Amidst the rocks on the edge of the land
Casting its light, a faithful friend stands.
Low in the shadows of the crests and troughs
Lies hidden danger when seas are rough.
But this lighthouse spreads it's loyal beam
To alert captains to what can't be seen...
A metaphor for a friend like you
Who generously lights up those around her too
Who shares her light of joy and love;
The darkest shadows you rise above.
Thank you for reaching out your hand
Like the faithful guardian sheds its light from the land.
Gotta get the kinks out of his keyboard
warm up well before he performs
Like a fencer plays with the tip of his sword
sets his fingers to fly like a unicorn ...
Ah, but that's simple: it’s a pianist, you say
poets don’t speed along their way
Consider this, though, my newfound friend ~
poets race their thoughts as they round the bend
Dark, my depleted garden
no furtive rays of sunshine
August weather, clammy as a snail
sauce redolent of aged shrimp cocktail
Peonies once lined up to burst forth
‘til their came a howler from the north
A sepulchral portrait, pleasing skunks and raccoons
~ They don't cry to Heaven if a garden is ruined
A thought is like a spark
that suddenly ignites in the mind;
It fuels the wisdom within,
illuminating what is blind.
A thought is like a seed
that can be planted and gradually grow;
Once it has grown mature,
it endures the winds that blow.
A thought is like a cloud
that drifts across the mind and disappears;
It can be swept away
by the storm of doubts and fears.
A thought is like a stream
that leads naturally into another;
As the current of thinking flows,
the sea of minds starts to remember.
A thought is like a butterfly
that is fleeting, elusive by nature;
Once it's carefully caught,
it inspires us to paint the picture.
©bfa082126
I regret now having once thought
That each new morning fresh hope brought,
And keys were meant to open doors,
Bars on windows protect what's yours,
Steep walls were meant for privacy.
Now I see how wrong one can be!
As I await for my release,
I pray to God for inner peace.
(Honorable mention in Line Gauthier's Bite Size No 147 Contest)
Soon to be replaced by AI
Some poets curse
Others yearn for
the 'good old days'
of wracking our brains
for just the right metaphor
or the perfect simile
So. I plead guilty to writing facsimiles
~ ‘cos NONE of the above applies to me
Without metaphor or simile
symbolism, imagery
poetry it cannot be
Bone-dry language
prosaic thought
as poetry ‘tis all for naught
Dare you disagree with me?
~ poetry it cannot be
If sleep was like a box of chocolates
Each choc representing time,
We'd all likely dive for the one
Offering several hours - nine!
If we sneak one during the day
It would be a cat nap.
There are others that give intimitancy
Where dreams will overlap.
It seems that most nights the same is picked
That only provides two to four
Hours of sleep in total.
If I take two, will I get more?
Some can be quite sour
Bringing nightmares, pain or angst.
Others are sweet prompting pleasant dreams,
Even waking, you can feel your heart dance.
Then there are umami ones
With detailed vivid dreams
Not scary, not sweet, but very real
And you find significant seams.
There are occasions where, quite by accident,
Your own exhaustion makes the choice.
One is selected where there's no disturbance,
No dreams, no bladders voice!
This rare sort refreshes the most
And you feel the utter bliss
Of a good night's rest, you're raring to go
Thinking, "I could do with more of this!"
If sleep was like a box of chocolates
And you could actually choose,
Which one do you think you would pick?
I'll give you time to muse.
Sometimes thin, like a cloud,
Scattered and foggy, it drifts,
Softly down or too high,
Silent mist turns to art,
Shadows grow dark and heavy,
Sunlight makes it bright and moving,
Steady shield, just a cloud like me.
a pebble skips when it’s smooth
sinks when it’s not
like a child’s first ballet
flights of fancy her thoughts
EUTERPE
I am in the warm breath of summer’s airs
And the threatening roar of winter’s storms.
I am of the rising sun and waning moon,
In the harmony of the distant stars,
And the restless rhythm of rolling seas.
I am lost memories in caverns deep,
Where Mnemosyne* in timeless darkness sleeps,
Where magicians old, their secrets keep.
I am in the orchestra of the rain,
The symphony of the showers.
I am metaphor, I am simile,
I am rhythm, I am poetry.
Barry Stebbings
July 2026
Euterpe – Greek muse of lyric verse and music
Daughter of Mnemosyne, goddess of memory.
AN INVIGORATING THOUGHT
Like blades of rooted grass mowed,
And as rooted trees with naked branches,
We too, will survive and birth new generations:-
New generations…weathering and overcoming
The oppressive nature of human nature’s bigotry:-
Generations are in the nature of time and creation,
And like time’s creation, are destined to keep coming;
Thus, rooted here today, let us continue to plow the way:
Sowing and reaping rows of justice, equity, and democracy:-
REFLECTIONS OF A WATERED ELDER
IN AND OF WE GREENS ??
Like the bright green grass,
We continue onward growth:
God, fertilizing.
Our youth, moist and fresh,
Are in dire need of being dried and
Cured to withstand today's trying times.
Void of Rights of Passage–barely rooted
And anchored in the sustaining energy
Of ourstory, our youth have become like
Unchartered ships in aimless serpentine waters,
Whorlwinding in a socio-psycho, bigoted cesspool:-
In Proverbs and Psalms
It has been collectively written:
“Train a [child] in the way
[They should go…[and] that the Lord
Is [the] light in [their] salvation;
[Whom] should [they] fear?”
The resurrection of the Village waits,
And the youth too; come, fellow elders,
Let us mirror and reflect ourstory’s journey
In a way our youths may envision their
Present-day destination: Least we fail
In ourstory’s present journeying:-
??: Extended family name
The Stream Of Greedy Dreams.
From the crown falls the stream,
the stream of greedy dreams,
which making its own way
flows all night and day.
It washes away the meek sand
and overflows the small pebbles,
but narrows itself amid
huge rocks and mighty hills.
It flows among crops and trees
and also among no use weeds.
It grows by length and breadth
and tries to drown the whole earth.
Alas! The end comes its way
as it mingles with the bay.
The dreams get lost in the sea so vast
Made of many dreams so lost.
With dimming moonlight ebbing slowly,
treading the path to lands deemed holy,
here walks a tired man, an aged pilgrim,
with his frail shadow following him.
He maunders on in search of that bed
where he can lay down his weary head,
and draw earthy sheets over tired eyes,
life's unbalanced sums thus totalise.
Return to nature with final act
what he took: no more, no less…exact.
Simile Categories
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animal, christmas, dogs, family, funny, kids, life, love, metaphor, mother, nature, ocean, spring,
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Definition | What is Simile in Poetry?
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