Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Best Hyperbole Poems

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

Search for Hyperbole poems, articles about Hyperbole poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Hyperbole poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Hyperbole Poems
Read Hyperbole Poems
New Hyperbole Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Hyperbole Poems

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

FREE CEE refining and mainlining hyperbole by cohan, jeffry
half-hearted hyperbole by naces, romeo
Hyperbole No More by Weber, John
Clannish Hyperbole by naces, romeo

View all new Hyperbole Poems

Poems are below this ad.

The Best Hyperbole Poems

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

A Gentle Breeze-

It begins with a gentle breeze,
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees,
it begins with a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees,
it's only brisk, it isn't much.
It begins with a gentle breeze,
rustling the leaves with its touch.

It's only brisk, it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Yet you can still escape its clutch,
it's only brisk, it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It's only brisk, it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.

Gathering up a cloud of dust,
it dims the sun's diminished light.
And attacks with increasing thrust,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
As shutters squeak and hinges bust,
a furious gale gives them flight.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
it dims the sun's diminished light.

A furious gale gives them flight,
as loose shingles fly through the air.
Morphing into objects of might,
a furious gale gives them flight.
People join hands and hang on tight,
for flying debris packs a scare.
A furious gale gives them flight,
as loose shingles fly through the air.

Written by Emile Aug.28th ,2015  "Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention - Poetry Contest".

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

More great poems below...

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

I See You

I See You...

Wanderer, wanderer, lost in the haze
void of direction, succumb to the craze.
Give ear to my madness, so deftly designed;
deception de-jour: aimed to muddle your mind.

Hocus and pocus no need for free thought, 
erase your opinions, your conscious to rot.
As sugar and soda your smile decay,
a hoax and swindle, then off on your way. 

Smoke and a mirror, please don’t look too close.
The truth makes one banal; drugs for the morose.
Illusion can conjure emotions untapped
a quick misdirection, now I’ve got you trapped. 

You think you arrived here, quite all on your own
you’re one of a billion, another sad clone…
I’ve stolen the treasure that once made you free
brainwashed you to thinking all’s as it should be.

Gobbledygook and hyperbolized drivel
platitudes, platitudes, mentally shrivel;
accept what I tell you, and not an ounce more,
wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore. 


Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Ugly Words

Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
a compliment?
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
for flair?
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Plastic Siblings

Genial to avoid confrontation
Baseborn kind, complaisant character
A spurious recital, a cheap imitation
Apocryphal mind, and comical creations
Counterfeited Christ
An unholy effusion
Sons of Belial
Clutch arcane knowledge
Esoteric information

Delve into oracular verse.
Deadened faith
Recondite belief denuded denials
Portentous and abstruse
Divested of the truth
Desolate road
Traveled day after day
Seriatim in miles
Strangled in hyperbole
Hypothetical noose

Cheaply loose

Suicidal salvation
Covertly clandestine
Do what art wilt
Deliver the chosen
indoctrinate guilt
Derision to the destined
To learn love over hate
Adoration to inculcate
Imbue their sick lessons.

Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

This Year In English Quintain

Someone is knocking at my door The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear It’s Good Joy. Cheers! No more, no more Oh dear, I cannot open the door for her Sorry Joy, glide by, I’m sick and not in my gear. Someone is knocking at my door The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear It’s Good Hope but I can’t be lured. In dark shadows I grope, what makes you come here? I know you mock the life, glide by, I desire. Someone is knocking at my door The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear Oh, It’s Good Health. This year you won’t be ignored Welcome, I dart my doors open for you, dear. I do need nothing but your blessings this year.
+++ January 15, 2015 Form: Quintain (English-ABABB)

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Bursts Of Light-Visual:6

Like shooting stars they pierce the dark, and paint the sky with bursts of light. As oohs and aahs follow each spark, like shooting stars they pierce the dark. Rockets explode over the park, raining color unto the night. Like shooting stars they pierce the dark, and paint the sky with bursts of light. Written May 23rd, 2015 for contest “ONE LOVELY SUMMER TRIOLET”.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Dragon Eyes

She enters the room like a storm,
thunder rumbling within her wake.
And a deluge of tears follows,
while the very ground seems to quake.

She’s an explosion of fireworks,
as spectacular as the dawn.
And exuding flames of fury,
in a sudden flash she is gone. 

A lady to be reckoned with,
fire flares in her dragon eyes.
And strikes fear in the hearts of men,
exposing secrets and stale lies.

A source of fiery energy,
her eyes illuminate the night.
And her aura intensifies,
to a glow of exquisite light.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Last Lingering Light-

A red sunset bleeds onto a blue sky,
behind branches of a majestic oak.
And shadows ink green leaves in silhouette,
as lonely crickets chirp and bullfrogs croak.

I can hear the crops rippling in the breeze,
and a brook babbling with a southern drawl.
Yet they’re lost in the quiet of night,
as time slows to a perceptible crawl. 

Adventurous moths flutter in the air,
while acrobatic bats blindly take flight.
And as dark descends like a velvet curtain,
day acquiesces to the might of night.

A quicksilver moon pools amidst the clouds,
dripping drops of sunshine onto the lake.
And all of heaven begins to glitter,
as billions of sleeping stars now awake.

And dusk snuffs out the last lingering light,
as nature silently whispers, Goodnight.

Written July 31, 2015 for “Nature Poems Only - Poetry Contest”

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Inside My Head, My Muse Too Often Rages

Inside My Head, My Muse Too Often Rages

Muse, please stop that raking inside my old head
and those stomping feet keep me awake too late.
I love other nights and your words I am often fed
even the scary ones about my coming tragic fate.

Know that this is not a raging and silly complaint
there is far more to me than madness and glue.
Yet too often your words, good words, they ain't
Set me to curse some of the wicked things you do!

How about that night you twisted my deepest love
added in words about my secret lustful thought.
Then the time you cried out, kill that damn dove!
Yes, tis' true my heart and soul you have bought.

And why can not I write one without your blather
are not my own brain birthed words fine and great.
No thanks, kiss you send is rejected, for I'd rather
you took long vacations and did not keep me up late!

Before you fly FAR away mad as a bat out of Hell
please help me with that dark poem, I am stuck.
Did I mention that I truly think you are so swell
No my friend, I'll not lay down in front of a truck!

Yes, you did toss into this write some sharp words
a strong positive you sometimes so generously add.
No, my aching head tis not full of old and lazy birds
I command that you now be sweeter and not so bad!

Hear me again, stop chattering and you just listen.
I want big stars, deeper love and words that glisten!
Muse, please stop that raking inside my old head
and those stomping feet keep me awake too late.
I love other nights and your words I am often fed
even the scary ones about my coming tragic fate.

Robert J. Lindley, 09-10-2015

Sponsor Name-- Broken Wings
Contest Name  --Trashed #2

What to Submit?
Any poem entered in a contest in the month of SEPTEMBER that did not place.  Please remove all other contest information from the poem.
Poem must have been for a contest judged in September (yes, I check)
Date written and posted 
Your name
This contest noted , example, Trashed #2, sponsor, Broken Wings
No Honorable Mentions, although painful that is a placement
No poems entered in any of my previous contest (yes I have a list)
No poems written in - I Do No Know, that is not a form
No poems sexually explicit

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Night of Mystery

The sun was rather hasty--
I might go so far as this;
Because of it, that starry night,
Concluded with a kiss.

And for its misplaced manners--
Its intrusion, if you will;
I have hung the darkest curtains
Just above the window sill.

But should the sun allow it--
One long night of mystery;
I'd pull the curtains down, and smile
For the possibility!

Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Tee Shot

Stance, grip,
settle in, shake out,
place the club head,
sweet spot kissing
the doomed ball,
a ripe plum
against the steel.
Doubt about 
the Oppenheimer reallocation.
Eye on the ball, 
a visual feast,
view the flag,
take a picture of it
with the mind,
eye on the ball.
A breeze, a frown,
left foot forward
a millimeter,
club head opened 
four thousands of an inch,
the reckoning 
of terrible variables.
Imagine the Masters:
“Mr Scott Davis of Fort Wayne Indiana,
you are away.”
Perfection, shake out,
wiggling hips,
exhale, the paroxysm
of tension, mind and body
The flag appears
as a scrapbook photograph,
the drum roll crescendo
of concentration stops.
The Oppenheimer reallocation
was a good move.
It's time.
The back swing,
a slow pendulum
of machine precision
rises to the twisted apex 
and hovers.
The sword of Damocles,
falls slowly to release.
Scott gives it his all.
Eye off the ball.
The Oppenheimer reallocation.
Follow through.
There it is!
The ball is shooting straight
down the fairway
as an artillery round,
climbing to trajectory,
rising, hanging, hanging
beyond gravity,
falling, falling, dropping.
Direct hit on the green,
rolling, rolling, stopping
ten feet from the pin. 
Could be better but
birdie is possible –
very possible.
Scott lifts the heavy golf bag
and soldiers down the fairway. 
The sun could not
be brighter,
the sky more blue,
the grass more green,
the birds more musical.
Scott is hopeful
of birdie
on Par 3.

Copyright © Peter Kautsky | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |


Here goes...
she said
it loudly and

l`m a miss
and  l miss 
you inside out

I miss you like
bees really miss
their honey

water for my thirst
food for my hunger
scratch for my itch

want to take
to you like 
duck to water

you draw me
to you like
moth to light 

you are my cake
my cup of goodies
my hot ice-cream

at night my moon
daytime my sun
your love my light

take a seat
I sold that heater
for your heat

you bathe in milk 
l bask in your presence
a sublime quench

what she did not
say is that we`re close
strangers on the net!

Copyright © Ndaba Sibanda | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Of Lust and Dissipation

A Spenserian Sonnet
(Mr. Snake falls in love with a garden hose)

Today I slithered up a grassy hill,
wet from the creek and eager to explore.
The urge to snare a mate devoured my will,
could not this be the day for me to score?

I spot you there beside the garden door, 
your slick green shape pervades my hungry sight.
Your golden head criss-cross my eyes before
your trim tight coil peals visions of delight.

Yet when I push my moves into the light
your body squirms and grows before my eyes,
and dread arises in a burst of fright.
You spit at me in angry spurts, surprise

me with a gush of clear and liquid spray,
while I make haste to scuttle fast away.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Four-Eyed Charmer

I wear a white buttoned shirt
And my friends call me four eyes
But I don't care, just slowly walk away
And give 'em my gang sign

Don't bother with my appearance
Cause I'm the king of the chess team
Most guys got brawns, when it comes to logic
I can win before you take a seat

And I'm a four-eyed charmer
But a real straight A lover
What girl wouldn't wanna fall all over me
Hold my bag on the boat when I'm sick at sea
I'll give this life a mighty heave
Confidence you wouldn't believe
Whet girl wouldn't wanna fall all over me
Give me oxygen when I forget to breathe

Some gits got British accents
To impress any American gal
I speak elvish and clenon
They got their mansion royale

Some guys eat snails a la mode
And only settle for the finest wine
I can foresee myself in Paris
Throwing tomatoes at the mimes

A true heart you'll discover
Under this four-eyed charmer
What girl wouldn't wanna fall all over me
Hold my bag on the boat when I'm sick at sea
And I'm taking a leap of faith
That could either destroy or save
What girl wouldn't wanna fall all over me
Give me oxygen when I forget to breathe

Now I finally got someone
A lovely gal to cheer me on
When I play videogames
All night to the crack of dawn

Now I finally got someone
Who loves to rub when
I get a burning lobster tan
On my mayonnaise skin

Now I finally got someone
Who thinks my wandering eye
Is actually kinds cute
At least now I'm not so shy

I am the geek with four eyes
A noble prince in disguise
With a girl who courageously fell for me
As the titanic sinks I'll be your Lenny
And I bet it all on a whim
Now I'm the one with everything
With a girl who courageously fell for me
Her smile augmented when I stood on one knee

NOTE: So I feel ridiculously silly now, but I already posted this one a long time ago... must have slipped my mind... oh well :/

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Conspiracy nut

when some one else is                                                                                                   caught it's a conspiracy                                                                                                   when I say something

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Perfect Inhumanity

Ticker tape life into a single frame
Moon and stars silhouettes look down upon the sane
All the pristine porcelain faces lifted up to care
Intertwined fingers optimistically seeking out repair
Tolerance is not the toiling only of the brave
To find unified understanding is what the species craves
Eating of chrysanthemums call to darkness, be eclipsed
Bathe pure enlightenment producing innocence
Causing hearts to swell with love, beating live balloons
The “Perfect world” residing within Fabergé cocoons

Ticker tape life into a single frame
Darkness and misery secreted from disdain
All distorted tarnished faces sodden with despair
Lungs expanded beyond capacity, choking on the air
Hollow heads full of sorrow roll in like crimson waves
Crashing upon hopeless steely shores with desecrated pain
Soaring far from absent shadows into the great abyss
Bitter taste of hateful words linger on pursed lips
Lacerated tongue, swollen, bleeding from its wounds
Inhuman world residing within lanolin cocoons

This is copyrighted material. All rights are reserved. Reprints must be requested in writing to 
the original author. © Alisha Groves

Copyright © Alisha Groves | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |


Problems in the mirror may be further than they appear
Don’t fear when they’re near, they’ll soon disappear
help is here, let me give your mind a steer
I’ma just keep writin’ until it all appears clear
coming to you live from the heart, no veneer here
closing in on 10,000 hours quick, nothing will interfere
I’ll turn these words to a career, this is only the first tier
found what I love, don’t care about 0’s at the cashier
You're wasting your time if you wouldn’t do it as a volunteer
Please don’t call me a poet, call me a word engineer
Haha, I can joke too, not all my poems are severe jeers
Stop while you’re ahead though, bout to shift into next gear
Pay attention, learn more in a poem than an academic year
Spare the sneer, wont quit til I sear all that you adhere
Persevere, attackin’ ya from the front both sides and the rear
Steer clear, don’t need no one’s cheer, you cohere?
Probably bust a drum if I spoke this, cauliflower ear
You don’t have to like me, but I bet you will revere
Change my name to Paul, inform you bout the brigadiers
See what I did there? Re-read those past 2 if it’s unclear
My minds my weapon, unlimited ammo, bandolier
Fully automatic, spraying bullets at everything insincere
Blowing up everything you thought you knew, bombardier
You got tunnel vision, widen your view, belvedere
This flow is delicate, elegant, like a chandelier
This flow leave ya weak in the legs like a baby deer
This flow has many sides and it’s well rounded like a sphere
A pioneer on the frontier, might stop and shed 1 tear
They say a writer never dies, guess this is a souvenir
Catch me down under drinkin' a Bundaberg ginger beer
This poems a joke, obscene, call me Edward Lear

Copyright © Zachary Alvstad | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

The Cantilevered Soul

The cantilevered soul
	looks up--
Wonders at the mood,
Strikes out alone.
All to stone.

He revels in sight;
He sees beyond.
To see or be seen is
	his motto.

Truly he will fall
From that old wall
	and break
	not gently.

Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Unfinished Blitz

The Blitz Poem, a poetry form created by  UNSUPPORTED CODE Robert Keim UNSUPPORTED CODE .

This form of poetry is a stream of short phrases and images with repetition and rapid flow. 

Begin with one short phrase, it can be a cliché. Begin the next line with another phrase that begins

The third and fourth lines are phrases that begin with the last word of the 2nd phrase, the 5th and 6th lines
begin with the last word of the 4th line, and so on, continuing, with each subsequent pair beginning with the
last word of the line above them, which establishes a pattern of repetition. 

Continue for 48 total lines with this pattern, And then the last two lines repeat the last word of line 48,
then the last word of line 47.

The title must be only three words, with some sort of preposition or conjunction joining the first word
from the third line to the first word from the 47th line, in that order.

There should be no punctuation. When reading a BLITZ, it is read very quickly, pausing only to breathe.

Testing the waters: 

Dreams scattered
dreams mattered

Mattered much
mattered deeply

Deeply touched
deeply shattered

Shattered lives
shattered spirits

Spirits mending
spirits lending

Lending healing
lending feelings

Feeling hopeful
feeling faithful

Faithful words
faithful deeds

Deeds done
deeds undone

Undone damage
undone scars

Scars mark
Scars wounds

Wounds healed
wounds flesh

Flesh weak
weak sight

Sight see's
sight by faith

faith speaks
faith marches

Marches slower 
marches with pace 

Pace is slower 
pace placed timing


we will


 Unfinished  to be continued ....unedited

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |


SONG LYRICS: Made to fit with a song.

My words are always uttered
But never seem to sound
No one will listen
When I walk around town

I don't meet expectations
Society tunes me out
My frequency isn't normal
Radios can't hear it sound

For now I often speak
To hear my thoughts out loud
Therapy will not reconcile
A reject's incurable frowns.

Copyright © Trenton Moore | Year Posted 2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Autumn Leaf in Paradise

I can see it in your eyes:
Autumn Leaf in Paradise,
and I fear for all the trees
full of stupid theories
about never-ending summer
while The Big Hand holds a hammer
above all fragility
and I wonder if you see
Autumn Leaf in Paradise
softly glowing in my eyes
like an answer and a seal
in the last tree on the hill.

Copyright © simona dancila | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

the voice within

The Voice Within 
Truth is a beautiful bird that seeks the light of knowledge
but it also has sharp talons to grab hold of and expose lies,
and falseness that dissipate in the sight of veracity.

But are all truths good for everyone isn´t there moments 
in life when a small lie can safe life or stop the crying of 
a distressed child or comfort the grieving?

The insistence of absolute truth can with time become 
cold and tyrannical, shows no mercy holds no love, lacks 
human understanding and passion.

Truth seeker can be sadists taking delight in suffering of
those who have been caught in the confusing of untrue,
of what professional liars call: “To misspeak”   

 Truth without empathy is therefore useless we need to
hear the inner voice and listen to its song; at dawn it sings 
so softly you will be moved to make the right choice. 

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |


Machiavelli  s'been stewing 
teardrops in the Soup

Stooping to new lows 
stirring chickens in the coop

Seems some folks will do anything 
for what they think is fame
Swiss cheese stories for glory
Lordy! Whaddah' shame!

Reminds me of two classic movies...
"Freddie Lives" and the other is 
"The Crying Game"...
but this one's very unbelievable, it ain't scary,
and it's much
MUCH more lame!~

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

Recycled Wisdom Lost

Recycled Wisdom Lost
                       by Odin Roark

How common to recycle today
or bubble wrap.

How rare the regard for pleas from
wishing also to amend anew.

How satisfying,
To arouse the sleeping heart,
thrusting its comfort-beat
upon new rhythms made aware,
ensuing  musical notes of clarity
not yet upon the staff of boundaries,
affording dissonance where only
harmony's familiarity once reigned.

To revisit memory
offering bygone experience,
wiser tools of perception,
scrambling dog-eared indexes
cross-referencing fact and fabrication,
allowing waste to fall free,
encouraging truth to persevere.

To sort through mind's many strategies,
discounting some,
discarding others,
dismantling exhausted cogs that
advance little the unknown begging at the door.

Such is…

To complete one's desire to remain conscious,
allowing distinction for that worth rebirthing
from chaff heretofore but a friction urging resolve.

How obvious to some:
the take-to-the-curb days of consciousness.

How misunderstood by others:
the smothering effect of effort
to treat excess destined as garbage.

How aware
those who
like the winged flights on high
weave today's nest
from yesterday's exhausted remnants,
knowing well the destiny of permanence
is but to replant where burnt forests once thrived.

And yet…

We often think recycling is confined to aluminum,
plastics, glass and other fabrications of man’s intellect,
but what of...

Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2014

Details | Hyperbole Poem | |

sun on brick

line against the wall
fat birds too wrung out to drive
later, rooms' sweet ease

Copyright © Michael Miers | Year Posted 2014