Justice is like a queue
that ensures the fairness of first-come, first-served;
When the row of law shows its authority,
everyone follows as the order is observed.
Justice is like a traffic light
that gives right signs to every traveler;
When the ambulance of quandary must pass,
the red light yields to save a life in danger.
Justice is like a plumb line
that detects what has gone crooked or bowed,
When the lead weight of impartiality pinpoints the skewness,
the cord of vertical code is clear and loud.
Justice is like a whistle
that calls a violation when rules are broken;
When it makes a sharp and shrill sound of sanction,
the felon feels the blow of the warrant's wind.
Justice is like a broom
that sweeps out fraud wherever there is grime;
The firm stiff bristles of candor come,
removing the dirt and dust of crime.
I am walking on a single thread,
I am running out of time,
I am sinking into maybe and once upon a time,
I am focusing out of a silver dime.
The city lights are blinking,
The memoirs are getting blurry,
The colours run out together,
The world is drifting in motion.
Is this world only mine?
Are your tensions becoming vague?
Are you sinking in the light beneath the balcony door?
Are you craving the signs?
The desecrated smile on your face,
The mistakes are hazy,
My planet is losing shape without your voice,
I am trying to locate your gaze.
If I fall, is that called freedom,
Or another circle made?
I am not lost or out of focus,
But I don't want to lose my grip on the strand.
Trees tilted,
Weighted by bodies hung,
The truth sits in the branches above,
The stench of death burrows,
Rotting the soil,
Growth killed by injustice itself,
Heavy is the tree who screams with no mouth,
Heavy is the tree with tears turned into a drought.
Swinging back and forth,
Onlookers filled with joy,
A Black body, a Black boy,
No more will he smile,
Just an empty shell -
Well, well, well,
A story as old as time -
A Black boy found dead in the south,
The story they will tell -
He hung himself.
The truth shall set you free,
And yet freedom only works when white holds the key,
The truth is ugly,
But dressed in a white cloak it becomes pretty,
The tree -
A silent witness to this tragedy
The rabbit wants to run.
Prance about the fields for fun
Show off its talent to someone
But its cage wont let it.
The rabbit dreams to be free.
Chase the butterflies and the bumble bees
Burrow by a big birch tree
But it has a limp.
The rabbit wishes to feast.
Snack on daffodils, feel like a beast
Hop away from the wild geese
But it has a clipped ear.
The rabbit hopes to be brave.
To finally leave this cage someday
Find the joy and glory it craves
But the rabbit drives the fear.
With the cage open.
With its limp healed.
With its ear fixed.
The rabbit still wouldn't run.
Why, rabbit, do you still wish to run?
I heard a voice behind a wall
but not a human voice at all
more near an evil siren’s call
but darker than
yes darker than …
it carried horror, fear and pain
and stung my ear like acid rain
that haunting, desolate refrain
of aching sighs -
unearthly cries …
it held no kindness or content
resounding with a horrid bent
its beastly song did not relent
not rhyme or rule
it pounded, cruel …
I should have left that wall alone
but mys’try lived inside that moan
a-pleading with its mournful tone
my self aghast
it held me, fast …
and when I thought I’d take no more
a light appeared, then shined a door
but I stood still and thought before
I prayed a bit
then … opened it …
well, when I looked, my heart grew old -
my blood turned ice, my marrow - cold
from what my gaze would then behold …
that thing so vile
it turned to smile …
and then …
Copyright © 2026 Gregory Richard Barden
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
a pebble
d
r
o
p
s
into
the crystal-clear mirror
of nature....
gone
after a sudden disruption.
the surface of the stream
reveals
an unspoken wish.
a circle
w i d e n s,
e x p a n d i n g
as though bursting
into flames,
pressing against
the quietness
of the water's surface,
the water holds
whispering
of unwhisperable secrets.
without a tempo
leading its way
without a beat
to command it.
lily pads d r i f t
over the stream
shadows reflecting
the movement of a clear day.
no track to follow,
no reason or why.
outwardly,
and outwardly,
the edge of stream
grows thin,
the starting point
where the line
originally started,
a pulse and silence...
as the water
recedes from sight,
a ripple
with no rhythm
being engulfed
in the darkness.
Death be violent, death be dark.
Death be silent, death be stark.
Death be doomly, death be knell.
Death be deadly, death be hell.
It ain’t the mystery that I be fearing,
but the certainty and the nearing.
I gazed at the tree’s bare stem
alone at the end of the street.
It had aged but appeared
as a twig to me.
Alone, I thought.
an apparition
but I’d seen it before.
In place it stood where it
bore the sun, the wind
rain and snow every year.
Never quite dead
but I could not call it alive.
Burdened with a bag
of rolled up newspapers
I labored, doing what I could do
after I losing a job.
I’d grown to love the neighborhood
blocks staked out for development
when I stayed with my parents
just after college. They passed.
My chest ached and feet hurt
and I wondered how many times
I died, and how many times
I lived. Spring a poetic leap
but now long days of summer
wore upon me. I took a turn as I must
and saw line upon line of houses
that sprouted from wild grasses
and remnants of a farm
lands known when I was young.
Selfish young youth has brightly beamed faces
And beautiful gleaming gold hair as loose lace is,
Like balmy books with pale prefaces
Its intrinsic inceptive and prompt paces,
Soon, sad torrid time replaces
The sunny sparkle with gentler graces
And young youth with those tacit troughed ages.
cellar door afar
cellar door ajar
amber discovered
candle uncovered
cellar door afar
cellar door ajar
candle discovered
amber light hovered
cellar door ajar
cellar door afar
amber light covered
candle smoke hovered
BRAIN FLOW
Dark clouds moving on;
Winds of wisdom are blowing:
Well-breezed mind, soaring:-
Contest Name: 1501 Sept 2026 part 4x4'
Sponsor Brian Strand
******************************************
How I hunger for the connection
that I always break
or fail to make.
Its absence is an emptiness
invading my personal space.
Deafening silence rings my ears
and making my head throb and ache.
Whether surrounded by people or all on my own, there's no change
Though its presence is unwelcome, it persists to overstay.
Insistent that within its grasp
is where, forever, I shall remain.
Imprisoned behind the bars
of its isolating ways.
Feeling crushed beneath the heaviness of its invisible chains.
Wheezing shallow breaths, suffocating and in pain.
Asking, telling, screaming, yelling; it just won't go away.
Neither will it set me free nor permit me to escape.
Sentenced my whole lifetime as its intimate inmate.
It's ineffable...
So why do we persist in it's expression
Bubbling up from somewhere we can't even name
It has to come out somehow, and where and how it does is unexpected
At least by those around us who're subjected to what remains
As a mystery to most... now that all is open
To that nameless hole that fills up with what needed to come out
Someday medicine might pretend to know what autopsies can't tell us
But despite what they'll come up with,,, I'll bet it isn't right
Some fancy Latin name won't begin to explain
How this spring can be continuous yet not have a known source
Just know that when the well runs dry
No matter that we knew not why
We knew it would happen by and by
In spite of where suspicions lie
In spite of who cried, "My oh my!"
A look inside is still worth all our questions
But we'll just have to live with the suggestions
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would teach them to waltz across vast skies.
They would never dissolve into nothingness—
And they would always inspire searching eyes.
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would be a musician of bright notes and vivid colors.
I would take them by the hand like friends,
So they would never grieve as lonely drifters or lovers.
I would teach them how to be like the swans,
Moving gently with grace as they glide.
A composer floating endlessly in the lake of dreamers.
Samael: "The orchard is open to omphaloses the stables are Sable's cheery O's and so cereal of woodwork, is fairy cereal so bold."
Uraeal: "I open the gates true north crashes down, the hell of highwater is where the shark surely drowned, but the westward gate is closed and so is the east and the south closes now, like heathery feasts.
The Pro: "Should be palaver again, the moon bright the brittle bread?"
Samara: "I bred in this fire, I tire of liars who are of the sort who won't kindle my fire."
Gladius: "The other festoon is under thine eyes, like he needn't cross-work on crosswords for prized possession, taken by the ghoul of Mary sent brethren."
Aurora: "If the course if taken by the northmost gate, let golden rakes fill the plates."
Helel: "Should we wait for the north gate to crumble, before he humbug the buggie and send swallows aflutter?"
(Anonymized character) "I created once before now I was become death, the pita bread moon like the harvest moon's friend."
---End of act V---
Metaphor Categories
Read wonderful metaphor poetry on the following sub-topics:
animal, family, friends, football, kids, lion, love, loneliness, moon, nature, yourself
and more.
Definition | What is Metaphor in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
symbol, image, analogy, similitude, emblem, personification, allegory, hope, metonymy, trope,