Ode Metaphor Poems | Ode Poems About Metaphor

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Details | Ode |

The Lamb that can Roar

The Lamb that can Roar 

Stop being a lamb child!
Or you will get hurt,
Be the lion that disperses it power,
Do not show the dainty hoof, 
Show the paw with claws that tear through every verbal contusion,
Young lamb, listen to me now,
Now is not the time to be timid or shy, for now it is the time for you to fly.
Little lamb you have left your herd, 
Little lamb now you can be burned,
Little lamb do not let them shear you,
Be the lion that growls at the blade,
Claw your way through the pastures of maim,
Little lamb it is time to be tough, to grow a thicker wool that will not buff,
It is time to stop pretending little lamb, 
A lion can roar, growl, and bite, claw their way through the night.
You do not need a herd to protect you little lamb, you can protect yourself, 
All you must say is "I am."

I am strong.
I am brave, 
I am powerful.
Beyond maim.
Maim will not tarnish my frail hooves,
My wool will not be taken from me anymore,
I will no longer be available to the shearers who harmed me.
I am no longer Mary's little lamb, 
I am my own lamb,
I am a warrior, with thick skin,
One who cannot be penetrated from within.
For the time is now to unleash my claws, and tear through the holes that made barred.
No more little this, or little that,
For now I will be referred to as Lion,
Lion is powerful,
Lion is respected.
Lion is not afraid to take a stand,
Lion will claw,
Lion will bite.
Lion will not let any razors, or blades come near his golden fur,
Come and try shearers, since you have found me, come try to take my pride away, 
Come try to strip me of my self esteem,
Come try and take away the only air I breath.
Come try to take my armor,
My mane away!
I am putting my beastly paw down, 
I am roaring at the top of my lungs,

No longer am I minuscule, or a lamb that toddles about.
I am a lion with fire bursting at my seams,
I am concealed, I am protected.
No longer do I have tuft white wool,
No longer do I have a tight blue ribbon on my neck, 
The ribbon is shredded!
No one will try to knock little lamb down ever again!
I am little lamb, and I god damn will be respected by the shearers, and the world.
I am.
I am little lamb,
Wearing my.

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode |


“Abandon ship and from her flee
Better her than all be lost to sea.”
“First Mate, be rendered silent,” is the captain’s plea
“Dear crew, I beg, depart not, stay along with me.”

But Admiral calls from ships numbered three.
“Leave Elpida alone, and Captain, for drowning.”
Then company vanished, quick as a wink.
Left small, untested sailboat to sink.

Night reached down on vast ocean’s face,
And soon sea’s swells were by darkness embraced
Light blazed cross the sky, wind roared from the heat.
The blue’s anger and rage against terrified vessel did beat.

More and most fiercely Elpida battled the deep.
Up ‘til the moment Earth sunk in her teeth.
The storm screamed on, endless as the heavens are deep.
And for half a score years, the sun, from Captain's eyes, night did keep.

For two times for every five, did the captain despair
Lost upon foreign soil, abandon by fleet out there.
To stumble upon natives, fate had it be.
An amiable bunch, again the odd number three.

To restore broken vessel labored the four
Sew up the hull, repair ruptured floors.
And for time, two times, and three times more
Toiled this group ’til there was work no more.

And the sun, as, of course, it would be
Broke the horizon and bore new day on the sea.
Set the deserted again to conquer the deep.
No armada to accompany, but lone Captain, no fleet.

And now, even now, sails Elpida Berregin.
Meeting new worlds by way of the sea.
In all her travels she met again her former fleet,
But Captain did not the Admiral re-meet.

For they had become galleys of ghosts;
Galleys to whom the dead were tending.
Offering up a prayer, Captain took his leave,
And having left, returned to journeying.

“Abandon ship and from her flee.”
Perhaps they, but never me.
Elpida Berregin, mighty galleon proved by sea,
A crew member, forever yours, will I be,
And will serve your Captain most faithfully.

Copyright © Jonathan J. | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode |


LOVE is like a figure of speech
It adds beauty to life
It inspires us to beat strife
It gives colors to sight
It expresses feelings tight.

LOVE is a rainbow 
It has its perfect timing
To beautify your surrounding 
It appears unexpectedly
Yet disappears  inevitably. 

LOVE is like a dictionary
It connotes different meanings 
For different beings
It happens synonymously
Nor perceive reversely.

Love is a fairy tale
It brings someone a magic
Or leaves you in tragic
In just a glimpse or wink of an eye
You and I can't deny.

LOVE is like a wifi 
If you're near
You're connected to a dear
If you're far away
You're searching for a day.

LOVE is movie
Where everyone has role to play
It's up to you if you do it that way
As long as you don't go astray
Still you know how to pray.

LOVE is like the value of x and y
If someone is missing
You need to seek unremitting
For they must go together 
To fulfill their functions better.

LOVE is a flower
It blooms abundantly
When needs are given sufficiently
It adapts itself to seasons
Yet it withers at certain reasons.

Love is like an antidote
It cures something
It heals hurt feeling
It offers a therapy
Until you look happy.

Copyright © RONALYN PUPA | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode |

Ode to a Twin

There is little difference between us.
It is as if Narcissus gazed again
to catch a glimpse of us for just a moment;
ourselves as echoes

Products of a common seed, divided.
Tiny ripples reflecting back at me.
Is this the way Narcissus felt, forever
gazing in a pool?

Living portrait of whom I see as me.
A perfect duplicate in flesh and blood
Where I end you start, and seem to be
 my echo and ripple.

Suzanne Delaney

Sapphic Ode.
For Skat's Ode Contest

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Piano Speak

I played my part, in the praise of the Lord,
Standing by the choir box, on my own accord,

Deft hands created a heart, centuries old,
With gilded corners and polished wood, set my soul,

The young little fingers of a fairy, that kissed,
Struck a hammer, in my strings lips,

A mild tap of dance, on the brass right foot,
Would sustain my melody into an eternal mood,

Crafted with the ability, to sound like a lark,
Across octaves and sharps, six and half,

The bard who was deaf, could hear through my touch,
And create symphonies, for an interminable march,

When the ‘Rose of England’, reached the Lords’ Abode,
Elton’s tenor, rained heavens, on a grieving road,

With my hammers and tongs, I make the world think deep,
Or weave a sweet lullaby, that puts little hearts to sleep,

Needless to spell, I, reside in your hearts,
In exultation or sorrow, I am always your part.

Pradipta Roy Choudhury

Copyright © Pradipta Roy Choudhury | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode |

Ode: A Love Song From the Amorous Shepherd to His Flock

THEY graze in beauty on the land
     of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of tamed and tanned
     meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
     which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.

One fleece the more, one spot the less,
     had half-repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
     or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
     how pure, how dear their grazing-place.

And on that rump and o'er that round
     so fat, so plump, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
     but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
     a drove whose milk is innocent.

01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode |

Ode to a Mellow Glass of Chardonay - by Michael Dom

Marvellous Mellow Glass of Chardonnay
What was my life before you came my way?
My parched throat and tongue, my taste buds were rife,
My heart, my mouth, with the raw taste of life!
I would sweat by my brawn, or by my brows, 
Through the days and nights, for a wife and house;
But, with a Mellow Glass of Chardonnay,
My troubles and strife’s seem to wash away!
My heart, my mouth, would taste the sprite of life
If you were woman, I’d make you my wife!

*A poem written on a request from Keith Jackson AM.

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

A mother lover's Ode

smoother than most, all moving no boast, shooting a moon to toast, to our beautiful host
revolving no doors, just opportunities score marking the entrance ways pores
balance implored
fracking a lack of communication crashing breaking backs and racking our foundation
till were screaming take it back
unpacked and all out, dig deep for the fall out, kettle blackened from potty mouths,
busted missing a tea spout
pour me a gallon of chandon the whole sip for your front lawn, till the bottles dry
like jokes from monty python
silly satans salivating sighing and spraying your favorite simon's saying cause piles of money and ego feed are waiting for the generating
nothing new under the sun but above clouds I found me some, cause ignant bliss still exists even if you wear a cummerbund
tell all your facts and try to catch my glazed eye, cause compromise can be the do or die, to where ever future lovers lie
this blueberry from space ferry might fit in a test tube in perspective
or we just miss the point why evolution was so selective

Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Ode: To Loveliness and Beauty

A Loveliness that's deep and rare
     is like a Rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
     lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
     as earth and sky breathe and enmesh.

Its loveliness is hard to find
     unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its grace and with its mind
    it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
     my nose takes in its lovely scent.

Its beauty transcends its locus,
     imbuing the eyes of my soul 
with romantic, ideal focus
     that makes the heart and spirit whole:
without it the world seems callous
     and grace would not be in control.

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Ode to Nymph

SHE beams with joy, like one in love
     with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the mythic Nymphs above
     unloose her from the morning's blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
     with the notes of a singing thrush.

With golden locks, as light as air,
     and liquid, limpid eyes most blue,
none is like her or can compare
     to her beauty and lovely hue
which lift the humble souls that dare
     come to her for her balmy dew.

As wind and air Nymph and as muse
     with the nimbused crest of a saint
which no man can therefore refuse
     or with mean words tarnish or taint,--
so let all Creatures freely choose
     to honor her without constraint.

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |


Redemption is a fancy dish
Served on a wooden plank
It’s full of nails and crusty bark
With no one else to thank

Just cut away the ugly parts
And untie all the knots
Don’t look too deep or underneath
Defute those aging thoughts

Just look at all the daily bread
Your maker has provided
The hearts to help you break it
Your destiny decided

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode |


Puff ...
The smoke coming from the chimney stack
is not the kind of smoke you like
Puff ...
The smoke coming from the chimney stack
is gonna second hand you a heart attack

She's a two pack-a-day woman,
she smoke two packs of cigarettes a day
X-rays say her lungs look like a dirty ashtray;
but she keeps on smoking anyway,
she keeps on puffing away

Puff ...
The smoke coming from her chimney stack
is not the kind of smoke you like
Puff ...
The smoke coming from her chimney stack
is gonna second hand you a heart attack

She chain smokes like a choo-choo train;
she has nicotine-itis on the brain,
her black tar lips blow smoke circle rings
Cigarette smoke so thick, it make your eyes sting ...
but she keeps on puff, puff, puffing

Puff ...
The smoke coming from her chimney stack
is not the kind of smoke you like
Puff ...
The smoke coming from her chimney stack
is gonna second hand you a heart attack

She puffs and puffs like a chimney stack,
she loves to daily suck back two packs
Even though she's always out of breath,
she's gotten comfortable with cheating death
Today, there's only one cigarette in the last pack left;
time to go shopping, and be a carton whore
And when she comes back from the grocery store,
she's gonna binge smoke and place a few more
dynamite cancer sticks on the menthol tracks:
Trainwreck's gonna happen when her lungs collapse

Puff ... life snuffed  

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

The Serpent

I am the one who once traveled by flight and foot
And now I slither around on my round-body
My tongue has always been and still is split in half
In my first stage of life my speeches consisted of fire-bursts, ice-shards, smoke rings, and whirling-wild-winds
Now my speeches are speedy rollings-of-the-tongues and a-spitting venom-filled saliva
Horned was I back in the days after I had hatched out of my egg
Now my mushroom-like head consists of my eyes, my nostrils, and my ears
Once I had massive teeth to help me emasculate my food
And now I must swallow all of my food whole
Many primitive cultures have used me as a symbol for both good and evil
I symbolize the Morning Star, and have been blessed with many different names
Nevertheless, I am worshiped by many cultures of mankind as a powerful being
I am the Light-Bringer, and the Knowledge-Bringer to mankind and am similar to Prometheus
I seduced Eve to bite the apple in order that she may have knowledge and become like Yahweh
I am also Quetzalcoatl, the revered sky god of the Aztecs 
Without the symbolism that mankind has placed upon me I am nothing more than a plain reptile

Copyright © Eric Shelman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Ode to the Writer

Play you noted Lyricists! Let not your lyrics be missed! Your silence is the frequency, Enticed by a laced melody Condemned in a rhythmic spell Only time will really tell Your lyrical harmony Etched in life's symphony Oh, Hail! Or Hale! Kings of speech! May your words reign or rain on minds inpeach Let knowledge rule as you teach You are to blame for the popular fiction And the lost hip hop depiction Your vowel movement is the mission As they are turning to wrong station So arise oh sons of scribes! Let not fame be your weakening bribes The mystery is your story is still empty But the words to be written are plenty I plant thee in the soil of possibility Growing history in eternity Let the acclaimed awaiting your spark, put page to flame, Illuminating the shame where fiction is no longer fame Arise masters of word! The creators of a new world. Your potency is cryptic avalanche in dormant To awaken minds with your content With an earth shattering rumble you move earth with your stumble Tripping all over yourself to cause a rampage and turn a page marked in history That leads to the bread crumbs of destiny, displaying your self-mastery Oh again rise blood line of prophets! Be not sold out by profits. Your words intertwine the future with the past As ignorance over knowledge shall never be surpassed So your prophecies can be for the youth’s benefits And lost in the realm of the elder’s forfeit While bleeding your ink work, flooding the stage Flowing ears steadily from age to age I say rage warrior of the Pens! This is the age when ignorance ends. As wielders of the pen die by the pen are heard Cutting and stabbing the paper in furry blurred Let those pens bleed till society flood Cleansing it with its righteous blood To awaken other giants from their slumber Killing silence's winter into summer Where ignorance is not left to its own device Only your golden silence should be an adequate price

Copyright © siza sibiya | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

The Architect Ode to an orange cement mixer

Ideas become reality in your belly
Raw ingredients are added for effect
Laboured limbs inject liquid food
It begins, sounds signal transformation

A cacophony of notes orchestrate
A fusion of materials cleverly made
Atoms collide as water subsides
Dry mixture almost expertly tied

Your creation up to imagination
Never the master of your own destiny
Your loins rhythmic to the fixation
Of another genius creating beautifully

A mansion, castle or glorified shed
All born from your glowing womb
Expectations destroyed and met
Artistic design from your living tomb

Copyright © Donovan Beukes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode |

The Lowest of Low

Love kicked me with no hesitation 
I am sore as a vigorously used muscle 
I have became love's rag doll
Started up, but soon plummeted downward 
Love has grabbed and choked me abruptly 
As of right now, I am dead as a door nail....

Copyright © Jaquay Atkins | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

ode to reality: 3,573

i cant deny
i seek to fool the interlock
jockey quick to interact
the vista stitched to chili socks
so quick to miss who really rocks
a kid can list the million pox
that riddle the most civil thoughts
freedom needs some nourishment
the evil deeds with servants sent
jealousy a thirsty quench
the melody a ghastly wrench
two pennies hardly make a dent
flabbergast, tricks in contempt
the ladder casted  main event
for many cases cause to vent
ideally equal no small percent
super man or mr. kent?
peter pan on the internet
 workin on my seventh sense
send me all your sentiments
assets that are moral dense
floral holding sponsorship
counting all the counterfeit
monetary partially 
cationically the catalyst to counter it
shocking im seeing toxic
the images not the objects
the sequence of events
perpetuating these prospects
im guesstimating weve lost it
ego the evil holding
 our courage hostage
the future much closer to hospice

Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode |

Shrunken Libido

It's date night once again,
almost near the witching hour
You dread the dimming of the light,
as the clock chimes the midnight strike
Half-hearted display of staged re-enactments
of bygone semi-passionate days
Youthful days in the rearview,
both bodies not looking like they used to
So you pop the pill Viagra,
still no artificial desire erected
Another impotent plea for forgiveness,
in the bedroom chamber of confession
Where did it go,
where did it go?
Where went the shrunken libido?
Where did it go,
where did it go?
Who hexed the phallic head with zombie voodoo?
Now you can't raise the love flagpole,
Tarzan can't swing into Jane's jungle
Limp, sagging wet desire
prematurely puts out
any spark of passion fire
She don't look like she used to,
but as a matter of fact neither do you
It was always a marriage of convenience,
based solely on appearance
In the nether region, you can't raise the bridge
Caution: low stamina clearance
Love sacrificed for a security price,
in exchange for a stale, empty sex life
Now every date night, your ego takes a blow,
and you're left to wonder 
what happened to your throbbing libido
Where did it go,
where did it go?
Where went the shrunken arousal?
Where did it go,
where did it go?
Where went the shrunken libido?
Like medieval trash,
machismo got thrown out the window

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

Sanguine Oranges Part 1

I was never an Orange Admirer;
some men think… to themselves, 
Wow it must be such a privilege, to be a Woman.. 

they are thinking all dreamily, 
Nostalgia splashing around in their pool of thought.

The Orange always falls,
but never on point. It never falls… falls on the days when we are frolicking in space,

it falls when you're giving an oral presentation; it falls when you are waving, or talking with a boy you like… Yeah like that helps,
you just turn another shade of red.. from the apples of your cheeks, to your ears… to your lacy white skirt. 

The Orange.. it spills..  
as you blush. When in your head you're trying to lick the flames of embarrassment, holding back tears- as each sanguine stream tears 

You try to hold, keep your eyes looking at something comforting..
like the soft peach walls, or other Women who have synchronized their watches.. each one verging the timeline- trying to pace the orange… predict when the Orange will fall and 

land splat! on the pavement.. readying their wicker baskets.
We never do catch the oranges, they always seem to slip from our feminine palms… as if we were holding ice cubes… they always seem to melt in your palms… before we can make Lemonade with such bitter lemons.. “I mean oranges.” 

But there is no reason to try to sweeten such things with metaphors..

Because even though metaphors are a brand of sugar poets use..
to add a dash in their coffee, on their simple ziplock bag of candied Orange peels…

we hold it behind our ears, you can find it on our tongue,
as we start to spout the bitter truth.
And such oranges cannot be tamed with sweetness…

Maybe a stale, yet flaky chocolate croissant from Dunkin Donuts will satisfy, subdue the Oranges fury..
soothe the convulses as each droplet of nectar seeps… Boys know, 
Oh how they pick it up… they just intuitively know… their bodies jump at it, beg for the presence of the woman, so they can bask in such an ambiance. 

They munch-and crunch on those pheromonal Breadcrumbs.. following 
them to the woman. Like Hansel and Gretel happened upon the Gingerbread house, just like men- they meet the house of desire.

Orange, a truth serum, it pulls the covers off of Everything..
even the secret crush of a boy in your class.
We ask the Question, 

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |


Czech artist David Cerny comically depicted Bulgaria
as a Turkish-style kenef (cesspool) for an international
art exhibition outside the European Council edifice in
Brussels—a kenef combining a lavatory and a urinal....

In vain did the Bulgarians protest this offensive work
of art. The Belgian hosts did remove it, but it stuck
in the minds of anyone who has seen it as a quirk
befitting a rotten nation that's been down on its luck....

What's Bulgaria today, you may ask? It's a Turkish-style
kenef that is combining a lavatory and a urinal—that is,
a hole in the floor with two steps on both sides of it....
David Cerny was only trying to humor, rather than revile.

Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

Bloody Doormat

Forgotten trails which I follow

Only a feeling of lost sorrows

Other path has been long closed

The bloody gate leads to the road

Promises broken just as the chain

Reminding me all which made me insane

Instead of premiting a different path

Not for my good but for your own past

The way you filled your words with greed

Showing your enjoyment of watching others bleeed

Copyright © Raven Tones | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

How Cold Is The Air We Breath

The world is as cold as the humans inside it

Breathing their cold words and exhaling their death

Feeding the universe their souls which were born to be warming

Though most of forget how to be warm allowing others cold hearted ways

Only those who care enough not to speak of the pain the feel

Nor spreading the coldness they had been taught was the only human emotion 

The ones who can not speak of this cold have given their last final breath

They were not all given a fair enough chance to breath warmth 

For the coldness they tried to avoid pinned them up against the walls

As the others just watched, without so much as wanting to warm them

Forever knowing just how cold the world truly is, even through their final breath of air

Copyright © Raven Tones | Year Posted 2017