Best Dark Metaphor Poems
The Devil insists
The Fall is Drafted
Suffering is Scripted—
as Seed
I declare the Seed a Fraud
yet still, I plant it deep
The Garden splits its Jaw
and swallows Autumn whole
The Flowers, Lord, are Feral
They bloom without my Grief
they bloom despite my Watching
Teeth in the soil—they mock
Beauty grinds its Machinery
without Permission
And I, a Cog unconsulted,
must grind in Silence
He tried to fly
flapped his wings
High above him
a dark duvet
drizzled sadness
Only yesterday,
or was it last week
his wings and feet
carried him
little raven
didn't remember
Carry me
carry me
he squeaked
to his sorrowful parents
We have to go
they said
hipping hither
and thither
He hid his head
under his useless wings
and waited
and wailed
***
September 17, 2017
7th place in contest: In The Dark
sponsor: Russell Sivey
I’ve never been where they’ve been,
chasing the mirage in the desert storm.
I look into their entranced eyes,
see their vision transfixed on illusion,
the shroud of ruse spreads on the sneaky people.
The gleam of oasis out of their sight,
they lie on wasteland like dry shadow of trees
that have forgotten they were once green,
but I know they’ve lost their roots,
desiccated they've turned into wooden people.
Layer on layer of designed deception
morphs into misleading molds of crafted mask,
changing into chameleon skin on their faces.
Behind the smoke-screen I can’t see through
the veil created by the insecure people,
The light of reality doesn’t penetrate,
so they make their own darkened world,
don’t perceive when they turn into antiques,
but I know because for a long time now
I've walked in the museum of the masked people.
They build castles in the air within deep valleys,
no window of their mind opens on sparkling sky.
The sun rays don’t light up their bleak isolation,
their desolate souls remain obscure in the dark,
for the spent sun starts to set for the dismal people.
For them the harvest moon doesn’t ever rise,
they become gloomy splinters of the starless night,
not knowing why their dreams break in dark abyss,
but I know why no rainbow enters their heart,
for they’ve turned into opaque people.
Hot zones of danger,
dark places
where dense hearts go
Hearts that are cold as ice
Roll the dice ...
take a chance on fatal corona exploration
Go ghetto orbital
and gamble with your porcelain life
You’ve been whitely warned:
Shun the spots —
the darkside of the Helios shadows,
where the sun don’t golden glow
It’s best to yield to your coin conscience;
the fade-to-black pulse
of the societal dusk, dimming yellow
Go colonial orbital,
where the cloudless reign
of oppression is rife
And the gravity of poverty
is sol cranial heavy
Irradiated cries cuts through
the poisoned atmosphere of hatred
like a serrated knife
You’ve been white noise warned:
Danger!
Avoid the riotous flares of destruction ...
hot spots,
where obstruction of justice flow
Shun the leper spots
of the volatile igneous rock dimming yellow
Those event horizon spaces —
ephemeral stardust places
that were polarity flux created not to burn slow
5-11-21
One night at my house a strange man had got in
When I asked him to leave he gave me a grin
I called the authorities who were of no use
He slipped out the back door, a man on the loose
But then he returned as soon as they'd gone
This insolent squatter, I wished he'd move on
It wasn't the first time he'd done this to me
He seemed to have picked my house quite randomly
The cops had been called there numerous times
but they treated me like the one guilty of crimes
Again and again this man just slipped away
To the local police an elusive prey
One night I decided that I'd had enough
I finally realized I had to get rough
I shot a few rounds as I aimed for his head
but somehow I missed, he just grinned and he fled
How quickly the cops had arrived at my door
They grabbed me and wrestled me down to the floor
Yet I took satisfaction in knowing I'd won
For that man in my house was now on the run
It has been quite a while, that was all in the past
My mind was at peace but it just didn't last
I'm no longer alone, for right now I can see
that strange man in my cell, and he's grinning at me
3/3/19
The demon spawns temptation in the minds of mortal men
Exposed is their dark desires, lifted from the pits of hell
Evil breeds in the fiery depths of Satan’s beastly lair
Seeds planted to grow in shadowed corners of a heart
Abysmal minds of the frail are openly inclined to accept
blasphemous words angrily spit from irreverent lips
His rancid breath lights a wick that bursts into flame;
a dastardly exploit, a wicked game orchestrated by Bael,
infernal king with power to devour the weak, the frail
The fallen one leaches on mankind’s thirst for lust
Inside a mind he creeps, contorting visions in dreams
A soulless corpse lies where a man reasonably slumbered
encumbered by vile creatures at the Devil's command
Taken by Satan's hand, a life fuels death’s appetite
His Craft forged in the hotbeds of his dwelling place
A two-faced fiend, slayer of men, father of the lie
Skillfully he plies his trade with false promises he's made
His dirty deeds spring from need and jealous greed
No sleep comes to the one trapped in eternal torment
Screams are cries of fear the devil craves to hear
He accepts no alibis; no second chance does he give
There's no escape from the clutch of his sharpened claws
He'll hold you eternally, without resurrection from the grave
Darkness falls from his shadow, across every land
Scoring souls of modern man from depths of their despair.
He seeks the lost and wicked who'll do his sinful bidding.
Fair warning: be mindful when weary and in need of rest
for the Dark One is a bird catcher, waiting to pounce
and capture those he knows he can lead astray
*Edited by Lin*
Abandoned are thine eyes, as they see not faces or light. Search now do they not, for there is no longer beauty in sight. The shapes of the world blur together, left now are no distinguishing lines. Only hues of greys lay before him, contrasting like shadows cast forth in to night. Tastes are fowl now and colors have faded… like the light from this travelers eyes. Wearily forced to trudge about this desolation, he slowly fades with each stride. Each breath a grain of sand, tumbling through the hour glass of that which is life. Faces lack detail as one blurs another, for each one, is always the same. A crafted grin, with familiar hints of a warm and welcomed embrace, hiding only intent to lay wrath upon him, he shutters with each whim. Tears form behind his hollowing eyes, blurring vision, of what lay before him. His face, lined with shame and regret blood tears and sweat, onlookers laugh as all now they mock him. Every gift of breath revealed as punishment though committed of no crime. He finds peace as his time here is drawn. A smile cast across his lips as does he know he cannot go on. His shadow fades into dust on the horizon. The light he once cast forth now gone, as the moon gives chase to the sun. This travelers journey now over, as surely as night is followed by dawn.
he left behind his home of coral
in search of better things,
breaking vows and flaunting morals,
cutting loose from tightening strings
trapped between the sea and land,
he scuttles 'cross an endless beach,
stranded on the burning sand,
he seeks a place he'll never reach
nirvana, no; nor heaven's gate
is not his wanted destination,
a hiding place, before too late,
to save him from incineration
t'would seem to be a simple chore;
find shelter from his self made hell
to listen to the ocean's roar,
inside another's empty shell
but all the seashells remain filled,
safe haven is denied this day;
his beating heart shall soon be stilled
and carcass will be washed away
he lies upon the burning sand,
hot sun begins to do its deed,
to end this life with God's own hand
the homeless hermit's finally freed
"Where is the sun, where is the moon?"
the mirror asks.
He sees the silence in the other's gaze—
crouched against the wall
an empty face where once
two small diamonds burned
and cut in two
who once was whole
"Where is the blanket for the cold?"
the mirror asks.
He swipes a star
from far to balance on his outstretched hand
it tears a trail of blood
through fabric frail
and skin so thin below his ear
he stitches squares of dark
with sparks of warmth
to cloak against the night
"When will you make me whole?"
the mirror asks.
He strikes a match to light the star
and from his hand small grains bright sand
glimmer in the fickle white
he spills them on the floor
before his empty him
"I can't be us"
he says with faint apology
and buckled knees—
while in the other's eyes
life fades
without a fight
***
August 12, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
1st place in contest: The Poet's Shadow
Sponsor: Greg Barden
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.
They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.
There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off. Who knows?
For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.
Cat in the tree, searching for a rat
Dog on the ground barking at a bat
Deer in the meadow watching the site
Hunter in the hills aiming his sights
The bear in the cave was woken and awaiting to strike
Hunter pulls the trigger, as the bear goes for the kill
The dog turns to see the headless shooter
And the cat wanders off
The rat in the tree scampers in the other direction
The deer is fast asleep
While the bear is snacking
Nobody hears a peep.
My hopes lay dying,
caught in webs the night had spun;
will they hide the morning ray?
I calmed my crying,
dwelled on dawn's bright golden sun;
born again- the hope of day.
January 8, 2016
Contest: Bite-Size Poem No. 12
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Skipping heartbeats in the air
With the warm sun in your voice
In the cozy tipsy room
The pen is restless
Pink desires of crimson fruits
Have gone to the dense woodland
To drink wine from the moon cup
The box is greedy
Ice on pulsating sweet heat
Flames on slice of valentine
Passionate warmth on your palm
Restless painting brush
A night for crazy casket
A dark time for equine rhythm
Valentine taps on the cheek
It’s time to wake up
We all have lyrical pens
In our pink chest bouncing hues
Rich or poor, flames in impulse
To wake up and sleep
Champagne in the stars of night
Wind calling to cross the line
Tonight is for thine and mine
Valentine freedom
__________________________________________
15/01/2017 :
"The Dodoitsu is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin and is often about love or humor. It has 26 syllables made of of four lines of 7, 7, 7, 5 syllables respec-tively. It is unrhymed and non-metrical.”-PoetrySoup
- The reality perspectives
from nothing to nothing
sentenced to disappear -
Night sister goes with light steps
silent religious hymns
from a bird's dry throat
Drinking cherry liqueur
with "Mr. Mighty"
Welcome to the kingdom
of the devil
- In bed lay a dead man
with a blank stare
and bat's wings -
The fastest way home
Through the corridors of the genus:
run the Milky Way
The rattling of the key chain
between flowering tombstones
Steps become distant
The bells ringing in the last hour
to achieve peace in the realm of the dead
- Ghosts were shadows in the night
spirits she thought had gone to rest -
21.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Writing Challenge - G Words
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
2nd place in the contest
Where I live is in between
A memory and a dream
Walking a tightrope each day
I light my self on fire
And take a big box
And head down Main Street
The weasels in the front of Bill’s Cafe
Love it, spewing hate and spit
And laughing at me because they don’t know
What I know
I know the truth
The cold hard dark truth
Yes I have seen the burning bush
I have stood on the mountain
I have heard the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.
And I too have a dream
I have dream that one day a man
Will not have to live in a box on the streets of Bogota
The slums of Shanty Town will rise above the sewage
That the stench of death on the road to the Congo
Will rise over our heads and blow towards the lands of freedom
Once the west has felt and seen the pain our brothers are in
We shall as a people, as a nation, as a world rise up and crush the inequities of
Poverty and prejudice and cast off the yoke of oppression.
I see that day as clearly as I see the dream of the ancient God’s
They will crumble at our feet and we shall walk upon them as Jesus
Walked on water.
Come one, come all ye sinners for Jesus is a trick on the weak and faithful.
The men of the cloth need you to believe.
Don’t fear the truth because you will never know it.
Trust in me for I will save you.
Now how about a bit of money for your savior?
Kneel by the alter, supplication
Come boy help your Father
I need the box you see for it is my home
I live (if you call it that) on the streets
Of America’s home towns
I’m on the corner of your cities
The greenbelts of your suburbs
I am the coyote of humanity
And I am coming to take apart your lives
Limb by limb, bank account by bank account
Your debit cards and credit cards can’t buy my loyalty
I will disembowel your nuclear family
And leave you wishing that your Beamer
Wasn’t bloody red
I will wash the streets with your sin
And then I will go back and live in my box
Alone with my dream.