Introspection Metaphor Poems | Introspection Poems About Metaphor

These Introspection Metaphor poems are examples of Introspection poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Introspection Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Bio |

I Am

I am...
A seed that was blown from 
A wayward wind
Sewn too soon
With fragile roots
To a rocky soil
That fell between
The cracks
In a place covered
In ocean brine
Managed to exist
Where the sun
Could not shine
On those rare days
When it would burn
Through that veil 
Of grey fog
The whole world blue
Blue skies...
Where clouds roamed 
Over a quiet glassy surface
That would 
When pushed...
By a raging wind
Lash out 
In frustration
Shattering itself
On those jagged rocks
As it tried 
And time again
To move beyond that
Rocky shore
That rose
Tried in vain
To bloom.

Author:  Elaine Cecelia George of Canada

Written:  March 7th, 2015

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sijo |

Thistle Solitude

I have briefly caught sight of the other side of yesterday, blinded by the sun, while running barefoot across a field of thorns I'll carve a path through weeds and stones, to reach a childhood memory.
Inspired by Andrea's Contest: Glorious Sijo Fields 1/31/15 Resubmitted for Brian Strand's Contest: # 201

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |

The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Every rose has its thorn,
Every person that's born
Is both thorny and sweet as perfume.
So are some when they grow,
As you likely may know,
Naught but thorns, or forever in bloom.

For the bush clad in thorns
The kind gardener mourns,
Yet he cares for them just like the rest;
But the roses that grow
He replants in a row
So the people that walk by are blessed.

If each deed that you do
In a rose garden grew,
Would your branches be roses or thorns?
Would you be on display
Or be hidden away
In the shade of the blackberry thorns?

Would you be but a shrub
That the passersby snub,
Or a rosebush admired by all?
Growing thorn after thorn
Will but heighten the scorn,
But a rosebud is lovely, tho' small.

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

The Potter and the clay

The clay goes round and round, on the Potters wheel
With gentle touches, and pressures he creates what he feels
One is a bowl for eating soup, another a cup for drinking tea
Each one is crafted uniquely special, showing his individuality.

Handled with care by the Potter, while still in a fragile state
The Potter continues to mold, until it reaches a hardened shape.
And then the formed handiwork, is set aside alone to dehumidify
Slowly one by one he is joined in like company, no need to cry.

And then to the kiln to be purified,  tested in superheated fire
When they're out they are all polished, to a beauty that inspires
When the Potter's done with the clay, it becomes a useful vessel
We are like clay in God's hands, with our imperfections we wrestle.

Our weaknesses, our wrong desires, at times may overwhelm us
Our lack of faith, and hardened hearts, could scheme and impel us
To be used for ugly purposes, which were not intentionally made
We ruin our fragile selves, putting the haughty ego on display.

We know the Potter does not change his immutable eternal purpose
It is us, who must submit, to doing God's will, because it's worth it.

Let him mold you for an honourable purpose!

John Derek Hamilton  November 11, 2015

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |

One Autumn Day

As the wind ripped the leaves from the trees
I thought of you
As I stood there like those trees
Stripped of all their glory
Their only crime
Giving birth to beauty

I watched them fall
All those brilliant leaves
And knew you could never stop
Poetry in motion.


Written:  September 14, 2014
Author: Elaine George

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |



Walking alone
Often outside
In deep thought
About things of
Great importance.

I wonder aloud
Thoughts amassed
Priorities now
Solutions not clear
Seeking inspiration.

Time’s fleeting
Which is always
Tied to many
Dynamic actions
Begging resolution.

I stop now—
And look heavenward
Solutions abound
Choices are difficult
I’m staying focused.

Use my intuition
Request divine help
Do Nothing
Take your pick
Nothing’s easy.

My soul’s focus
Trust yourself—
First and foremost
God speaks silently
Do it now!              

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 27, 2015) (Accentual Meter)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet |

Moon Light Moon Night

We hold hands walking under the bright beam of God’s Moon Light,
And stop and kiss so intently in the soft cradle of the dark Moon Night.

The passion and rapture together we feel so on this cold black night,
Is reflected and majestically warmed by the touch of the Moon Light.

I look lovingly into your eyes on this quite special dark Moon Night,
Marveling at the love so reflected in your eyes by the Moon Light.  

This is an enchanted sight to behold by All who love the Moon Light, 
Reflecting the beauty and meaning while savoring all the Moon Night.

A deep Cosmic Blackness pervades the canvas of this great Moon Night,
While God’s grace and love pleasure us with a most bright Moon Light.

Almighty God in Heaven gently modulates the tone of this Moon Light,
Bringing constant wonder and glory to All on this most dark Moon Night. 

My love and I now understand the mystical meaning of this Moon Light,
As we ponder and hold so special God’s emotion felt on this Moon Night.  

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 19, 2014) (Rhyme Couplet poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

Grey Skies are Raining Poets

Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Expressions of the heart
Kindness exposed
Bitterness sits in the cold
Poetic wisdom's
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets dancing
Poets crying
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all

My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
With poets
As all of you

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quintain (English) |

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

Mankind’s love, passion, and truth on this Earth
Are what the heavenly angels above speak of 
As part of our continuing mortal experience.
No power on this Earth can ever diminish our
Love nor tear asunder the aura of this uniqueness.

Our heavenly dreams and ongoing desire for
Cosmic Awareness are ingrained into our souls 
And our very DNA—forming that rare divine
Wanderlust characterizing humanity’s efforts 
To synchronize its spirituality with God Himself.

This gives us all cause to reflect on and think of
The higher path that brings our hearts and souls
Together as one as we seek our cosmic destiny, 
As part of the Almighty’s plan for us in Heaven.
This is what the heavenly angels above speak of.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quintain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic monologue |

Valuable values

Valuable values

A child receives a beautiful toy,
it came in a cardboard box
with shiny wrapping paper.
A short time later
the child was seen
playing with the box
and the toy was abandoned in the corner.

Was it because the child was ungrateful?
Did the child not appreciate the value
of the gift?
Did the child not understand 
what the gift was?
Did the child not comprehend 
that the box
although it was beautiful, 
it was empty, and had no value?

It's hard to comprehend all the why's,

but sometimes even we as adults
do the same things. 

We value empty things 
with shiny wrappers, 
more than things of real value.

For example:

What's worth more, has more value,
your values, or money?
Would you compromise morals
your values, for riches and success?

Many do, thinking they will be happier
with more things.

Take Hollywood as an example:

Many have achieved fame and fortune
yet have not attained true happiness.

They chased the shiny boxes of success
because of the shiny wrapping paper
but in the end they are left feeling
Don't believe me?
why then do the rich and famous 
also commit suicide?

Let's not make the same mistakes...

we can learn that our values 
are what's valuable,
and when they are compromised, 
or sacrificed,
we lose, 
more than what we may gain.

When we lose our values 
we lose ourselves....
because we are the gift...
we have the gift of life...
we prove by how we use it,
or abuse it,
whether we are grateful,
or not,
for the gift, 
to the giver,
or whether we prefer
shiny empty boxes.

October 11, 2016
John Derek Hamilton

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

If Monday Were A Sin

I would deny its existence and favor the second place
prediction of Tuesday; 
For the beginning is never subtle, and it tends to hunt
my off-beat verse. 
Such a consistent verse, as it never sits on time but 
rather abandons efforts to erect my sight, and coordinate
the following hours; 
The morning is fractured as a result, with recovery 
trailing on the heels of Monday much later. 

Perfect souls may interpret this honesty, as weak 
exaggerations of the first 24 pages of this week; 
Yet I preach on; as these sentiments are not falsified. 
Proof is present in the early missteps of the corporate clock; 
Slipping on the familiar concrete that knows me better, I 
can sense the mojo in brief retirement from these works 
of mine. 

And of course, there becomes the peers to impart misery; 
obvious is the choice of day in current motion for this 
conflict, perhaps too abrasive for Sunday’s mouth, 
and too eager to rest on Tuesdays lap. Still, there must 
be a critique of the deadlines that lose my attention, the 
method of effort undeserving of the title, and of course, their 
desires in opinion that extend to the hand that writes
the checks. 

But then again, occasional Mondays, comes to misplace
the common structure, such as this petty one. 
The blunt melody of this soundtrack played on till lunch, 
and by then, the issue of nourishment had exited;
There I followed. 

I assumed the particular way this day choose to
spread could not influence any longer, once the 
afternoon was mine. 
And yet, disagreement waited outside to shower
me with the precipitation of wrong guesses. 
There I stood in the creators tears, bathing in the 
mutiny of chance, entitled negativity. 

But then a turning stone became present, and the 
shower showed itself to be brief, and I found 
myself witnessing the drought of misery 

Perhaps my sentiments didn’t unveil the blueprint
of today correctly. Maybe the riddle cased in these 
24 hours reminds mortals that existing on fertile is 
a promise of tears and smiles, harmony and dysfunction. 
To expect a token of more or less would be devious. 
The mere shell of a Monday is irrelevant to the 
framework are diverse templates choose to be in, 
when dawn comes to visit us. 

A thought revises in me now. 
If Monday were truly a sin, I would advance in fault
and carry the unknown weight time and time again; 
For the challenge of life has its pleasure, and its 
aftertaste, assembled from the reminiscent images
is flawless. To speak of struggle that passed away its
tense is forever the compliment of living. 

Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Self reflection

Self-reflection is an art
A two edged sword that no one teaches
No religion philosophized
my own personal goal 
to better myself 
and understand everything 
by seeing one another 
through the slide of me 
through another’s eyes 
and that person 
through yet another’s eyes

Four good qualities you truly possess is where I start
The good things about me
Actually that’s a lie
That’s what I recommend
I usually get a little bit sad sit here and realize 
That I think I’m deep and no one understands

I know through self-reflection of understanding history
and putting myself in other peoples shoes
Like a mental actor of how I would feel emotionally and mentally
and then writing it down
is like self reflection but not quite
close but no cigar I have learned we are truly all actors and life is indeed a stage
And when we learn how to manipulate the greatest acts of man for the history 
The next generations will be taught in school how to prevent wars and live in 
piece by us selling one perfect life or lie
And I wonder if I’m a 27-year-old psychological lie of a ghetto wizard
I’ve described

Through self reflection I know they're are things I need to change
Some things I never will
Some things I am a part of
And at least the parts and pieces of my life I live like poetry that if they were 
captured like dreams in a butterfly net
They would teach something to the future like Jesus or anybody would if they 
Just how to self reflect emotionally mentally put yourself in another’s shoes and 
learn the lesson through writing a poem
or thinking it out

If each generation and the history books were all acts of men
and my generation has to top the last lie with a wisdom of the perfect metaphor 
to unlock the following generations thinking process
Is that the game of the planet?
Are those the reasons to the wars we fight today?
to teach tomorrow
When they write their essays that will become tomorrow’s politicians 
An insane asylum can teach politics and all we really want is to pay them to be 
rich and make global friends so we can have utopia
But in the history book of the essays they no longer write where life lessons were 
learned and taught through misfortune of man
there are gems to be uncovered of how to stop wars how to peace keep
How to mediate
How to live
How to heal
and every generation we discover it on our own as the teachers subtly shape our 

Copyright © Troy Nelson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |

Like Wingless Birds

I can tell you about the elongated nights.
The pain and agony endured to the soul.
The hammer of reality that aims to chisel at my pride 
until it resembles a statue of anguish and defeat.
The way time and precious seconds taunt you 
when you have hopes of moving forward with life.
Its inconsiderable essence.
The way moments vanish like atheistic faith.
During times of distinct disparity 
its motion reflects that of a shelled gastropod, 
and in the midst of joyous occasion, 
time flows like raging waters.
Waving those moments into occipital entrapment.

I can tell you the feeling of watching all the things 
you love in life pass by like highway signs.
Life drawing me in to intersections 
while I'm chasing hope like a runaway freight train.
Stopping me at red lights while 
opportunity makes every green light 
with time to spare.
The feeling of being a puppet 
at every whim of a deviant puppeteer.
And every day and night is show time.

I can tell you about the tears I never shed 
as they flood my mind with thoughts of guilt 
and overwhelming sorrow.
The moments I lacked sympathy 
and empathy at moments when short phrases 
and warm gestures needed implementation.
Neglected communications as if I were aphasic.
A shy man of few words cursed 
with a heart that speaks volumes.
Sadly guilty of making bad decisions 
and acting maliciously when all I had were good intentions.

I can tell you about the memories that haunt my mind 
like vivid pictures on a slide show on repeat.
The unified heartbeat that once fluttered 
like angel wings have ceased.
And have been buried beneath the soil 
where our love first began to grow.
But the constant battles in this war of love between us 
has degraded the soil, 
inhibiting the possibility of our lost love 
from sprouting from the roots ever again.

I can tell you about the essence of 
moonless nights and starless skies.
The sensation of being engulfed in a tunnel of darkness 
and the only light source stems from an exit miles away.
The despair sometimes feels like I'm gasping for air 
while submerged in the heart of the Artic.
Or thirsting for freedom 
while journeying through the Amazon.
The sure tangibility of dreams like a mirage.
No boundless heights to strive for 
at the core of my eclipsed surroundings.
The epitome of the world seen 
through the eyes of a wingless bird. 
Trying to emulate the gracious flight of Heaven's angels, 
but sometimes the world can be cruel.

Copyright © m.n.i.w m.n.i.w | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Cold Beers and Voyeuristic Cannibalism

I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty 

from the soap of mental suppression,

that the callouses are from hard work,

and not from picking my bones back up

off the floor on a daily basis;

ragged, dry, and weary. 

Every fairy tale has a root,

stapled into the hard soil of truth.

They all have a moral,

some sort of clerical error 

born from life’s shadow. 

We watch, hoping to learn 

from the missteps of someone

else’s intrepid imagination,

some 4D revelation singing

lullabies to the young heart

of humanity.  

And they bend to the fickle 

will of greedy creativity, 

making the yoke less bitter

so that we can tongue the purge

of denial without pouting. 

I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,

that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,

watch you drink from the frosted glass

of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,

that you won’t notice the blood bubbling 

up, and over my shiver before you finally

finish this story. 

I just want you to understand.

This isn’t poison.

This is merely me bleeding out,

and hoping you’ll learn to love the 

taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,

served up with juiced will and the vegan

flesh of my inhibition.  

So that you can see through my eyes,

know where I have been,

and how it felt to be consumed.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

My Hand Danced in Sundust

I used to be an impenetrable fort,
A castle with walls so high
That no one could enter them.
     Sometimes I sat at the windows
     Looking down over people,
     Strange and far away.
          That day you shook the gate,
          Looking for a golden key,
          But I didn't give.
               You brought your spear,
               Your Unicorn of love,
               Your golden hair and singing voice...
          And in that instant the outside of me
          crumbled as if I were Jericho,
          my walls simply fell away.
     You looked deep inside me
     with clarity and innocence,
     as my hand danced in sundust,
and reached for you to save me
with a smile white and warm,
and bring me to the outside.


April 4, 2017
Copyright © Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Into Eyes of Ruin

I recognize your reflection ...

You're the eminent master-of-disguise, but I know you
Better than most, and all your faces are mine ... you're

Le Grand Séducteur, the big lie ... you're the perfect lover,
The Id Euphoric, the bitter bite at the back of my throat,

The horrid relief, and the warmth in my blood ... you're
The answer to everything and nothing, you're my salvation

And my doom, my mother, my child, my creator ... my
Scars and my stripes ... the divine wound of my failures,

And the eternal weep of despair ... you are the product
Of my fear, you are Ultimate Sin and dire consequence ...

A child's laugh, a woman's sigh, a siren in the night, a
Final gasp of breath, and the wailing of horror unimaginable ...

I love you with my integral heart, and despise you with
My every fibre ... I drink you in like a lover's tongue,

And cast you off like poison in my eyes ... I will protect
You as an angel's charge, and I will drag you screaming

To hell ... you are my religion and my despair, my
Intention and my apathy, my purpose and my hypocrisy,

My deception and my utter TRUTH ... you are my birth,
Brought forth to be all ... and my death, consumed and

Carrion-cold ... I have supreme victory over you ...
And you have won all that I am ... LOOK in the mirror

At what you've created - bless you ... damn you.

** FIRST PLACE in the "Mirror Mirror" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Sponsor. **

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |


A thought

Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
June 22, 2017 (Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017

Details | Classicism |

The Bridges that are Life

I've heard them tell me 
that life is a gift ,given
I've even heard them say 
life is a journey 
Chartered upon many mountains, 
delighting to be traversed 
What say you, damsel lady!

I know life to be bushy thorns
That every road I have travelled
 has been dusty, 
rocky with the sight of potholes
 at every turn. 
The dust greeting me, 
long-lost companions 
What say they, damsel lady!

 I know life for what it is
A destination of endless walks 
I know life never cared about me!
The sun peaked and it went 
back to sleep
Never did the sun relieve me 
on this journey 
What say You, damsel lady!

The choice was never mine
Simply I was put on this path 
and pointed forward 
They told me what was north 
and I was to learn south 
and its opposing friends 
They told me life was a journey, 
but all I have known is pain.
Was pain the journey? 
Were my worn-out shoes 
the lesson I had to learn?
What say I, damsel lady!

I say, I have traversed 
the bridges that are my life
What is journey? 
Moving forward or 
travelling backwards? 
Must I even keep pacing 
when day and night have no meaning to me. 
What is walking if it invites the pain of pleasure

I say, damsel lady. I know life!
Life is no friend of mine.
This journey I have travelled, 
I am still walking. 
Where is the gift in that?
 My patience is worn through 
and my sandals are dust. 
Even these tears desert me 
for the better companionship of dust.
Loneliness is my only companion,
maybe that is LIFE!

Copyright © Sizwe Hlabisa | Year Posted 2016

Details | Concrete |

Are we all but a number

         In this world, in this life; am I solely a number.
    Just another tax number and an itemized figure.
    There are pluses and negatives; additions and subtractions.
   These are the balance sheets of life with gains, and loses. 
Is that the higher plan for mortal's man existence on this dusty earth.
    A salary, or no salary, and a bank account, or no accounts.
                          Zeros and Ones, 1, 0s.
A man’s worth weighed on a numbered scale of More or Less. 
   Was I created to be only as such, just to be a number.
     Numbers in hourglasses filled with earthly sand.

Copyright © Ronald A. Williams | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |


Exquisite throes

You drenched me with

A shining sand

But sans a sieve

While your intent

Was double-down

You kissed me deep

To watch me drown

A phoenix flamed

Availed and cursed

Thus meant to quell

Your fiery thirst

But molten ire

So coolly poured

Is hell-and-gone

Your hellish hoard.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |


Please don't shed any crocodile tears

But I've been dead for fifteen years

Folks say zombies aren't "really" real

Yet I walk and talk, and NEVER feel

I wish I could give a notable excuse

But it's all the fruition of self-abuse

So make your life the most it can be

Or wind up in the walking dead ranks ...

Like me.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

Broken Dreams

  Do you believe in the things that you've always known,
Can you understand the things you've been shown.
   Is it the visions you see that make you believe,
Or is the feelings you get when you've been deceived.
    The pain you feel a never ending ache ,
Tearing your heart and soul from you every day.
    Time ticks slowly pounding away at you,
Throbbing heart breaking and there's nothing you can do,
    Must I settle for these lost and broken dreams,
Because it has all the signs that what it seems.
    How much should a man endure to find his way,
It cant possibly be like this hard for me every day.
    There is nothing so frustrating as being so confused,
Especially when you've discovered that you've been used.
    I will get through this lonely phase I have no doubts,
But I'm sure there will come a day I'll figure it all out.
    Cautiously I walk the path that's been laid before me,
In faith I will continue for I know he will let me see.
    Life will be thrown at you in so many different ways,
I will be prepared for these things for the rest of my days.
    Broken dreams will be the learning tree for me to grow ,
Living my life with Joy Happiness is what I'll always Know.

Copyright © TIMOTHY CARTER | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |

The Dragon Flight

Atop a jagged pinnacle, he sits, just waiting; ragged wings stretch into flight. Dragon eyes his prey; downward sweep and clasp brings supper for a dragon. We all must face our dragons; climb looming pinnacles. Face-to-face, clasping ourselves; we watch and wait; we are our own prey and can’t escape our truths, in flight. Poetry in flight, is the night dragon. He easily finds prey, from his pinnacle; a patient specter…waiting, with cold talons ready to clasp. Downward swoop and clasp; spreading wings in flight. Tired of perpetually waiting, fearless dragon, with wings obscuring pinnacle; takes unsuspecting prey. There is no hope, for dying prey; wiggling in talon-clasp. Dragon’s spy pinnacle, welcomes him from hunt-flight. Famished dining dragon, welcomes no more waiting. Much too long, in waiting, with no dinner-prey, can leave a thinning dragon in deaths abominable clasp. Angels in celestial flight, will carry him, to Heaven’s pinnacle. When for death, you wait; face your dragon. He’ll give up his prey, for miraculous, spiritual flight. In a death clasp; souls reach the eternal pinnacle.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Double Dactyl |

Bryant's Necropolis Conceit

Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.

Dour darkness and shroud forever
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |


To broaden my horizon, I begin to concentrate.
My mind entered into analysis paralysis state.
I knew that life was not such.
Therefore, why am I the anxious one?

A load of cargo I will become.
This is because I am the beast and the burden.

Striving to achieve, I thrived in thought.
As a political activist, I needed higher marks.	
Therefore, I entered college.
I aspired to attain a Master of Science in Criminology.
However, my path was deterred.
A manifestation had occurred.
Negated is life.

Lade is the world.
This is because I am the beast and the burden.

Tomorrow has come.
Culprits has formed.
Weighed down by their crimes.
Yesterday has no more lives.

Laden is the universe.
Rhapsody raptures as the beast and as the burden.
Written August 06, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015