for each, says the wizened sage! 

Cold chills, hang glisten silent through the night 
Decembers solstice sets the stage northbound 
Jack Frost pretends to be Earth's white knight 
Dark days of winter winds; ice-kiss the ground 

Autumn renews chilling barren vows, 
Wonderland enables the sun on numb 
Icicles form, a voice shared -leaving nature roused 
Winter's blue melodies washed down with rum 

A cold peril storm, enjoying the winter sky 
Frostbitten dawn, desolate sunset of worthlessness 
A leafless desire to intensify nature's supply 
Loss from exposed skin, of hopelessness 
*** 
Snow, Sleet, and hell; patients needing detox 
Atlas Spring gives way to the Viral Equinox 

(Robert Lindley and Poet Destroyer co-write) 

~ ~ A Poet Destroyer Collaboration ~ ~
----------------------------------------------------

Contest: Collaboration Celebration- subject- Winter Reflections. 
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

PERCEPTION

   PERCEPTION

Before the abyss, I had it all
Letting go of all I see
My friend, I hope our time won't end
It took a short time for you to notice 
Without knowing who I am 
We talked, we became friends

Connecting the dots, missing every line
Connect them and figure me out
Randomly it comes your way
Underneath a never known chemistry
Ask me to stay and I may
Grinding your teeth into my way
Cut out my eyes, and store them up
A tongueless mouth, nothing to say

Maybe by tomorrow you will forget
Losing myself in my own conversation
Hiding behind my one big regret
Don't know, Don't care
You had me open up
A book I closed, knowledge lost

No need to see 
A mystery called deception
What I am cannot be seen with the naked eye
Along came you using your *ucked* up perception
The ability you miss use
making sense of this connection
A process you carry with your own  patterns
You asked, you listened,  without making assumptions
A taste to take off my shoulders, 
To release an error locked in my Asylum
I myself am enjoying the insights about him
He's got me convince, using his perception
               
  :)
SKAT

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010


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" ?
 

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2013


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Mirror Ball

I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,

A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.

The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.

The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.


Gene Bourne
08-01-14
.

Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | |

The Clown


The Clown a living metaphor of what you see and who it is Still learning to make a funny face to walk differently to perform before an audience A juggling fool with worn out socks in waiting for an applause to satisfy a world of melanchony delirium,and expectations Wearing the big black shoes bigger than it's being Keeping balance of the imbalance to nurture hungry mouths that survive on half a planet or what is left To feed human shadows which await the big blushed nose and stretched out lips Which await the mask that veils turmoil and pain The Clown with a spirit to live and a heart to die is back in full circus Splashing colours on shades of grey The Clown a living metaphor A tear away from its ownself The heterozygote twin in the mirror of my mortal smile is back in town and coming out to play. A revised repost Written 22/04/2012

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Window to my soul

My mind is in a state of dilapidation locked in conflict with its obsession to prevent the exposure of emotions disillusioned by the phobia of tenacity Look deep through the windows of my soul and you will see chains fastened to my heart You only see the coruscation of my smile not the wounds inflicted deep inside Yearning to feel with pangs of hunger but, I cannot demolish the barriers Maybe one day a brave soul will venture close but, be warned about the storm that breeds If you have the courage - then come closer If not, then turn away now and don't look back The Silent One 3 November 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Honeyed Words

She felt his hands so gently lift her hair
Her fingers trembled on the moistened quill
She knew his lips would graze her shoulder bare 
Her writing she kept up to mask her thrill

He pressed into her back his angel face
as thighs of steel closed in on rounded hips
Her line of thought she could no longer trace,
for she was lost in wonder of his lips

Her sonnet all forgot, her quill fell down
She felt his hands undo the single bow
that loosely held together evening gown
She smiled at wanton ways she’d come to know

With patience born of love he did undress
She leaned back on his chest till she was freed
His hands sought out her breasts with sweet caress
and in their palmed embrace she sensed his need

She stood up to her feet, and she turned round
to face her lover seated on his chair
She drew his face to taste what hands had found,
for well she knew the pleasure he found there

She watched his mouth and tongue dominion claim
A moan from deep within escaped her lips
She felt herself go weak, and he untame
for grip of hands just tightened on her hips

And soon she found herself on bed of love
Enraptured was her body and her mind
With trembling hand she touched his face above
as he plunged to her depths release to find

As morning light tinged sky in pink array,
she slipped out of his arms and sat to write
The honeyed words dripped down without delay
and soaked the page in rhyme of love’s delight

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | |

I Saw You Amongst the Wild Horses -part 2-

But you—the wild one
You were compulsive, fiery and inventive
I had my share of the wild and free
But you were molded from them—with insane beauty
Despite our differences we remained together
Perhaps you think I mean to save you—tame you
But I merely long to contain the sun
And hinder the pervasive burns
So that in so doing, I may always keep you warm
For cold wild shall destroy
As warm wild shall invent
Searing wild will one day save the world
And then destroy it all the next

Dear beloved one,
I saw you amongst the wild horses 
I did not dare touch you
Because I was afraid of Change
But Change was a delight—an apple to your eye
And I did not realize that Change was embedded in my very being
So when you shyly approached me,
I knew you were hungry
I fed you ample laughter and music
And soon I gained your highest respect
Along with a thousand other mystical blessings
I will not always remain by your side as if I am among you
But perhaps I shall linger at a distance—level to your luminosity 
As words continue to flow, I shall slowly inch myself forward
To be frank—you are the greatest companion in my world
Hot or cold—seared or chilled
You will always remain among the wild and free
And that race is sadly. . .
Slowly dwindling
Tell me you shall never become me
Never Change

In honor of you,
One day I will reach out my quivering hand
And you will consume the Apple of Friendship
Until then, 
Look beside you
As was inevitable—
I have changed for the better
Because you are—and always will be
My very greatest friend till the end

-this Ode was meant to be altogether; I hope you enjoyed reading, and thank you-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013


Details | Analogy Poem | |

Tongue Study

Tongue Study 4/22/2014


Tongue Study

Steady it wags
needing to know
more,about the
the very thing that
causes wars.
peace and pain
I study my tongue.
Much has been said
about the tongue yet
how has it pertained
to my own.
My tongue has delivered
and served,it has given
and taken,it has blessed,
it has cursed.
It has been written
and it has been SAID.
the tongue can be tied,twisted
curt,sweet,sharp,wagging or
bragging.

It may be your
native tongue
or foreign,it may be
exciting or boring.
If quiet is your tongue
the cat may have it.

If you use your
tongue to speak ill
of the dead you may,
challenge a force and
be cursing your life's course.

The tongue's confession's
may sweep out
dirty secrets from the
corners of your mind.

Wise words have fallen on death
ears, words smothered by pride.
truth escaped lying eyes.
Ignoring what you saw and
twisting what was heard.

Tongues may bond
with imbeciles or angels
forming positive
or negative energy.

Be careful,mind your tongue
it is closes to your own ears
and will affect you first,rather
before the others hear.

Be not at the mercy of 
an imbecilic tongue
read their eyes
and duck the darts
about to be thrown. 

Do not despise the
foreign tongue
for it is the aptitude 
of the brain, the tunnel
to his bilingual do not
expect the champions,
to cater to the dunce,
who can barley
master his own tongue.

In general I have concluded
weather you live by the sword or
stand on principals, I had to
learn to manage my tongue
as I would a loaded gun.

I will not justify my tongue
when I use it's power for wrong
and neither hold my piece,
to placate the sword of the unjust..
the real power is in
the righteousness
of the spoken tongue..

For those who live by
the sharp and sworded tongue
and wield words as death
blows to the innocent,
or those who are silent,
while others suffer
May also die
by the mighty tongue.
or by the holding of it.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014