Get Your Premium Membership

Best Analogy Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Analogy poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of analogy poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Analogy poems, articles about Analogy poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Analogy poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



View all new Analogy Poems

The Best Analogy Poems

Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Melancholic Tree

In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow.

Up above grey skies foretell
perturbed crows to seek shelter.
Down below, 
an isolated tree - naked and fatigued;
Listens in silence.
Her soul is wounded,
but you do not see her blood.

Defiant against dysfunctional adversity,
her roots are stronger than an anchor.
Diversifying in deep directions, 
kissing the mouth of the Earth. 
Her torso may seem tall and mighty,
but her appearance deceives.
Sins of mankind have exposed her sap,
as bark beetles crumble the surface.

Forceful winds and bullet rain blasts
against her weary teary face.
Her tame frame trembles, 
as naked broken branches are 
blown away by brutal gusts.

It is just another battle for life,
as birds leave her behind - suffocating. 
Raindrops stream down her body,
creating puddles of sadness,
soaking deep into her roots. 

In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow;
where a tree yearns for Spring.
To bloom prosperously 
and to bathe in sunshine -
so departed birds return.

Silent One
20 February 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

No such thing as forever

We all arrive alone naked and vulnerable,
crying our eyes out, not knowing -
this is the first day of the rest of our life.
I guess the saddest thing in life is we have to grow up.

As children we live in a bubble,
gazing at lost stars - wondering which one is ours.
Not realising the impact of our childhood,
until we are adults and it is too late.

We jump in puddles, laughing at splashing sounds,
some even learn to place their coats over them.
Some swim within shark infested waters,
but only a few learn how to build bridges over them.

I have embraced the power of silence,
but some have succumb to it.
I guess it is all about the quality of it,
especially for those who struggle to listen. 

There has been many a rose that has bloomed,
but every single one crumbled into dust.
Even the one whose thorns pierced lacerations
through hearts of stone - yet the heart healed.

Many birds arrived echoing sweet symphonies,
yet there have been those that flew away in silence.
Especially the silent nightingale who sat in solitude,
whose lyrics my heart still yearns to feel.

I've seen many a ship arrive at my shore,
but each one unloaded and sailed away.
It was me who removed their anchor
and smiled as they sailed into the distance.

As tumours poison our existence  - I ponder;
will the human race survive earth's demise?
When death arrives we all leave alone empty handed,
not knowing that was the last day of our life.

I recall Freddie Mercury's famous lyrics... 
Who wants to live forever....   Anyway.

Silent One
Simple Musings
19 June 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

ONE WORD~

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my mind,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my veins,
                                   
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night
Cool air beneath and above the sea
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing
Up ahead in a virtue distance
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-     
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again
Twilight, rain stranger than strange
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"

Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow
PERHAPS NOT!
If I accept, and then decline
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways 
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?	
When I no longer value the values of the young
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart
They're the voices give and take from our health

Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria
UNITY! 
   UNITY! Like a common curse
Always, wanting more than love can touch

We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips
Prisoners and doers; 
All night…. Too late for a treatment
Lungs, decaying, evil rats
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my lungs,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Obsessed with love

Hate is an unnecessary need
in the book of necessities.
Love is the key component
within the book of obsessities.

Lust is an unfaithful guide
misguiding towards fake perceptions.
Sincere love is the pioneer
in overcoming deceptions.

Love is that perfect song,
which reminds you of mother's lullabies.
The aroma of an elegant rose,
attracting butterflies.
Picturesque horizons staining the sky,
as birds admire in full flight.
Moon kissing her loyal stars
as curtains are drawn for the night.
An innocent child's laughter
that brings tranquillity to the heart.
A baby's first giggle,
a reminder of God's beautiful art.
Beloveds crossing upon love's path,
as each route leads to their fate.
Tingle of that first kiss,
finally holding hands with your soul mate.


I'm guilty, that's my confession,
LOVE is my only obsession.

Silent One
19 July 2017

Example for obsessions contest















Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ballad of an Unsung Hero

Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles his soul still ravaged by devious dictators, cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind, but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium. Reluctantly he ventures forward with vengeance portrayed through embers engulfed within his frenzied eyes - reflecting his mother's irreversible tears. He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker, just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam. His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes, but struggles to erase his thoughts, as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind. Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords, but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings. Entering the kingdom of dry fountains, where God has no influence, he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air. Charcoal clouds rumble, before horizons shed unwelcome tears. Before him platinum priests preach, as court jesters dance with sly grins, hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs. To his right overfull hospitals have no beds, as penniless patients plead to be cured. To his left the self proclaimed vain king sits on his cardboard throne, throwing dollars into a blazing fire place. To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen hides behind her simulated smile, oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires towards her clueless imbecilic princess. It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed, which continues to breed nefarious creed. Miserable masses attempt to break free, but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen. In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves, merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams. Sold to the biggest idiot! His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy! Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses, as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle. Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide, which he empties into his delectable broth. Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs, perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall. Beyond his childhood playground, now with rusty swings and slides, he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave, kissing her untouched headstone. Expressionless he walks into the distance, as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One 25 July 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Immortal poetic lyrics

Pondering prophetic legacies of timeless lovers, my heart yearned for a province lavished with perennial passion. Searching for an enchanted perfect petal, I wandered within the flower garden of infatuation. Marigolds shone, smiling among mellow yellow roses, but their fair friendly fragrance could not quench my thirst. In the distance, a silhouette of the rarest red rose beamed, her dulcet aromatic ambience summoned my soul closer. Upon the first sight of my beloved's subtle innocent eyes, my mind drifted to a place where time did not exist. Without a word, her radiance illuminated my whole existence, like a butterfly admiring pulchritudinous petals - it was pure paradise. Hand in hand we strolled embarking upon the realms of infinite love, composing our own idyllic legacy of immortal poetic lyrics. Simple Musings Silent One 3 July 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Light On the Devil's Chord - Dear Lucifer

I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I? 
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw 
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown

There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me

What I will never be

Dear Lucifer,
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Library of Trust and Hope

The Library of Trust and Hope
The Bank of Trust and Hope

(Cant decide on title, so feel free to pick or suggest one)

She was all but four years of age
Birthdays were such magical moments
The cake was filled with candles
The balloons still in their package twelve on the table

Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!!
They are not magic like you said!!!!!
Do not fret Maria, its daddy who is magical
I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons

Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons
Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers
She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile
Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be

Maria was now ten years older
Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories
On this fall day, home from school
There was grandpa in the back yard as usual

He was tending his garden of roses
When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses
Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden
From the heavens above


Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop
A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table
A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes
This is for you, beauty for beauty


She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance
They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime
Until the morning she awoke, completely alone
Both lover and credit cards did abscond


Now twenty one, and wise to the world
Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age
A chilly fall day in an empty library
A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose

Hello he says! I drew this for you!
Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one!
Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken
This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter

The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine
He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose
She politely declines his advances
Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks

The twelfth week and here he is again
What is the poor girl to do?
She is curious, and she can not quite help herself
She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers?

He smiles kindly and replies
How about next week, I show you?
We can have a coffee, and discuss art
Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness

They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself
Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation
He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red
She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard

She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her
Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw
You? she stammers, you made this?
He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings

Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness
Her husband of all these years has passed on
To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting
She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories

She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance
Contemplating the wisdom's of life
I miss you so much my love
You taught me trust is earned and not given
	Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, 
		I am yours eternally





Dear Reader

I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me. 

Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.

I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness

God bless
Maria Sefue


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Adrift in fiction

Placid rain gently kisses unblemished windows as leaves fall in an Autumn breeze. In the distance cinereal clouds congregate, converging upon the city's royal citadel. Oblivious to the storm, adrift in cultural fiction she sits immersed from the ambience of the scent of new leaves. Hypnotised - tranquil words enchant her mind, as her eyes nonchalantly embrace each paragraph. Her heart is at peace, relating to each character, some that make her smile - others that displease her. Jealous winds blow abundant rain, like bullets shooting against her window. Attempting to distract from her infatuation, but her spirit is an unconquerable fortress. The world is forgotten to her, as her soul performs the role of her favourite character. Observing to learn through them, so she can learn about her self. The final page, the last sentence, leads to watery eyes. For the peace and beauty she experiences in books, she does not find in life. Simple Musings Silent One 5 October 2017


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When We Were Young

When we were young we loved our fairy tales
A frog could  be a prince with just one kiss
Each cloud, a boat where dreamers could set sail
Imagination was the great abyss

Too soon we grew and lost our innocence
Found out that swords are never pulled from stones
That dreams come true but only with expense 
And happy ever after's come and gone

Yet some of us still wish upon a star
Believe that rainbows come with pots of gold
Reality is life for most comes hard
And love like water runs both hot and cold

Like you I wish that fairy tales came true
But grown ups know they very seldom do



   by Daniel Turner


Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Blind Painter

There is a part of me missing
There is a part of me that shall never be
Inside of this dark sad brooding mind
Is the painter who will never see

So I take my pen, and vaso of wine
I contemplate
I get lost in the drunkenness of time
Stooped over my own memories on a sour palette

I had the brushes staring at the naked breast
My paints were frozen, at such beauties unrest
Erect and tall, at her feet I did fall
The blind painter, who lost it all

So now you see I am a poet of some seedy sort
Painting Braille, is poetry of my last resort
I write down words with the flourish of my pen
The Braille poet, cause painting I could not fend

I take words and wish them bountiful explosive colors
If only I had talent, a painter and not a story teller
So for me, in pain and clad in the cloth of sadness
I write words, for this painter has only Braille

I have no painting brushes
I possess no smile, wandering along on wistful miles
Of blindness, blowing in the winds of the frail
No map for the future, and yet I set sail

Hoping my words one day will be seen
By an artist who paints the soul and the serene
She takes my blindness and paints boldly my dreams
Taking my words, from Braille to bright pastel creams


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Soothing serenades

Pained piano keys compose a chorus-less composition. Melancholic moods crave to sway back and forth like bluebells and lilies dancing, when kissed by the morning breeze Forlorn flute flirts with sympathetic tunes, echoing vivid vibrations, piercing layers of a forgotten heart. Somber undertones seduce the soul as it struggles to swim, silently immersing in sorrowful symphonies. Yet the orchestra is mute - slumbering in the ruins of unfinished musings. Ignorant to the heartbroken harp that lusts to strum romantic melodies, but stands in sincere elegance, decaying as dust suppresses its emotions. Lyrics float by, searching for a home, but remain unheard in the absence of the viola. Its loss has become an enemy to violin strings, crippled from cries yearning for their cello comrades. Alone their music does not co-exist and falls upon deaf ears. Music has no providence, yet the mind is lost in its province. Searching for soothing serenades that softly sail ships towards shores strumming sweet strings. Sometimes harmonies struggle to enlighten in solitude, but when composed together, their lyrics live forever. The Silent One Simple Musings 21 November 2017


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

As fields become barren

What has become of me? Like a madman laughing in the rain, wandering through fields of barley, where ghosts whisper my name. Hesitantly venturing forward, reluctant to turn back, loved ones desperately hold my hand. Time is no longer a friend of mine. I'm aware this path shall be my last, but I'm smiling - satisfied, knowing the pain will end. Reminiscing seasons gone by, memories are like rose petals, softening each step - my mind is at peace knowing thorns can't cut me any more. Images flash by my first kiss, my last tear, words spoken, words lost in silence, and how the wind danced at sunset illuminating golden crops. Birds sing songs of goodbye, tomorrow there will be no sunrise. My heart will never again harvest upon nature's rewards. Scarecrows watch over barren fields, suffocated by absent hands. As each breath becomes shorter, my soul prepares to depart. But I'm lost in thought, wondering: Will it be celestial lullabies, or dancing with the devil? Simple Musings Silent One 2 January 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Puppets Of Hell On The Stage Of Life

Upon the stage of life
there are many puppets of hell.
Their bright costumes conceal sin and strife
and beneath them deception does dwell.

Their lines are a demon inspired script.
They put on a convincing act.
Many souls over their lies have tripped.
It truly is a sad fact.

They call good, evil and evil, good.
Their footwear is the hypocrite’s shoe.
If it’s possible they really would
like to slip that charlatan sandal on you.

Masters are they of façade and guise,
sometimes robed as angels of light.
They prey upon both simple and wise.
To turn men from truth is their delight.

Perhaps it’s a hand puppet or a marionette
dancing to the beat of a diabolical drum.
Their deceptive doctrines some never vet,
and to fabrication they thus succumb.

If their mantras you cannot tolerate,
if you don’t embrace them fully,
puppet voices they’ll raise while they are irate.
They’ll call you a bigot or bully.

There is one sure cure that we have today
to keep ourselves from being shook.
Check out the lines that they boldly say
‘gainst God’s Holy, infallible Book.

If you see through those serpentine soliloquies now,
and things aren’t as they have supposed,
don’t allow the moppets their final bow.
Let the curtain on their drama be closed.

9/21/17



Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Shackles of love

Shackles of cynicism have displaced your heart, the love that once transcended time is no more. No wordsmith can bring beauty to an invisible emotion, lost in translation to an ignorant uncultured mind. As you searched for a definition of the tangible, intangible feelings were ignored, even with eyes shut. Funny, how three words cause a chemical imbalance, but the euphoria is short lived when ego takes hold. Promises to comfort, wipe away tears, anguish and pain, come with no guarantee of satisfaction - no refund for regret. Love does not say when the fire is burning to wage war, it provides an opportunity to nourish peace and harmony. Love does not say to be bitter and live with a grudge, it asks for you to forgive, not to antagonise another's soul. In a world lost to materialistic commercialism, the skeptic doubts like a pessimistic detractor. Love is not like money, that must be reciprocated with interest, it is simply an undetectable phenomenon that graces us all. To some a second hand emotion, but the language of love still remains the most powerful feeling known to humanity. One tongue that has no religion, race nor geographical boundary, which only fails to blossom when limits are implanted.
Silent One Written 28 February 2016 Re posted 30 May 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Melodious Muse

** I apologize, but if you're viewing this on a phone, it probably wont look right, as the browser page on a phone is not wide enough to indent the right edge properly. It was designed on a laptop and should appear correctly if viewed on your pc. Thanks!. **
__________________________________________________________



                                       Sensitively
                                       I hold YOU
                               [ in my arms so very ]
                                       tenderly, as
                               [ if an extension from ]
                                       my very own
                               [ being the supple and ]
                                       lithe  form of
                                         your body,
                                          my muse.
                                          I am as a
                                          kid again-
                                          alive  with 
                                          the glows
                                          of being in
                                          the  midst
                                          of your so
                                          sweet and
                                          m elodious
                                          c om pa ny
                                          as free and
                                          com pletely
                                          joyous as I
                                          h a ve  ever
                                          been  in my
                                          whole entire
                                          existence 'til
                                          now - totally
                                          drenched  in
                                          plenitude. So
                                          whenever I'm
                                          joined in your
                                          aspect, all the
                                          soft  curves of
                                          your fine torso
                                          r e sonate with
                                          m y thoughtful
                                          intents and wild
                                          imaginings. You
                                          are naught with
                                       -out my deft caress,
                           and I, empty and incomplete without
                   you, yet together we create a harmony, pure, the
             articulation of sublime revelation ... an utterance of divine,
       inspired creativity, a dance                     of improvisation and revel
    -ry, melodic wonderment,                               unified and concise. We
   endeavor to find  our em                                -pyreal song, to  thus be-
  come one, stealing silence,                                 lulls. I  gently  caress your
  neck  with resolve, manipu-                               late you with my dutiful and
  competent hands,  each  fin-                           ger with its own very resolute
  course, attending your whispers                 with appreciation, and longing to
   hear the moans and sighs of your sweet voice and affect... the coy result of
      our purposeful, energetic joinings, are your soulful, rare and resonating
         arias - the final and fitting example of all we realize in each other.. all
             we create in our requisite energies. I remember back to the very
                first time that we met, you with your brightly colored trap-
                  pings and shiny baubles, the strength of your supple
                  shape rippling with lines of poetic perfection, you took
                 my very breath away! Oh, I had seen others of your ilk
              been with others who spoke with  similar lilt, but none that
         pulled the breath instantly from my lungs, none who made me qui
    -ver with anticipation, to touch you, run my hands over your ample con
  -tours, to hear you whisper a sultry voice to the tympans of my ears - such
 ecstasy I imagined ... and ecstasy it WAS! I had watched you from afar for so
long ... dreaming, never really expecting you'd ever be mine, but that day I fin-
ally knew - knew I'd hold you, touch you, love you, make YOU tremble, the way
you had me! I would finally get to inhale the sweet, earthy fragrance of your so-
smooth, unblemished flesh, finally know the completeness and exquisite joys of
cradling you in my arms! And oh the beautiful things we have realized and done
 together ...  what incredible music we have made! Our spirits always united as
  one, moving, sighing, creating every sublimated harmonic expression that we
   can imagine, and always together, always joined by a magic thus unequaled,
     always bound by the song of life, and the voice of the heavens! You shall
       be mine forever, my Sweet Lady, and I mean to hold you and love you
         until both of us can sing no more! Until the very skies no longer can
            vibrate with the musings of nature - until the weep of the even's
                clouds dries up and turns to dust ... until the roaring beat
                     of thunder no longer shakes the ground ... until the
                         gods themselves wipe the constellations from
                               the sky - this I pledge to you, my love
                                        and my agency of art, my
                                                      guitar.




August 24, 2018



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Simple Words For Simple People

If I had a pretentious brain which acts faster than my heart Maybe then,I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse Maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words I would scrutunize each and every coma dot and exclamationmark believing I know best But I would never let that happen I'd rather stay at bay Writing firstly with my mind and not my heart leads only to an asylium within the being of myself Poetry is my voice,my shadow The sacred shrine of great escape Each stored emotion processed within a yesterday Poetry is the inner of my existence breathing softly,bleeding deeply exploding in death,love passion and romance In every verse a whisper a thought that I would scribe of a silent cry expressed Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by me Tread your footstep on my ink and spit saliva in my face But maybe in a today a broken -hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world Maybe a prisoner,a tramp an insane soul or outcast would pick these scattered scribbles and gather them as whole Maybe through each criss-crossed puzzle finds a narrow passage which leads his faith to home Maybe a little child whose blissful giggles depends on little words would turn the dusty pages of silly rhymes I penned Rhymes which know the moons stars,faries,and the magic land Rhymes which know each fantasy and how to be a friend And maybe He would smile Maybe He would laugh Maybe He would dream Maybe He would grow up to write the most eloquent sonnet there has ever been Or maybe He would grow up to write simple words just like me about daises or dandelions and expressions to be free


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

FREE - A collaboration with Silent One

Last POTD for the year - 31st Dec 2017

An eagle spirit conquers storms of adversity, like a silent soul floats amongst the sky's artistry. Soaring higher, ascending further from perception, free from judgemental realities of deception. Through silver rippled clouds glimpses of sun’s projection, people - hills and streams merely blurred hued perfection. Cocooned in tranquillity - brightly scintillating, Elevated flow of peace astral souls stimulating. Drifting like peaceful streams, formless in spirituality, floating nonchalantly lured by the moon's hospitality. Stars illuminate creating the path's foundations, soul ascends carefree from a life of tribulations Swathe in crystalline warmth of a galactic revelation, merging with the Universe in its empyrean constellation. Released from worldly strife in its final aspirations, soul reaches joyous heights in its heavenly inspirations A Maria Williams and Silent One collaboration 29 December 2017
Last POTD for the year - 31st Dec 2017


Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Breath To Breath


They say, to mend an injured heart, move on,
          And thus, I've done so, time-and-time-again,
               But tho' your smile, from me, is decades gone,
     My dreams still find you haunting me, as then.

I've always held your heart, pristine and rare,
          Flat-pressed between life's pages like a rose,
               And as the timeworn leaves may fade and tear,
     That weather on love's blossom never shows.

I've tried so to forget you through the years,
          Still, in my sleep you find my heart exposed,
               And tho' I cleanse those memories with tears,
     Your phantoms keep returning, unopposed -

You took my breath quite often in the past ...
               And I've no doubt you'll take ... my very last.




~ 1st Place ~  in the "Contest 475 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Not Just Any Old Rose" Poetry Contest, Mark Massey, Judge & Sponsor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Poet with a Priceless Pen

I am poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I wonder what mortal mirrors reflect...
For me, all races deserve respect.

I often hear the splashing of rain,
and flood rushing down the drain.
I see the petals of the morning bloom
and dawn peeping into my dusky room.

I strive to forget the tales of ages long gone
when dreams died as deeds undone.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I pretend to be a terrific tree
sapping the tears that betide me.
I feel old scars opening each time
my heart tends to commit new crime.

I touch the heart of the gentle moon
and worry if the Sun will shine at noon.
I cry for the youth and aged in need
and for gluttons in the grave of greed.

I hear the whispers of wealth and wisdom
flowing freely from the field of freedom...
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I understand the chains of our choices;
frailties of our fate; our darn differences.
I say let us not preen on what is not ours,
we will leave them in the six-feat towers.

I crave a world without woes and worries;
the mortal mall of matchless memories
where everyone trades a lasting legacy...
and love is shared on the platter of mercy.

I long to see gray skies turn blue
and my sweetest dreams come true.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.


Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2014


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Finding Love:

Such lovely lilac and crimson tones, As a rainbow of colours fill the sky, Radiant and beautiful soothes my bones, Takes me above the clouds so far and high. Captured in a moment of total bliss, Wondering all the time what is life for? Suspended in awe like a lovers kiss, Never felt like this to my very core. Love all around and it's time I was found, Beauty everywhere can't you see her smile, Smiling at you and smiling all around, It's time you gave love a chance for awhile. But leave me above the clouds, here I'll stay, I have found love in a different way. /|\ (Ten syllables per line) 31~10~16


Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2016


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Let love create rainbows in your speech

 
Hey you Don't let hate dominate. Let love sate - animate With the pain in your heart. Set it free from the start. Let it go, let it part. An ugly form of art. That don't make you look too smart.
In the realms of sacred humanity Hate is regarded as insanity Hypocritical cries are your disguise. Judgemental eyes lead to your demise. There's no prize for those who like to despise. When sweet little lies become your allies in sinful ties, your ego will baptise. To love is wise, let it be your franchise. Love thy neighbour that's what holy books teach. But when they sin they turn the other cheek. Surely they should practice what they preach? Let love create rainbows in their speech. I understand the eyes can go blind when anger starts to confuse the mind Remember Socrates's test; three filters to consider are best. Heavenly guides from high above, encourage to plant seeds of love. Sow, sow, sow, you can't go wrong. Just like they sing in that song: "Every woman every man Join the caravan of love (Stand up) stand up Stand up Everybody take a stand Join the caravan of love (Stand up) stand up Stand up I'm your brother I'm your brother don't you know She's my sister She's my sister don't you know We'll be living in a world of peace And the day when everyone is free We'll bring the young and the old Won't you let your love flow, from your heart." 12 November 2017 Lyrics are from Housemartin's song: caravan of love A timely reminder Once upon a time an old man spread rumors that his neighbor was a thief. As a result, the young man was arrested. Days later the young man was proven innocent. After being released he sued the old man for wrongly accusing him. In court the old man told the Judge : They were just comments, didn't harm anyone.. The judge, before passing sentence on the case, told the old man : Write all the things you said about him on a piece of paper. Cut them up and on the way home, throw the pieces of paper out. Tomorrow, come back to hear the sentence. The next day, the judge told the old man : Before receiving the sentence, you will have to go out and gather all the pieces of paper that you threw out yesterday. The old man said : I can't do that ! The wind spread them and I won't know where to find them. The judge then replied : The same way, simple comments may destroy the honor of a man to such an extent that one is not able to fix it. "If you can't speak well of someone, rather don't say anything. " Let's all be masters of our mouths, so that we won't be slaves of our words." “Gossips are worse than thieves because they steal another person’s dignity, honour, reputation and credibility which are impossible to restore. So remember this: when your feet slip, you can always recover your balance but when your tongue slips, you can never recover your words!” Author unkown


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Princess of the petals

Beyond her veil; eyes induced by secretive stars became drawn to a path illuminated by flickering, shimmering pale moonlight. Each spirited step led to the revelation of her secret garden. But upon arrival at her doorstep; disbelief disabled my soul's delight. Through the mist all I saw were rotten leaves among crushed rose petals - wilting. In shame, a naked cherry blossom tree stood in silence, immersed in a puddle of soaked blushing buds - drowning. So I collected every bud, gently placing them in an empty fountain. Patiently I sat, embracing her; waiting for the winds to blow and take all her imperfect petals with them. But all they brought was a spiritless stench, haunting the air. As the mist cleared, a crow cried, perched upon a tree stump whose rotten roots lay amongst its once magnificent torso. So I placed all her branches into a barren river, hoping the rain would wash them away. But no rain fell. Now lost, I followed confused caterpillars crawling along a trail of blood. Upon journeys end; a breathless butterfly lay in slumber, So I placed my lips onto hers, but could not breathe life into her. To soothe her decaying wings, I built a cocoon, but only the caterpillars accepted sanctuary. Cracks crumbled her wings, preventing her from healing. Silent saffron sun awoke blackbirds, whose chorus of chants guided my mind away from the valley of misconception. So I left. Weeping. Unable to save her once magnificent garden from ruin., The Silent One 4 December 2017


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sea Song


Oh precious, dulcet diva, Oceantide ... you, of sand and foam 
     And abundance, all your moods and meanderings speak deep
          My spirit, wistful and wan, musings captured, gist enraptured ...

     I listen, close ...

On those warm and windy days, your voice cuts clear, carries with
     It the joy of sun sprites alighting on wave tops, hopping crest-to-crest
          Like so many gold pieces tumbling from yawning pockets, laden ...

     I listen, rapt ...

Becalmed days, the lull of low tide ... gentle swells reach their arms
     Ashore, the cold brine washing sand and shell and spindrift like breezes
          Sweeping the grasslands ... rolling, as imagination rolls in the mind ...

     I listen, soft ...

Whispering in my ear of the secret dark places in my heart,
     Exquisite, illusory realms where passion and reverie hide, pulsing
          With urge, aphotic ... warm, enigmatic feelings flow and ebb ...

     I listen, true ...

An ocean storm's raging beauty, thus, somber clouds, splashed Payne's
     Gray, swirl cruelly as Neptune flits his tresses, sea sirens lament with
          Angry screams as their backs are broken on reef and crag ...

     I listen, soft ...

Gentle swells lapping brief, the sand, Luna rising to the lullaby of a
     Bell buoy, its tender peals coaxing the moonlight to shore, softened
          Beams tiptoeing gently atop to join the phosphorescent waterline,
               (Not to wake the slumbering breezes) ...

     I listen, sad ...

The gulls and terns laugh at the folly, a man straining his ageing ears
     To the song of the tides that he loves so completely, the most divine
          And elegant aria known, of a voice so immortal and pure - so dark and
               Deep and ageless - that it will croon on, long after there is naught ...

     Left to listen.



~ 1st Place ~  in the "New Poems Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Voices" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


Details | Analogy Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Melodies of the heart

In a black and white world, feathered fingertips caress ebony and ivory keys - melodically forming a myriad of vibrant and vivid hues, diversifying dulcet emotive reflections. In a world of spoken falsehood, expressions that cannot be spoken, aid each truthful touch to narrate speechless secret serenades. For soulmates who choose to listen, minds allure to the grace of mellifluous sentimental symphonies, harmonising hollow hearts through tantric vibrations, gently echoing to soothe sorrowful soundless souls. Rhapsodic pianist strokes satin white skin, tunefully kissing black lustrous lips. Hearts play music secretly establishing spiritual connections. Ivory and ebony rectangles dance in eternal kindred devotion, igniting spirits to whirl to the rhythm of sensual sensations. Last note leads to another healed composition as departing flames of passion illuminate lovers paths. A blank page appears at the end of the song sheet. Tired pianist fingers rest as the mind is absent of lyrics, paralysed to play a melody for its own suppressed heart. Lost, pondering mute tears which fail to cleanse its soul., The Silent One 9 January 2018


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018