Personification Imagination Poems | Personification Poems About Imagination

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Details | Personification |

Ode to the Redwood

I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007

Details | Personification |


I lay within a drawer so long
Loneliness was my heart's song

My diamonds never saw the light of day
Since granma's death,I'd been that way

Her grandson went a'courting strong
Maybe my exile now,will not last long

He brought home his bride-to-be
Glowing with pride,for his parents ,to see

He slipped me on her left hand,
They planned a wedding,oh so grand

That special day soon came around
A gold band nearby, I suddenly found

For many years we would not part
Such friendship heals the lonely heart

A day then arrived,of which I live in dread
Returned to a drawer,by a bed.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |

Thoughts of 'The Poet'

Day after day I sit, poised deep in thought and contemplation
while tourists stop and stare at me with eyes of admiration
Sometimes they seem hypnotized, looking without blinking
I wonder what they would think if they knew what I was thinking
I wish Rodin hadn't sculpted me wearing this scowl of a frown
I'd wink and smile back at them if I could put my right hand down
I've seen children hide their eyes when they realize I am nude
Rodin was the sculptor, so don't go blaming me. Don't be rude!
I don't mind being in the buff. Who needs to wear proper attire?
There's a lady who visits me on weekends, eyes filled with desire.
I was originally called 'The Poet.' Maybe you didn't know that.
But the museum guides never mention that in their chitchat 

"And here, ladies and gentleman, the most famous Rodin of all.
Six and a half feet tall, having a place of honor in the gallery hall."

And if I'd been standing, my height would've reached twelve feet
My butt is really getting sore from seating on this pedestal seat
The gift shop sells replicas of me. I've been reduced to pint-size
and after one hundred, thirty-seven years, I've started to oxidize
Great. Here comes another tribe of school kids, all chewing gum
I guess they'll wad it up and giggle when they stick it on my bum.
So goes the inescapable days and nights of a sculpted work of art
I have the capability to feel because Rodin chiseled in me a heart


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

At the Pawn Shop

I met her  in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of  my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due

There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day

So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a  little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played

Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall 
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within

Author:  Elaine George
Written:  2013

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2013

Details | Personification |

the last word of hunter

As I seize from greener pasture
Forgive me for taking away nature
lives have always been in vain
stopping them from breathing with pain
I toil never to hold my gun
with tears full of fun
The sleepless night became difficult
Because hunting was my cult
I regret taking away this joy of hunting
But not jolliness of killing
remembering the beautiful butterfly
and the choral singing of birds pass by
I never forget about the forest
even when I went to rest.

Copyright © Amin Tres | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |

I Cry On Your Anger

I love you, but they say I can't
For I'll extinguish you
But that I will defy
That fiery independence
You bow before me and hide
How can I kill the one I love?

You hate, you say, and run 
From me, I will pursue
Will stalk your every trunk
and twig, your every shoot
and limb. What you devour
I soothe, I cry on your anger

My tears will quench your ire
Until you give yourself to me
My arms and body douse
your rage. You will surrender
We both will leave fertile
soil behind, offspring will grow.


March 26, 2017
Copyright © Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |


Why do I love thee?
Thee! With a heart made of ice
Hiding beneath the face of an angel
Pure and white
Crying those frosty tears 
In and effort to convince me
You didn't kill your rival
‘The beautiful vibrant Autumn’

Can I not see – you ask?
Surely it was suicide
Everyone saw her leap to her death

But! I know it was you
For I still see
Your tell-tale frost on her breast
Left When you held her in
A kiss of death

So why! Do I still love thee?
Thee! With a heart of ice

Is it because I know
You were consumed with jealousy
Wanting to be more beautiful
Than she could ever be
In the hopes of pleasing me?


A thrill – a chill runs up my spine
Autumn quickly fading from my mind
As I look at you
A glistening jewel 
That simply takes my breath away

SECOND PLACE:  Let it snow contest

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2009

Details | Personification |


Mesmerizing flutters and flourishes
gracefully blow on the wind
drifting, creeping  and crawling up and down my back door
I see you hit the  pane
slide a little to the left and kiss another
slipping together as your mass melds - swaying as one
As if on dancing on ice
Together you perform 
Quick-stepping motion
As the crowd thickens
or winds abate
Tired from your escapade together you settle
On the purest white bed
Where tomorrows warmth will warm your juices
Melting you and allowing you to slip away
almost unnoticed you make your exit

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2011

Details | Personification |

The Heart of Imagination

I smell the scent in the water
As it pushes through my gills
My desire to return
beckons me to the place of my birth
For me the desire consumes me

I struggle against the current
Imagining my place of rest
I desire to place my children 
safely on a bed of stones
Sweet water to welcome me home

I know this to be a perilous Journey
I may travel over a hundred miles
Grizzly bears and Eagles block my path
They are to be my test
Yet I am strong
I have swam the oceans
I have known predators greater than these
They will not impede my path

Flying upward in the air
I glimpse the night moon
reaching towards my horizon
water splashes as I make my way higher
yes, almost home
I push beyond my limits
gathering speed

My sisters and I
we turn the river red
thankfully arriving
imagination spawns reality
cool relief!
I release seven times
Now, completely exhausted
I can finally rest
Thirteen years 
I have waited
To come home.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |


THE HUMBLE CATHEDRAL In the glaring eyes of the sun dressed thin in lush green moss, my shady sky-high trunk compeer dark brown wrinkled arms spreading free my slender fingers of verdant hue. They swing, swing in quiet seesaws attune to the cradling light of July breeze. Pleased and appeased, I puff and puff: oxygen dancing slow with other gas. The blowing winds from the east, The heaven tears cascading down, they bathe and cleansed me but! They too disturb causing murmurs and rustles during my deep sleep... Fall approaches, smell of despair hangs, it pose danger making my leaves sad. I began to weep as they slowly tumble, tumbling below, leaving me naked. Facing later the harsh bites of cold, my arms turned brittle from right to left, hearing them creak and break. Thankfully, my feet safe beneath the ground. I stood firm together with my friends, unafraid of the ice but so scared of humans carrying a sharp ax. ______________________________________ ==Contest Name: TREES PERSONIFIED== =Contest Sponsor: Charlotte Pudifoot= ~~4th Place~~ 9:32 pm, August 26, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |

Reviving The Senses Through Punctured Eardrums

What is it to hear a poem?
Ears ajar.
Eyes focused.
Mouth shut.
I struggle to listen when such words cut open
my head and try to make a nest out of my brain.
My body jolts under these straps of limitation,
tightened by my ability to hear.
Why must one be limited to hear a poem?
I cast out stones towards those who care to listen.
Why don’t we be the poem?
Climb inside the mouth of a poem and 
understand it’s true voice.
Be the pen kicking fiercely at the paper, 
leaving behind marks of genius and creativity.
Rip open the heart of a poem and suck its
blood dry.
Feel a poem.
Be a poem.
Live a poem.
See words rise from the paper,
as they dance between the strings
of your heart.
Grab a hand of the message and twirl 
it around your mind and smother its
meaning with praise.
Curl up inside the dot of an ‘i’.
Slide across an ‘l’ and mold it into a ‘t’.
Travel across an empty plain were stubborn
boulders cry.
Attack black and white ideas with shades
of blue and green.
Drive a sword through their hearts and leave
them dead to what is known.
Fight a poem.
Hurt a poem.
Heal a poem.
Turn the waste of sound into
vibrant waves of belief and inspiration.
Let yourself be swept away by
imagination and surrealism.
Find your soul inside of a poem and 
claim it as your own.
Bring down the fortress of structure and
make its remains into martyrs of lost cause.
Open the doors of a poem and remodel
what’s inside.
NO! I do not want to hear a poem!
It sends pain through my soul to see the 
voice of a poem silenced by the ignorant
dangers of sound.
Help yourself and plug your ears.
Visualize the words through serene images of
beauty cultured by unmatchable craft.
See a poem.
Grab a poem.
Know a poem.
Be influenced by a poem.
Learn a poem and all of its meanings.
Threaten a poem.
Scare a poem.
Stab a poem.
Teach it how to live amongst a world of vultures, 
hungry for mistakes and misinterpretations.
Guide a poem into a building filled
with a million little fingers.
Like a poem.
Be touched by a poem.
Love a poem.
Show the world your insides.
Show them the words to your poem.

Copyright © Nicholas Hazelwood | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

Her Name Is Winter

She rides into town with a storm as her steed
With clicking ice spurs, and rattling reins
With somber delivery and the bleak look of gloom
Bursting with pride as the old year must end 

She shoves her way into the house out of spite
A dooms-day gray cloud, who brings her own blight
Leaving a trail of footprints and mud
Building a nest out of leftover crumbs

Flapping her wings and spinning the clock
Strutting her youth at the stroke of midnight
She stalks on wet feet, with some snow on her boots
She shouts out the news that your taxes are due
No care in the world that she makes us feel blue!

Her windows are dark, and her doorway is bare
She holds a firm grip, till the end of her stay
Yet, slowly and surely, against good advice
Intrudes like a flood, as she watches creeks rise

At last comes the sun, to shoo her away
To thaws her cold grip,  and her frown of surprise
With remorse, she announces... it's time for goodbye! 


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

You played me

Running your fingers
over my delicately tuned form.
Blind. - You know which keys to press.
To enhance sweet music  from me.
Happily and playfully,
my white notes singing love.
The darker side brings juxtaposed
moods and sadness,
pedalling drama and bitterness.
You know just how to play me.

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |


I’m smooth and sleek with cute curves I always manage to attract your attention You can’t wait to get your hands on me ... Know all the right buttons to press I can feel my temperature rising Sometimes I can get so steamy You can hear me hiss with excitement At times I have been known to bubble over I can feel myself burning with desire to please you Oh man I can get so so hot With your deft fingertips you can control me Soon my job is done and you are totally satisfied When it’s all over you leave me to cool down Then you can’t wait to caress me with a damp cloth Oh how I love it when you do that I just can't wait until you turn me on again Contest ~Tribute to a Major Appliance Sponsor ~Mary Oliver Rotman 09~10~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |


She is the talk of the town, every season that passes
You'll see her around,.... Miss Sassy Pistashe
Who flaunts her good looks, preening over the sage 
When she makes her grand entrance, she’s the rage of the stage!

Changing clothes after summer, wearing feathers, so brash
she is queen of the, autumn, with a flaming red sash
She's never discreet, is quite daring and chic’
and will steal all the limelight, upon every hill
She upstages poor Willow, who seems rather ill
will outshine Miss Maple, …out-dresses Miss Ash

With colors of fire, and a 'come hither' tease
Her wiles shock onlookers, with each crimson leaf
She flashes her limbs and wiggles her twigs
She loves to show off, with her bright scarlet wig
Never humble, she’s bold, loves to put on a show
Even Miss Sunset, has felt rather low 

She tends to be rash….Miss Sassy Pistashe’
At the first sign of chill, she will toss feathered leaves
She will even bare limbs…and dance in the breeze
Late in the season, she changes her tune
Bends all her branches, and makes valleys swoon
But she doesn't catch cold, ...she thrives by the moon
She has thrown off her clothes, each leaf she has grown
To be 'gone with the wind', like that Scarlet, we've known
Stealing the limelight, with no modesty,…then…
Comes back in the autumn......begging attention again!!

Personifcation of Pistashe' Tree
For Contest sponsored by Lewis Raynes

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Personification |

The Catterfairy contest

Have you ever seen a catterfairy?
Many found her to be quite scary,

She came out of her cocoon others said to soon
And only part of her had seemed to bloom.

Her green body dragged on the cold wet ground
Yet her face was like an angel and her wings were profound.

She had passed many animals, insects and fish
Though she was rejected by them all...she still held on to one special wish.

That someday she would gracefully fly
Far past all their critical eyes.

Show the world who she was inside
Never again feel the need to isolate and hide.

One day a mouse with two pointy green tails
Scuttled by her sobbing with a horrendous wail.

The catterfairy filled with compassion asked him what was wrong
The mouse pointed to his two tails and said “I’m not special or strong”

No one paid him any mind too
For his difference made others constantly ridicule.

The catterfairy said, "My dream is to fly"
"I am different too and can’t understand why"

At that moment they became the best of friends,
Their uniqueness became a treasure that helped them make amends

With whom they really were
Instantly feelings of loneliness became a blur.

The mouse one day had a marvelous idea
It would help his dear friend overcome a deep fear.

If he held up the catterfairys body while she attempted to fly
It would make her light enough so she could soar through the sky

Then, they both would graciously shine
Linked together till the end of time.

At once the mouse lifted the beautiful catterfairy's body high,
Holding on intensely, she got her wish and they both kissed the cold ground goodbye.

The catterfairy has human emotions and shows us how hard it can be when your different in our society. people judge others so often by how they look or if they have a disability. we all need love and friends and we have too look deeper than the outside. Someone will always come and lift that person up who feels rejected or different. Thank God we are all different. how boring this earth would be if we were all the same. Never try to be like anyone else for there is only one YOU and you are needed.

By: Sabina Nicole

Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

Sacred Seat: A Chair's Tale

The first thing that I recall knowing
As a sturdy and young olive tree
Extremely well rooted and growing
Was the sweltering sunlight on me

For two centuries I took deep root
To prepare for my ultimate fate
So when I could no longer bear fruit
There was then but a decade to wait

I was cut—left to dry for ten years
So that seasoned I’d perfectly be
For what the carpenter engineers
For admirers my beauty to see

Finally, the time came to carve me
Into the stout piece that would bear
The One who came down from His glory
I’d become a rough-hewn olive chair

Into the great city I traveled
The same city once fated for doom
Through alleys, then up a steep stairway
I was put in a small upper room

Beside the simple wooden table
I was placed in center position
Where the King who was born in a stable
Sat prepared to accomplish His mission

He prayed and broke bread with His brothers
As a symbol of what He would do
He blessed it then passed to the others
As His body; ’twas "broken for you"

Then to signify His precious blood
The red wine from the cup He did sip
So that it could cleanse as a flood
As from nail wounds it later would drip

To this day, I still can remember
How it felt when Christ Jesus did rest
I sensed that His love was so tender
Even when He was put to the test

He said, “Father, Father, forgive them”
As He faced His long prophesied death
The love for all things He had poured out
As He uttered His very last breath

Today, the risen Lord I remember
Whose story has long since been told
As I sit in the same dusty chamber
And recall that Last Supper of old

* Placed 1st in Deborah Guzzi's contest, "The Chairs Tale"

Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Personification |

The Winds Concerto

I am the maestro
Of land sky and sea
I am
A living 
Of many sounds 
And sights
That I have found
Like the  BOOM 
Of the ocean 
When I lift her up
Then throw her down
Her roar
When I roll her 
To crash upon the cliffs 
Along the shore
Or the tinkling 
Of her shattered pieces
Falling back
Into the tide 
As I fly -  Fly -  Fly - 
The blue 
Of a North Carolinian sky
The burning sand 
Slipping through
The slender
Sea Grasses
That whistle
As I tickle
Every strand
Whooshing - 
Through the cities 
And the towns
Bramble bushes
All around
Slamming shutters
And banging doors 
Before I leave
Turning every leaf 
On every tree
As I fly- fly- fly-
Higher and higher 
The heavy black clouds 
To make them cry 
With screams
So loud 
They crack the sky
That thunders
In reply
Bolts of lighting
Pelting drops of rain
As I fly- fly - fly -
Through the night
Into another day
My concerto
To rest





Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |

The Blackberry and The Rose

The wild blackberry villain
Fell in love with my sweet rose.
I found them in the garden
All entangled in love's throes.

I took a hoe and hit him hard
With all the strength I had.
How could my hybrid beauty be
Seduced by such a cad?

I only meant to whack him down,
The sun got in my eyes.
My darling little blossom met
An early sad demise.

Now my rose lies motionless,
Betrayed by her wanton way,
Deserted by her false lover
Who led her far astray.

I know that coward's hiding
Beneath the sheltering ground,
Hiding, plotting, planning, scheming
Another to take down.

Dear one turn away that fraud,
Don't believe his selfish boast.
He will take you to his level and
Then thrive on your compost.

It is true that we are known
By the company we keep.
Consorting with a villain
Brings a price that's mighty steep.

For "Old Contest Entry" contest. 
 I entered this in Syed Amaan Ahmad free contest. 
 Any form any theme.  I got only an h
but I thought it one of my best poems.  So I'll try again.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Personification |

A willows silent cries

Weeping willow tell me,
Why is it that you cry?
For is it that no ears can hear,
The stories that you sigh?

Weeping willow tell me,
Why do your hang your head?
What is it that your thinking,
That makes you bow with dread?

Weeping willow tell me,
What's in store for thee?
Can you see the future?
What is it that you see?

Weeping willow tell me,
What is it that you cry?
If only I could hear you,
Please don't think I pry.

Weeping willow tell me,
What are the words you say?
I only seek the answers from beneath the branches I lay.

Copyright © christie mills | Year Posted 2010

Details | Personification |


With a kiss of deadly breath
She finally brings her down
All her flames of crimson amber
Frozen on the ground
Snow white winter
That autumns’
Dead at last
Stares in silence
By the beauty
In the glass

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

HipHop Is dead

Hip-Hop is dead
I can’t feel the throb, the devotion, the dedication
I wear all black
Black stilettos, black cut dress, aimed real low
Seductive but simple, I know my place
Beside the King, my sweet deceased Revolutionist 
Rap’s number one supporter, holding the casket with a broken
           S I G H
Someone plays, a radio, across the way
Slick beats drip past the ears to slime the brain
Wet and easy manipulated clay
Media displays wealth and misogyny
50 million dollar chains  
Females addicted to being slapped around
Like China Dolls in half-made    Cl    o   thes
Pose, Shawty and let this crunk beat fill your hips
Purse your lips, Mami, and I’ll let you
Be my accessory
Remember when the revolution was a evolution of the mind
Freestyles match drums in intensity
When freestyles were uncontrolled like the wild brown skin he was in
I felt, loved, Hip-hop in my veins
Let him be the catalyst  for the beating of my heart
I was so in love with his swagger, his love of himself and his people
Hat tipped real       low      to hide the pain

Beat real tight to stop the taint
Of failure and to rise like the dust after a stampede
I’d take Hip-Hop to bed every night
Let him rise and fall like the heaving of my chest
It was so hot I could barely breathe for the intensity overcoming me
The pounding of intellect in my throat
Stroked me from head to toe
And Rocked my ghetto loving soul
And he said things I’ve waited my whole life to hear
play sweetly in my ear
Dreaming of dreams too big
To let fade away
He grew shallow, loving women with hollow heads and thick thighs
Low rides and forgetting what he left at home
Long nights and overtime left me alone
Released hundreds of  artists
Torn between money and the spoken word
His best friends tried to revive what was inside, too late the damage took over
50 Cent arrived with Lil’s, and Young’s and a mess of southern heat
I was there when the light left his eyes
After Dr.Dre’s Chronic
Hip-Hop was Dead 

Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007

Details | Personification |

Fickle Moon

Just outside the window
    a row of coned shaped trees bend their foolish heads
                                             for her attention
She can have her way with them....
     yet, with such a wily nature, she passes over them, 
              and softly treads a path through the garden gate
Her steps are light as dew, as she hesitates to wake a slumbering rose
                    and timidly brushes past a trellis of sleeping morning glories..

Instead, she slowly slithers through his open window while he sleeps
                 the angle of her glance makes his closed eyes flutter...
                                                 and he smiles....
Her appearance casts shadows on the wall, as she stares across the room at him
     She tarries for a moment, 
     A reflected image on the mirror spreads her silken white cloth...
     He feels her move over him
     He is kissed by this welcome intruder, hypnotized by her charm, her cool breath
Dazzled by this embrace, he tosses the quilt, in restless dream..
      She caresses so softly, filling his heart, and making him sigh...
                          with her gentle touch upon his face
      He basks in her love, and lies in sweet gratitude in his sleepy state
                           enraptured with sweet contentment
      Soaking up and drunk with the radiance of her shine

Outside, eucalyptus branches are jealous
    Impatient and longing to feel such affection...
                Their branches clammor on the glass, hoping to break her spell...

....But, woefully..
         angry clouds intrude to steal away the moment...
             She runs and hides! 

 No longer does he feel the kiss, the sweet lunar touch, her seductive breath...
                Coolness, and disappointment envelopes him as darkness returns again...

Her golden touch is gone, and he is once again alone in the shadow of the dark
      He must pull his blanket up, and dream of other lovers....

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |

The Thing That's so Amazing

The thing that's so amazing about the poet's eye is when he looks up he does 
not merely see the sky.
He sees the family of birds singing in the tree and the clouds so white against 
the sky as the sun smiles upon his face to make the world feel free.

The thing that's so amazing about the poet's heart is when it comes to it's 
emotions there's no limit, no ending, no start. 
He feels things with courage and bravery, not letting it be shaped into the usual 
mold and trapped into slavery.

The thing that's so amazing about the poet's mind is that, like every other poet, 
it's one of a kind.
It wonders around and has to look behind every corner and under every object to 
see what it might find.

The thing that's so amazing about the poet's fingers that hold the pen is that his 
eyes, heart, and mind are in another land when his fingers are writing in the den.

The thing that's so amazing about the poet is well, that he's a poet.

Copyright © Misty Hoot | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

Melancholy Sunrise

Darkness lays awake,
waiting upon her breaker.
The one that lies upon her and whispers to go,
leave behind nothing that you covered with your soul...
Yet she knows she does not need to hear these words
to initiate her departures; she could velvet herself 
and ghost over the world so simply.
like a cloth dip in red wine; enveloping the color,
but not savoring the need of intoxication.
She stays
wanting to feel his warmth,
wanting to feel his glow over her body,
that truly in a way, makes her disappear,
for the world forgets her till she comes again.
and again
and again
torturing herself, for every ray of light cuts her skin,
but she is not masochistic.
Why does she stay?
Why does she endure?
He's coming, slowly over her...

He Rises.
Rises in such an ill manner, That you would think
he would give up an descend once more.
once more so he could ponder and wish;
all more to the dreamer that stays asleep in his wake.
How he wants to be one of these creatures that get to roam
inside her skirt, laugh between her legs, and rest upon her bosom.
so much of it heat rises, why he still feels the need to cry...
He feels her fleeting, 
never ever seeing her, her known only by his touch.
His eyes stay close needing, pleading, seething,
just to see 
just to see her
He stands fully now and the world is smiling,
but he is not.

Copyright © Jessica Arteaga | Year Posted 2010

Details | Personification |

Night Time Love

As I sit in my window sill.
Relaxed no thrill.
Time goes by, but it seems the world stands still.
I sit and gaze .
Truly amazed.
By the beauty that sits in front of me.
The stars winks at me, twinkles and dance.
So magnificant I saw in watch in a trance.
The love I felt between us must be true romance.
But suddenly it fades.
It fades so quickly and with little warning.
Because within a few moments it will soon be morning.
So sadly it leaves, but leaves with a kiss of delight.
The wind whispers its goodbyes and promise to return tomorrow night.

Copyright © DeVonta Reese | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

Momentary Mistress.

We touched for a moment
From across the room
Eternity silenced
As only eyes allow

Paralyzed here
Standing in yen
And somehow fearful
I turn away

If I held valiance 
Crass and fiery
I would dare to you
Though not today
I am of frailty’s ire

Flames of forbidden desire
That is you
A rare beauty of youth
Unquenchable light

I am lost and aged tonight
Brazen solitude
Afraid to look in your eyes
Fearing the burn
Of desire fulfilled

Heavy heaves in my chest
In a sigh of defeat
Up the empty pathway
I move on

Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2007

Details | Personification |

love's open season

There, the meadow......,
trembles my heart....
wide-open for all the
hunters of love to
....frozen, in place....
muscles tense....
trying to avoid the self-
perceived dangers even
a slight flinch
may bring........

This place was once 
a garden of rejuvination
and needed space ....
that healed all wounds, unsureness fills
the misty air, revealing 
scattered pieces of what it
is this heart has been

words, like bullets, shot 
forth from the trusted
emotion,  called love.....
piercing, burning, betraying
my heart  of the comfort
that lured me once before
to this meadow ......

A trophy, for an insecure
hunter with no passion of
his hunt?...not .this heart , it shall
return when the timing
feels right...and the clover
does not taste
quite so

Copyright © regina branham | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

And The Trees

And the trees
laiden down their dappled hands
or bows of earth bound angelic foundries
where leaves in all their spaning handliness
cast their stained glass impressions of their souls
and dance on through the arms of fairies
their petalled gowns thrown high
will show their faces onto the heavens
to hail the kings that poise,
away above the flowered dances
another world unknown

Copyright © misty hunter | Year Posted 2006

Details | Personification |

I Am, Europia

I hang on the wall of an art gallery in Canada,
      it is said I am the epitome of feminine beauty;
my skin is pale and porcelain perfect-  my lips ruby,
           my gown is low and in the softest mauve silk;
a cape of chiffon orange and rose pink floats in the breeze.

I am the daughter of a King and a Greek princess,
      my story really begins when I was at the seashore;
Jupiter, the Greek god saw me and became quite enamored,
            he set about a devious plan to seduce and ravish me;
taking the form of a white bull and mingling in my father's herd.

On a sunny bright day I was gathering pretty flowers,
      I came upon the bull and made him a flower chain;
draping it around his horns and bravely I felt to ride him,
           I climbed upon his back and he carried me far away;
into the shallow water and then the open sea-  then I was lost.

I like to think of myself as that innocent girl playing,
      with friends at the seashore or the girl picking flowers;
this oil painting of me is quite beautiful-   I have heard it said,
           can they see the deep sadness that dwells in my heart;
although I caress the bull and we had children, I dreamt of another life.

August 21, 2017

Personification/I Am, Europia
Copyright Protected, ID 932523

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017