Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

Personification Art Poems | Personification Poems About Art

These Personification Art poems are examples of Personification poems about Art. These are the best examples of Personification Art poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

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 |

The Immortal Journey

Oh! What a journey
We have walked through fields of gold
And stood beneath starry nights

Moon dust in our eyes
specks still  glowing on our tongues
And in our folds and creases

Do you remember?
The gardens at Montmartre
And those courtyards where we stayed

Oh! The memories
The Seashore near Saints Maries
I can almost feel her breeze

Do you remember?
The flower beds in Holland
A quilt of many colors

And the poppy fields
Swaying in a summer breeze
Under cloudy canopy

We have seen the world
You and I – through Vincent’s eyes
Etched forever in our souls

Now we come to rest
Here! at the end of the road
The shoes of Vincent Van Gogh


Author:  Elaine George

Inspired by: The Van Gogh Painting entitled:  The Shoes of Vincent Van gogh
And, Abe Lopez 
Contest Name: Van Gogh's Van Goghs 
Awarded:  First Place 

Awared:  First place

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2009

Details | Personification |

Die Badende

One August day, to Hamburg’s great surprise,
I showed up in their Inner Alster Lake.
I peered at passersby with big blue eyes;
two knees poking up caused a double-take!
Nearby the promenade they’d had me placed -
at least two tons of gorgeous womanhood!
Alas! It was not many days I graced
the area although I wish I could
have stayed, for I enjoyed it when they came
in boats right to my face to see this “nude!”
I loved to pose for pictures and felt no shame.
Some said I was an eyesore though. How rude!
I was removed, and then they all could see
a pretty face was all there was to me!

Sept. 1, 2017 for the Artwork Contest of Lewis Raynes
(other than the sculpture’s knees and face, there is no other part of this floating statue to be seen)
Please see notes and pictures in “About Poem” above

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

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 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 |


if i wanted to kiss you
would you stand still
if i wanted to be with you
could we both time kill
if i held your hand
would you understand
or carress your cheek
would you be meek
if i whispered in your ear
would you hear
if i look into your eyes 
would they lie
and tell me something else
that my heart is saying
if i wanted to love you
with all my heart
would that be smart
if i made you my reason to live
would it be worth everything i give
and if i said i love you
would you hold those words above you
forsaking all others as the preacher said
being mine and to no others lead
then my heart belongs to you
remember, to no other will i be true
with this poem i make this pact 
and with my hopes i hope you act
fill in all the love that i lack
and as for doubts
we could fill up the cracks

Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

When I Need to Be Held

Surrounded by seven cherubs of cheer,
Just recently passing my 100th year,
I’ve been standing here on this perch,
In Little Falls, MN’s Our Lady of Lourdes church.

Most of the day I’m alone simply pining away,
Surrounded by stained glass scenes of yesterday.
Watching glorious beams of color jump left to right,
As east to west the Sun travels ever so bright.

Mostly alone with a visitor or two,
One of my favorites is when Mike is in view.
He studies my features with such wonder and awe,
I can see deep within he is on his last straw.

Walking in with face down slowly plodding as one,
Genuflecting with pain in respect of my Son.
Shuffling into the pew, his body sulking he sits. 
Looking up at me, into my eyes, his stare hits.

I wish I could reach out and hold him in my arms,
Wrapped in my blue cloak, protecting him from harms,
Rocking his fears away with a simple motherly sway,
Breathe into him new life taking away all his strife.

Times like these he needs, comfort and touch,
I thank God above for others providing so much.
It is now that I listen for, the eery creak of the door.
For a heavenly sent friend to cradle him until the end.

Copyright © Michael Vacek | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

Once Lived Life As Both Fox And Chasing Hound

Once Lived Life As Both Fox And Chasing Hound

Once lived life as both fox and chasing hound
each one thinking, they were true, honor bound.
As the fox, took great pride in being shrewd
failed often to see my actions were crude.

When fleeing forth in life at lightning pace
taking too much as I ran, a disgrace.
Never worried about deep and high costs
figured each cold Winter brought killing frosts.

When chasing old fox, my mind went astray
swearing to catch and eat him every day.
With each new dawn, my hunger more intense
I failed to see myself being so dense.

One sad dawn, I caught that shifty ole fox
his words showed me my big, dark prison box.
Blessed reprieve for him, I did not eat
His wisest move and both our greatest feat.

Once lived life as both fox and chasing hound
each one thinking, they were true, honor bound.
As the fox, took great pride in being shrewd
failed often to see my actions, were crude.

Robert J. Lindley, 3-25-2017

Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 200
Total # Words: 164

Note- Inspired by Tim Smith's free verse poem--titled the
 -- The Fox And The Hound.--

As I do not do free verse very well, methinks, I went with personification in rhyme and ten syllable verses.
Thank you my friend Tim Smith, for the great inspiration.. your free verse poem and its creativity
and depth inspired this effort by me , written in a much different poetry form.
I hope this poem written this morn, may honor your poem well, as an inspired tribute to it. 

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

For Stone To Swim

I, cold ... cold as stone ...
But is that not befitting such as I?
Once, merely common, hidden deep in the earth,
Still, my quality made itself known ... my porcelain perfection

Shone in the sun, and I was freed from Terra's grasp ...
Across a great sea I was rocked, carried in care
To finally, joyfully, go under The Master's hand.
I slowly, agonizingly, emerged from the cloud-white slab, pure ...

Brought forth into all glory and consummation!
Stone saw, chisel, rasp, cloth, and paper ... I stretched my limbs, reached my
Fingers and toes to the ether ... arched my back in a repose of death,
Laid upon an altar of mocked coral, draped only in my net -

The Pearl Diver's repository of all things glistening and wondrous!
Oh, what exquisite orbs, those that grace the net's seam!
White, pink, and black opaline gems - iridescent ocean treasures!
Miraculous drops of milky, nacreous moonlight, hidden in Neptune's gullet,

Awaiting their emancipation ... finally freed at the edge of the diver's blade!
But that, for me, is yet a dream ... I am but stone, after all ...
Be content, instead, to gaze upon my keen beauty,
I, the polished progeny of a sculptor's acumen,

I, the refined, glorious bloom of stone,
I, the ivory issue of marble elegance,
I, the bairn of a master ...
The Dead Pearl Diver.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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

Details | Personification |

Cups -Personification-

They like to be held
when the weather gets cold,
they could be worn down to nothing
don't mind growing too old.

They enjoy having a cold drink
even a warm one would do,
enjoy being kissed softly
when they're feeling blue.

They won't cry a single tear
so long as you're there with them,
all they really want
is to be your friend.

Copyright Cynthia Jones

I know this sounds corny, but I'm trying to find something to write about.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

Slam The Slammer

Just to touch the untouchable touches of reality’s toughest fingers prints 
Touching the untouchable weakness in multiple personal splashes 
The year has been a nightmare with no blankets
Birds get shot down with no mercy mistaken for nightmares
Rulers of rules hidden in hells’ only passage
Smelling power armpits
Coordinators of exposed blood suckers in gallons
Chaos now rule confusions

Slam you slam the slammers

The holder of telephonic microphones for decades
I am your seed nevertheless you hardly eat my healthy streams 
Can i slam your slams slamming all forgotten slams

The chimney in my neck is about to explode dark smoke
The only soap washing illegal sniffer dogs 
Nostrils that sniff private conversations
Wrap it and send it to majority of non-gifted slammers planting fast paced maturity
Drag the slam down your throat like murdered lyrics choked on purity 

The sickest abandoned words spraying choir practice effects 
Lyrical birds slam pages flipping wings waving brave slammers
Sheltered in the nest of fame chasers 
Apologies packed in jeans 
Truth compete on fashion parades

Lies are rated the greatest fashion ever designed
Models dress in scams and sexy metaphors spitting rudeness by force
Conscious is tattooed and spared for black days
Spoken word my shampoo
The only soap cleaning dirty secrets 
Life’s only barefooted spoken words typing injured bangs

Reports glorify honesty 
Speaking prophecy prophesy corrections of spoken slams  


The road rage winner awarded for speeding corrections 
Just to trace the untraceable touches of reality’s complicated fingers prints 
Moving the untouchable weakness in multiple personal splashes 
A drop of a burning smile heals a heart broken angel
I salute as you slam doors on spoken corrections                                                                                           
(c) Ray

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |

To The Fall

It is raining leafs'
They are pouring down
If you half listen
They barely make a sound..
The birds' they do sing,
They doth' fly south
The tinny tinkling
Taste of morning dew
Is so prevalent...
I can taste it in my mouth

Gary Fields

Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |

I, Artist

Soft spring winds, or a harsh winter's freeze we all write in our version of simplicity an artist makes passionate love to his canvas a musician strikes cords in longing hearts With this moment of our very being we give birth to what is hiding the mixture of people and their dreams with an artist's heart we see them clearly Every minute of every single day one cries look at me, see who I am, create my destiny through eyes that see in every color, we dare to dream giving birth to that part of our personality Our thoughts are alive, begging for sweet release no one understands who we are, or all those who live inside but an artist's soul can be bestowed in imagery some of us kill them, stab them with our quill, or brush Some make love to them for extended lengths of time as creating a bust out of clay, removing the hate we add, we take away, but in the end it breathes and each of us knows of that work, we call a dear friend We go where no feet dare to tread, our very souls bleed the parts that are kind, evil, sexy, smart, ignorant, or unheard of this is the stuff life is made of to us the many personalities that live within delivered by the artists who dare to dream the UN thought of...

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

Under a Watchful Sky

A weary sky settles low on a bed of soft sand, eyes closing, and drifts in dreams of agile hands – hands birthed from crystal clouds, rising and falling like a breath calling, haunting from the ages, beating aloud like the pulse of man’s muse – sculpting, painting, inventing an artist’s sanctuary. A sparkling sky witnesses, with eyes wide, beauty and imagination birthed from inspired minds, and wakes from dreams of agile hands creating an original portrait, a unique expression. With a wink from the eccentric and offbeat clouds, a communal museum, comes to life - a labor of love shrouded by sky on a bed of soft sand. for Roy Jerden's East Jesus Poetry Contest, 12/15/14

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |

A Painting


Creating and recreating
Shapes of desire
A cunning way to rest
My tired brain, painting
Coloured to aspire
A curve to be hugged
A corner to be embraced.

Murmuring song of
 Past remembrance
Mind ravaged in situ.
Energising the hand
To ask for spirit’s favour
Setting up an arrangement
To trap myself aflame
Within a creative frame.

Copyright © Durlabh Singh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Personification |

Life is not complicated

                                       Softer than snow flurries
                                       Slicker than cigarette smoke
                                       Sizzling than bouncy bubbles in an open soda can
                                       Ticklish like a patient soul after a rouch day
                                        Sweeter like a loving tongue 
                                        Curious like a dog's muzzle sniffing and living
                                        Foggy like a neglected sleep
                                        Love like cold and grey
                                        Introverted like a deck of cards
Playdough like mud, like words in poetry, like soles and souls of poetry.

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |



Physically free, but most of us are still mentally incapacitated
 We all cheer on 21 March
No chains on our arms – no shackles on our ankles
Independence a pre-conceived idea of freedom
To fight for the true cause-for the causers are the true enemies
Physically free, but now questioning the mental status and spiritual levels
Never mind, let us all cheer and shout – freedom!!!
What about us! 

Time to look back and merry collectively
Yet success and awards are individual
Only boobs will sit idly and blame the government
Desensitizing, Demolition Dependent mind sets
Cause Communion with slave masters lead to neo-colonization
Failure to conceive this hidden agenda, it will cause a man to stubble
What about us!

The born free nothing is for free
Doomed condemned juveniles
Demanding privileges for their pre-requisite failure
Excuses escorting many country and women to their graves
Blood dripping like a virgin giving up her innocence for the man she loves
So that you and me could enjoy the fruit of his/her blood-freedom
Self-sacrifice was and still is the price for freedom
Forefathers and mothers blood was shade for freedom
What about us!

We are the people; we are the government – time to take reasonability
What about us!

Anthony Ngabwe
(Tony The Poet@2014)

Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |


Contempt of ability in it-self
    Is that which is
Of its' own creation
    And is a consort
Which requires' conciliation
      ...  From God,
My inhibited nature does' wane 
   And in thus, further my Heart
And there are so many reasons'
     Why that I should pray
Fore I do sing the repartition
     Of shame
Deep in my own Heart
Things' will still remain
Just the same...
Fore it has been that way
From the very start

Gary Fields

Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |

The Transformation of Word

Letters turn into words.....While words turn into understanding with meaning,some 
you've never heard....
Sentences turn into stories....As stories fill our hearts and mind...slowly...
 seducing thoughts letter by letter, word by word, line by line...
Words floating around in my head it's like they just won't quit...
I find meaning in everything,  from the very first letter that any word has in it....
So for me writing is like my souls transformation into words... 
Into a personal sense of freedom and levels of self expression in ways yet to be 
It's so beautiful to me...That when I open my eyes I am able to see....
That life forms all type of letters into words into sentences into stories into my mind 
into my being into my heart into me...    
Chapters of love, pain, passion, lose ,success,pleasure, deceit, and envy....
The effects are astonishing and I've been blessed to see, The world's soul 
transformed into words into life into POETRY....

Copyright © Kib G | Year Posted 2011

Details | Personification |


You are More than a Friend!
From the first time I knew you - From the first time I met you
Your words, joy, laughter, and peace, were so factual beyond my apprehending 
Your inner man, inner beauty and placidness are always out spoken
Your friendship over the years enlighten up my soul, heart and life
Each jiffy I have an opportunity to be in your presence, talk to you, touch your hands
I often do not leave your presence the same-your tender heart often embraces my sorrows
Truly and honestly-You are More than a Friend

People say, friends come and go-For me, true friendship is forever
You have shared your mutual and frank friendship in my life 
Despite the distance, silence and absence of your physical being or presences
Your voice and words always whispers in my inner most being
 Deeds and words we shared, have built inside our subconscious as eternal memories
Although phantoms self-insecurities have kept us apart all this well, 
Just Remember that-You are More than a Friend 

Allow me to confess, acknowledge and admit-that fear and doubt 
Often hinders us to express our feelings and to share our interior gifts with people we love 
But I also highly appreciate your genuineness-your true nature and expression of love
Loving you, being by side and receiving form your deepest inner being is my utmost delight
I will always treasure and cherish our friendship-Because You are More than a Friend 

I could not find appropriate way to articulate and convey my feelings and gratitude
But rather than speaking from my heart and through this medium
From my heart-through my talent-means using everything from within
Dearest Friend, I mean everything I said-And said what I mean
Frankly and candidly-You are More than a Friend      

Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |


The butterfly went to a party last night all through the evening. It was the drunken butterfly and he saw all different butterflies through the night at the party. Both of them were drunk in front of the butterfly that evening. He woke up the next morning and he didn't remember who gave him drinks. It was different butterflies passing for everyone at the party. His friend found out that there was another butterfly drunk that evening. After that night, one was over and he began to face it with. One of the drunk butterfly at that evening. When he went up to all the butterfly were drunk at the party. Then that night, he went home to get straight from that night all day. Then he looked back to the party to find out who gave him drinks that evening.

Copyright © Frances Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Personification |

My Gold Dream

My gold dream,
So out competing it's.
Sighted by a crowd.
Embraced by few.
Outrank on screen it's.
I love journalism!

Adventurous it's.
Sounds of rockets in netherworld,
Not about to transfix a journalist,
But only sought-after,
I love journalism!

It's a dream in me,
A dream of gold and my cheese!
I want to fit in the press shoes,
Now I got to write, report and broadcast.
Journalism don't gravity me!

All Rights Reserved

© T.m.T scripts 

Copyright © Bryan De Poet | Year Posted 2011

Details | Personification |


~~~~~~~~~~~ "Sky's eyebrows white on blue juxtaposed... tears wave to wash away pain on cue" ~~~~~~~~ ~JSLambert © 2012 Poet TreeZ Publishing

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

The Artist

They call him the artist.
People think he is crazy making up beautiful stories of life.
He takes pictures and draws reality and tells exactly what it is.
He speaks and we get truth from the love of his words.
He always has a way of timing just the right moment to click.
He loves the rush of surviving the risk and winning the statues.
The young can’t wait for his stories which paint the photos.
He takes the mic and makes all heads move on any direction.
His lyrics in his songs will make you dance for that reason.
Take crap in and out of create a beautiful sculpture. 
Roll out industry’s fabric to fashion up everyone who seen it.
He can open up a brain and see what to mind then close w-hole.
He can get into the ring and fight seriously but look like dancing.
He can read the patterns of color and follow them to paradise.
He manipulates Chemicals wittingly for the benefit of the community.
Takes up his ride 2500miles and lands it half way around the world.
His work is recognized wherever he goes for his unique way of painting reality.
All can be artists in their own way .
Long live ART.

Copyright © ngugi njengah | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |


Please excuse my dear aunt sally
cause mathematically
how geometrically in reality the measurements accurately
shadow me
my aunt manufactured me
my design
then divide by zero
it would be undefined
my existence is geometry
any form an shape symmetry
symmetrically an entity
whos positively unbalanced to negativity
cause negatively im positively magnetically
my well being makes me an mathematician
using mathemically the principles to define my existence

Copyright © uriel wisdom | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |

Quality TIME-Quality LIFE

Quality TIME-Quality LIFE
I say time is money
I say time is life
I say time is death
I say time is precious
I say time is meaning 
I say time is season
I say time is diamond
I say time is gold
How you use time determines the quality of life

I say how you use time measures your value
I say how you use time measures your impact 
I say how you use time measures your life quality
I say how you use time measures your family quality
I say how you use time measure your love quality
I say how you use time measure your originality
I say how you use time measure your services quality
I say how you use time measure your product’s quality 
I say how you use time measure your ministry quality
How you use time determines the quality of life

I say lack of purpose leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of vision leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of commitment leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of consistence leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of discipline leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of integrity leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of character leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of Christ leads to lead mismanagement of time
How you use time determines the quality of life

The Timer is time, He controls time, Life is time, He control life
He is the first and the last-beginning and the end
He is eternity meaning time without measure-He is timeless
An Hour to Him is one year – a year to Him is an Hour
If you have the Timer, you will have all the time you need in the world

Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |

Birth of a Poet

The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”

Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012

Details | Personification |

The words in my head

The words in my head are beautiful.
They are dancing cheek to cheek
with Southern legato or London staccato
with Chinese tunes and Xhosa clicks,
with native Dutch, straight from the heart. 

The words in my head are reluctant
to stand in line. They like
to dance and play. They like
to echo inside the skull, infinite
Ping-Pong straight from the heart.

The words in my head come alive,
naked at the stroke of a key.
Ribbons of  red and green show
who’s been good and who’s been bad.
Dots on the screen, straight from the heart.

The words in my head are ready
to face the world. I comb their hair
and clean their nose and wave goodbye
until they disappear around the bend.

One day they will be back, straight to the heart

Copyright © Niels Blomberg | Year Posted 2008

Details | Personification |

Nature's Art

Mother Nature took her paint brush,
and eloquently tipped each petal
With a multitude of glorious colors.
She awoke the morning sun and coaxed
the pedals to greet the morning rays.
She dropped, droplets of morning dew,
watching the moss green carpet
stretch to catch each  drop.
She painted nature's floral bouquet,
and they happily, danced in the breeze.
Her landscape, soon became a work of art.
A scenic wonder, that soon brought the bees,
Who busily, flew from flower to flower 
tasting each, nectar filled blossom.
They happily flew to the hive and back,
Bringing excitement over the floral find.
The flowers continued to flourish under,
the fine painters hand.

Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2011