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Best Hyperbole Poems | Poetry

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The Best Hyperbole Poems

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

I See You

I See You...

Wanderer, wanderer, lost in the haze
void of direction, succumb to the craze.
Give ear to my madness, so deftly designed;
deception de-jour: aimed to muddle your mind.

Hocus and pocus no need for free thought, 
erase your opinions, your conscious to rot.
As sugar and soda your smile decay,
a hoax and swindle, then off on your way. 

Smoke and a mirror, please don’t look too close.
The truth makes one banal; drugs for the morose.
Illusion can conjure emotions untapped
a quick misdirection, now I’ve got you trapped. 

You think you arrived here, quite all on your own
you’re one of a billion, another sad clone…
I’ve stolen the treasure that once made you free
brainwashed you to thinking all’s as it should be.

Gobbledygook and hyperbolized drivel
platitudes, platitudes, mentally shrivel;
accept what I tell you, and not an ounce more,
wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore. 

07/12/15

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

A Huffle-wink's Nearby



You all know about fire breathing dragons
and their obsession for hoarding treasure.
But, have you ever heard of Huffle-winks
magical creatures that promote pleasure.

Invisible, atop of dragonflies
they ride the winds of fate, mile after mile.
And whenever they encounter a frown
they'll try to flip it into a smile.

They harness dragonflies to get around
for unlike dragons, they haven't learned to fly.
But, if suddenly you feel like laughing
it's a safe bet, there’s Huffle-winks nearby.

In winter when dragonflies disappear
they’ll hitch a ride on tumbling snowflakes.
And if you’re lucky enough to catch one,
it's like winning the lottery sweepstakes.

I've never seen one, except in my dreams
but, I know in my heart that they are real.
And what makes me so sure that they exist
is the wonderful way they make me feel.

When you’re feeling particularly blue
remember there are Huffle-winks around.
And they're masters of jocularity,
ensuring that smiles and laugher abound.




(Quatrain)
May 17, 2018

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

A Gentle Breeze





It begins with a gentle breeze
rustling the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees
it begins with a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees
it’s only brisk it isn't much.
It begins with a gentle breeze
rustling the leaves with its touch.

It’s only brisk it isn't much
until that breeze begins to gust.
And yet birds still escape its clutch
it’s only brisk it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It’s only brisk it isn't much
until that breeze begins to gust.

Gathering up a cloud of dust
it blocks the sun's diminished light.
And proceeds with increasing thrust
gathering up a cloud of dust.
As shutters squeak and hinges bust
a furious gale gives them flight.
Gathering up a cloud of dust
it blocks the sun's diminished light.

A furious gale gives them flight
as slate shingles fly through the air.
Morphing into objects of might
a furious gale gives them flight.
Folks find cover and hang on tight
for flying debris packs a scare.
A furious gale gives them flight
as slate shingles fly through the air.



( A Quadruple Triolet )

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

'Pardon me, could you pass the Grey Poupon'

Winds caressing fringes of
   her deep chocolate tresses
as tree nymphs nimbly hid
  midst fallen maple leaves 
    happily prancing round toes,
whilst a crescendo of chimes
   played off in near distances,
warm apple pie aroma wafting
 upon a zephyr tickling her nose,
unfastened her reddish cloak 
  for her e'er plunging neckline
exposed an ample décolletage
 voluptuously heaving in broad
 daylight waiting to seduce a crafty
wolf in sheep's clothing she had afore
  encountered on the way to grannies, 
called ahead to make reservations
for her & handsome knighted chef
hiding amidst the dark forest with
his trusty sharpened butcher knife,
had acquired Wolfgang Puck's
   wickedly-satisfying secret recipe
        for savory pack-of-wolves stew 


Li'l Reddish Revenge is a dish best served cold-blooded with liberal
scads of punitive napkins and a bottle of vindictively chilled Chianti

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

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

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Crystals Of Starlight

Look up and see a dome of black velvet
lavishly set with crystals of starlight.
For as stars confetti infinity
they reveal their twinkling lights to the night.

Planets Mars and Jupiter share blood red
as Venus peeks down through the misty haze.
And Pluto surfs upon the milky way
His elegance evoking songs of praise.

A pocked faced moon shining luminous beams 
smiles as a cloud of bats go flying by.
And gravity pulls falling stars to earth
splintering night in the blink of an eye.

Clouds of smoky purple and ashen gray
shift hues like chameleons out to play.


Written May 2, 2017

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

elbbabohcysp

There's a place whence children dwell amid

fairy stories, popcorn rainbows & candied unicorns,

which is fine & dandy except when

you're supposed to be a grown-*** adult,

some people live 'round La-La landscapes

without a hint of reality's woefulness,

unable to read skywriting on the cosmos

If you believe in miracles or

that nothing ever changes

and love lasts forever and a day

or just say,

you got a damn ticket because

your unicorn was inconveniently double-parked,

rest assured thine meter is delusional

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss

For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
 (Part One)

I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.

I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.

I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls 
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.

I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.

I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrite*
fished with my friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea.

I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.

Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Bursts Of Light

Like shooting stars they pierce the dark

and paint the sky with bursts of light.

As oohs and aahs follow each spark

like shooting stars they pierce the dark.

Rockets explode over the park

raining color onto the night. 
 
Like shooting stars they pierce the dark

and paint the sky with bursts of light.





Written May 23rd.

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Dragon Eyes

She enters the room like a storm
thunder rumbling within her wake.
And a deluge of tears follow
as the very ground seems to quake.

She’s an explosion of fireworks
as spectacular as the dawn.
And unleashing flames of fury
in a blinding flash, she is gone. 

A lady to be reckoned with
fire flares in her dragon eyes.
And strikes fear in the hearts of men
exposing their secrets and lies.

A source of fiery energy
her eyes illuminate the night.
And her aura intensifies
to a glow of exquisite light.

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

This Year In English Quintain

Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear      
It’s Good Joy. Cheers! No more, no more
Oh dear, I cannot open the door for her 
Sorry Joy, glide by, I’m sick and not in my gear.

Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear
It’s Good Hope but I can’t be lured.
In dark shadows I grope, what makes you come here?
I know you mock the life, glide by, I desire.

Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear
Oh, It’s Good Health. This year you won’t be ignored
Welcome, I dart my doors open for you, dear.
I do need nothing but your blessings this year.

                              +++
January 15, 2015
Form: Quintain (English-ABABB)

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Last Lingering Light



A scarlet sun bleeds onto a blue sky
behind branches of a majestic oak.
And shadows ink its leaves in silhouette
as lonely crickets chirp and bullfrogs croak.

I can hear the crops rippling in the breeze
and a brook babbling with a southern drawl.
Yet, they’re lost to the quiet of night
as time slows to a perceptible crawl.

When adventurous moths take to the air
acrobatic bats blindly hunt in flight.
And as darkness descends like a curtain
day acquiesces, to the might of night.

A quicksilver moon pools amidst the clouds
dripping drops of sunshine onto the lake.
And all of heaven begins to glitter
as billions of sleeping stars start to wake.

The hooting of an owl, encourages dusk
to extinguish the last lingering light.
And diurnal animals go to sleep,
as nature silently whispers, goodnight.


8/1/2015

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Between The Lines

Nebulous streams, clouding my brain
Vapor trail dreams, from paper airplanes
Cherry red glow, watch with no chain
Ribbons and bows, tied to the flames

Anchors on strings, hanging from sails
Bells that don't ring, throw down the pail
Falling through cracks, greased by the sale
Hearts made of wax, sent through the mail

Waterfall wishes on stars with no swings
Broken blue dishes stuck to the king
Photos with glitches on invisible wings
Temptation itches on all living things


   December 11 2016
    in your head contest

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

This Fury-Fiery Moment of Hot Sensual Love

This Fury-Fiery Moment of Hot Sensual Love

This fury-fiery moment of hot sensual love nourishes us now,
As we move from a caress to razor-close, then to lover-close,
Intertwined as one in a true tempestuous storm sparkling afire!

We share such a white-hot passion with a boundless fiery desire,
Blending us deeply in a fury-fiery emotion of love’s true inspire;
Bringing us to this apex with lust as love and love in lust’s hour!

This magic moment melds our passion into a true alchemy of love.
This prized-perfect passion purrs us now into satiated contentment,
As our hearts bask-bright in a fury-fiery moment of sensual desire! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 19, 2016
(Rhyme)

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Roses On The Moon

ROSES ON THE MOON

Midnight tickles your turned-up toes,
dawn scrapes your knees
but your head is already in daylight
kissing the setting sun and not me.
The scent of musk and the north woods
spark a scene then the rush…
don’t believe everything whispered
under a sage moon.
Memory is the landscape,
longing the river that meanders
like a lost child in dream.
The waters lead to dried riverbeds
and forgotten photographs, flotsam
on the once raging river.
Suddenly I find myself nowhere
making sunshine out of oranges,
searching for roses on the moon.

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Escaping Rhymed Detonation

Malevolent imploded uncontrollably, 
  twisting wildly maniacal posies
   amid diabolically toasted brainstem, 
angst uncompromisingly yanked tresses 
  purging stinging speech patterned rhymes
 amuck iniquitous poetic verses hung
     upside down to tormentingly dry, 
    facing other inimically knotted borders of
  antagonistic galleries in deranged snapshots 
           razing warped poetical tapestries,  
tripping on tunes of whiskey rushes' savoy truffles
    and greenish tangerines whilst Led Zeppelin's 
 Sick Again danced upon reflective ceiling tiles, 
time written sideways 'round alleged autonomy
    hidden furthermost immune masked mirror images,
   debauching Greek braille calligraphy's vindication
           on walls of graffito scripted physicality 
       calling out 'tween hysterical compulsions, 
  naught one heeded the sounds of synapses 
     about ill-fated half moon's arresting arc, 
   synthetic doomsday's clocks aptly chimed 
    quarter to analytical cuckoo's nest repudiation, 
  still awaiting on serendipity to surrender 
           furthermost rabbit hole's curiouser rants,
relinquishing unwell-languaged compilations' sabotage - -
      circumventing rhythmically subversive escaped detonation

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

The Eye is Such a Braggart

The eye is such a braggart with its emerald this and hazel that.
Does no one dream about an ear or a nose?
(personally ... I find the shin and pinkie toe quite fascinating)
But it is a place the Poet seldom goes,
still hot on cornea fever ... stanza after stanza after

stanza.

It's like I'm part of a Dickens' novel: A Tale of Two Spheres      (oh dear)
Velvet pupils coming at you ... (attention spans beware ... we're discussing EYES)

... but what about the palms and the cowlick?
(do you have the gumption to make it poetic?)

Or is it back to the drawing board - sleepless nights
excavating further facets of the dead-lights.

I know its "infinite depths" make you sigh with Shakespearean fervor,
but really, enough is enough,
when there's so much more of me to love.

Have you so quickly forgotten the beauty of a rose?
(plug your nose and see how it goes)
I want so bad to see that lovely weirdness
chilling out beneath your temples.

I pray it's not too much to ask for a little ink spilled
to the one who showed you piano,
the sound of rain, your mother's voice.

(that curious curvature holding up your glasses
deserves a rhyme or two
... not another verse
about my baby blues!)

Just once I wanna hear someone say,
Your nose makes my heart run ...
Your chewed off fingernail brings to mind the crescent moon ... !

For your next Magnum Opus could you spare some room
for the underdog anatomy.

Did you know I have a crooked ear that's more endearing
than a heart carved into a tree?

Didn't think so!      (iris hog)

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Inertia

Inertia makes a monster of my
Self
I'm insatiable for making a 
Progress.
Move, don't just tell yourself
You will.
Set the rules, then transgress.
The rebel inside of you deserves
Respect.

You're what you eat, don't
Lick
Your wounds, turn up the heat
By a caress. Love the self-contained
Monster you possess.
Let it off its leash and you'll feel
How it surges in your breast.

It's no place for old men
There is no case without offence
Commitment without intense
Embrace
Is a senile pretence.
To feign 
Amusement  shows lack of respect
For your own self.
Be a rebel, even an iron fist in a velvet
Glove is more wanted
Than just a silly old brat.

Awareness of the 
Inertia makes a monster of my Self
If it didn't I would be suffocating
In a senile caress of my soul's 
Protest.
Life transmutes the mind into
A  monster  who fights against mind's
Recess.

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Essential Spirits

She was like Bordeaux,
a tall drink of spirit
He was more a hopped
pale lager like Pilsner, 
both gorgeous and
super gingered flavors,
although clashing mid
respective savored aplomb,
one so refined the other
rowdy after hours,
yet they complimented
each other in the way
they blended their
drunken demeanors, 
intoxicated by mere
existence of nature's
essential complexities

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Don't Even Ask: Collaboration With Daniel Turner

Have you ever had one of those days 
On the wrong side of the bed, bad days 
When everything right went wrong 

Cause the ding had lost it's dong 
Ouch, Mr. Sun came peeking in 
Up from bed and banged your shin 
Leaky, full toilet overflowed 
Damn, you stubbed your other big toe 

Times like this: don't you love those days 
Hardly anything seems to go your way? 
Is little Johnnie turning green 
Splat! Is that doggie ice cream? 

Gas oven took a dump 
Everyone’s oatmeal was in clumps 
The kids were late AGAIN for school 

Wasn’t that traffic cop a tool? 
Oh, you should've just stayed in bed! 
Rolled back over and called in dead… 
Shoot! An hour late for work 
Emptied Starbucks on your shirt 

Dare you ask how this could get worse? 
Others think you're such a jerk. 
Next, the boss comes barging in 
Tells you,"Look for work again" 

Everything was going wrong 
Vacation's gonna be a little long 
Even your wife’s rope is at an end 
Now she says, "Let's just be friends" 

An asteroid fell from the skies 
Smashed the beer between the thighs 
Kick yourself for getting out of bed

3/24/16
Collaboration with Daniel Turner

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Floridian Rat

Big armadillo
invading my privacy
you are a leper

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Summer's Color Palette

A saffron sun sinks into
a sea of aquamarine.
And chartreuse shadows slip-slide
between frothy waves of white.

Night’s cerulean fingers
dip into coral waters.
And Sol paints shades of crimson
upon pale lavender clouds.

Tangerine moonbeams gather
like harbingers of darkness.
And disassemble color
storing each pigment in black.

A watermelon sunset
marks the path of Sol's decent.
And lilac scented breezes
kiss the leaves of lemon trees.

	
Written Aug. 16th

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Nothing More or Less

hid insecurities within
  ambiguous humor &
   convoluted whimsies,
rules consistently changing
 in a game which required
hardly more than breath,
  nothing less than obscurity
     twisting a fallible fancy, 
    seizing day's intangibility

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Are we all but a number

        In this world, in this life; am I solely a number.
       Just another tax statistic and an itemized figure.
    There are pluses and negatives; additions and subtractions.
   These are the balance sheets of life with gains, and losses. 
Is that the higher plan for mortal's man existence on this dusty earth?

    A salary, or no salary, and a bank account, or no accounts.
                          Zeros and Ones, 1, 0s.
A man’s worth weighed on a numbered scale of More or Less. 
   Was I created to be only as such, just to be a number.
       Numbers in hourglasses filled with earthly sand.
                                      ****

Details | Hyperbole Poem |

Or Ultimately We All Fall

She was gooey like maple syrup

     & marshmallow s'mores,

stronger than  a mountain lion

    protecting her cubs,

wore prescription rose-tinted 

     sunglasses with GPS,

she'd been around long enough

   to see through most of the 

    negative flimflam and ambiquity, 

was agile enough to laugh at

      her own cheeky caricature,

wouldn't put up with the travesty

   'neath debauchery's cunning

still, she wondered as most do,

  what was to become of a world

so engrossed in the overthrow

    & disparaging mockery of others

she bade her time waiting to grow

    older and wiser in hopes

she'd be around long enough

      to experience a sunrise view 

            in universal accordance

      before her own last sunset

                  ultimately bites the dust,  

         burning in all-inclusive ashes