Best Life Metaphor Poems
oh precious, dulcet diva, ocean-tide
you, of sand and foam and spindrift -
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 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
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
shadowy 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 rock …
I listen, soft ...
gentle swells lapping brief, the sand
moon rising to the lullaby of a bell buoy
its tender peals coaxing the moonlight to
shore, Luna's 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 strains his ageing ears to the song
of the tides that he loves so completely -
the most divine and elegant aria known
and a voice so immortal and pure, that
it will croon on, long after there is naught ...
left to listen.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (9), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 7" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "New Poems Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Voices" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
The apostate looked out his window, and started to believe
As genuflecting pylons sent ramifications through the trees
Chaos questioned reason, hoping for an early plea
but the world was too far gone, so began the killing spree
The Crier rang his leper bell: “Our town’s a godless apparition”
Filling hearts with envy of a once-dreaded condition
Now the King prayed for calm, in a pagan act of contrition
After his son died at birth, he had proscribed all religion
Atheists came from all around, excommunication filled the air
Roots faced horizontal, trying to feed off despair
Anxious to leave town, fallen gargoyles block civic square
Steeplejacks grow disoriented, looking up at their disrepair
“That hole’s not deep enough,”winked the jester to the knave
He could never resist a shortcut, even digging his own grave
As the madness continued, hermits set fire each other’s caves
Shedding light on the void, by burning alive its willing slaves
With the apocalypse gathering pace, populations slowly died
Some genius came forward a real madman in disguise
Said, “We need a scapegoat—a martyr, an ultimate sacrifice”
He was crucified for being too clever; they much preferred no advice
And whilst writing this story, that apparently makes no sense
The queen was in her chambers, hanging herself from suspense
Children butcher themselves gaily, having learned how to fence
As for putting fear of God in us, the wicked come crawling to repent
At last when heaven reopened,
an eclipse tried darken that day
Never to see man overcast again,
sun went nova, boiling all life away…
On the Horizon
My limbs and leaves are trembling
My green days of shade and blue shadow near gone,
For on the near horizon lies
The first cold flail of fall.
To compensate, my Maker made
My edges to wondrously curl and color
Dipping and spiraling as butterflies,
‘Ere I am browned and blown
To the ground.
I remember when I raised my head
After dark winter’s bitter gales,
Stretching my arms and blossoming,
And being caressed in warm sun, adored.
From that gracious beginning adulation,
Rich maturity and pride were mine,
My limbs grew long and reached strong,
Higher and higher to the sky.
From days fast passing, I must then bid farewell
Grandly with gold, blazing red and orange
To let winter have its hibernate way
As I Leave this short life behind
And pray for one more.
I watched a dog fight back the sea
to chase a ball thrown on the surf
it sensed no danger unlike me
when I chased young dreams on this earth.
at some point in reality
against those waves I lost my nerve
I blame my personality
respecting nature's tides since birth.
and now that dog's just running free
- its ball retrieved with canine verve
despite a law that it should be
restrained by harness round its girth.
POTD 23 Mar 2024
THE PATH WELL TRAVELLED.
Two paths diverged, and I was thrown by doubts I had never known
To my left, thickly overgrown, was a path to dismal dimness prone.
To my right, a lovely sight-fragrant flora flamed in light
Forms so graceful, beauty rare, a wonderous vision beyond compare.
Both seduced with equal right, torn was I between dark and light.
Resisting limits of time and sight, a liminal border of cosmic might.
Hesitancy rapt with fear and doubt, the pondering heart beat aloud.
Tempting was the path so grand, but instinct cautioned of a treacherous hand.
A feathery touch, a breeze stirred, and in its sigh, a voice I heard.
Was it Hecate who whispered?
"Take heed. Beware, for each path leads to a different lair."
Crystal clarity knew what I must do, and with a heart filled with valour true,
Joyously, I strode wild and free down the well-trodden path ahead of me.
The leaves, like frisking lovers, played as I embarked my chosen way.
Future paths ~ So many dreams ~ Each a thread in life's grand scheme.
Though true discovery lay in paths, I'd roam ~
The one well travelled always led back Home.
By Maria Williams ©
Greeks worshipped Hecate as a guardian and gatekeeper who could ward off evil forces. She is often represented carrying a torch and a key and standing on the liminal border between one place and another. She bears three heads and always has a dog by her side.
Inspired by Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken', I chose to write an alternative version.
'The Road Not Taken' is one of Robert Frost's most famous poems. It's natural and understandable that many readers take the poem to be Frost's statement of individualism as a poet: he will take 'the road less travelled'.
The metaphor of the road is one that immediately evokes a journey, not just of the local or day-to-day kind, but of the life-defining sort: life as a journey, with many roads which we must travel along, and with many alternative paths which we must choose between.
POTD 23 March 2024
An ancient twilight tree now stands alone
with weakened cries of olden creak and groan;
winter’s rattling winds do rise and shake it -
in stark silhouette shriveled and reaching
wizened limbs thirst for Mercy beseeching;
prides the deep roots he laid down that did knit -
Nature bemoans as old oak's overblown.
Susan Ashley
November 29, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: The Last
Sponsor: Silent One
*Overblown: to blow over, away, or across. Late 15c., blown over, passed away. For the purpose of this poem, ‘overblown’ means to fall over by force of the wind.. ‘overblown’ can also be defined as ‘passed away’, which in the context of this poem means ‘the death of’
*Rhyme scheme: AA B CC B A*
Sometimes we sit alone,
quiet, trying to figure
out who carried a piece
of us with them, as we try
to put ourselves together again...
Date: 24/02/2016
Naked souls...
Find in each other a kindred spirit
That speaks divinely, without words.
Auras coalesce in euphoric passions
Warming hearts and bodies
That rise to ethereal heights.
Sentient beings aware of the gift
Love employs to infinite degrees,
Valuing the depths of harmonic harmony.
Let sunrise penetrate its heavenly hues
In veneration of nature connecting
With the psyche, intuitive of karmic
Laws in recompense of past regrets.
Unveil the opaque shrouds that keep
Truth occult by delivering the naked soul.
1-6-18
Life is music that drifts in open spaces
sometimes a brash crescendo
that brims with the fullness of now
when stories break from narrow, rigid scripts
stifling random routine
Life is free wheeling inventiveness
peacockish
a feathered tapestry
parading like a wedding dress down the aisle
Sometimes life is a ping pong bounce of sorrow
giant ball
that blurs the sky
that covers our eyes
a fog creeping into ruined places
Life is a tumble of forces
a counterpoint of malice and joy
that goes in an unexpected direction
like the connective chords of love
an airy drift
amplified
in the ringing rush of time
Poem composed: July 2/2022
Oh, the memories of Spring
much more the sweeter grow,
when you are at Autumn’s end
and faced with Winter’s snow.
Oh, the new and budding things
that make for Spring’s delight,
fast mature in Summer’s day
to fade in Autumn’s night.
Oh, that it was Spring again,
life pulsating anew;
hope dancing in its gentle breeze
and promise in its dew!
Oh, that it was Spring again,
I’d more the wiser be,
and linger longer on its path
of sweet simplicity!
But, one cannot be wise in Spring-
for it’s a time to dream;
and only Winter sees the truth
of every season’s scheme.
May 28, 2015
I siphon the twilight ether
like sweet smoke from apple wood
I draw its magic IN, (as the kiss of a hookah)
fill my being with the dewy air -
let my blood saturate - course
I breathe ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I feel your press, still
you abandoned this realm in tragedy
but haunt my footprints with a weighty tread -
your substance, my constant counsel
tenderly binding me, hushed
I yearn ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I drown in light, ambient
suffused with the pulses of life and mortality
worn like skin, love ever trembles -
emerging from its constraints and errors
to shed brutal but boundless purpose
I adorn ...
the essence of soft shadows …
I embrace the heavens
absorbing the aphotic expanse with my being
earthbound, I am a diaphanous reflection of luster
the misty, echoing likeness of the cosmos
born of stardust, breathy and elemental -
I become ...
the essence of soft shadows ...
the essence ...
... of YOU.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 20, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Epic Ethereal Editor" Poetry Contest, William Kekaula, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 13" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in "The Essence Of Soft Shadows" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice W, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 11, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands;
The surging thrill of bouncing up again-
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau.
In contrast to the see-saw, truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
The grandeur of the heavens makes its score.
For, only in imbalances, we feel-
The balance that keeps life- on even keel.
My springtime blood did flow a river’s rush
in stream bed’s cradle anchored to the land
as dreams rode jet streams to the cirrus strand.
I grew beneath the nimbus, thunder-lush
but autumn’s dry-leaf-drought did bring a hush…
though soul, a snowy owl, not stuck in sand,
as slowly stilled my river came to stand —
my thirst now nursed by rapture of the thrush.
I muse about this skin and skins worn past,
rebirth perhaps… a dolphin of the seas.
This river turned a ripple wanes tonight
surrender of what’s mortal… not the last.
My sigh the sylph that finds the Pleiades —
this breath I shed, a winter’s wisp of white.
Life,
I put the suit on long ago
been wearing it ever since
it came with a coat and snappy vest
and two pair of shiny pants.
The pockets I filled with important things
crickets, frogs, and ants
all of them on the list that read
do’s and don’ts and can’ts.
The suit of life, it changed with me
into a statement of the times
tattered jeans and tie-dyed shirts
adorning screaming mimes.
Shifted gently through love’s tears
it’s births and deaths and sorrows
tailored itself to changing needs
as todays became tomorrows
Fashion may affect the tone
yet the fabric of the cloth retains
the honor of the tailor’s hand
the piety of living’s stains.
The jacket hangs, as jackets must
over pants with ageless sheen
the pockets bulge with life’s reward
the visions of its dream.
I put the suit on long ago
and wore it till it fit
now hold it ever precious – dear
I’ve grown quite fond of it.
2/8/2015
submitted to – What Life Means To Me – Poetry contest
sponsor – Jerry T Curtis
I was made
To venture undulating time
And chase the tides forever facing forward
Through glinting waves by unknown shores
I migrate
The oceans’ warm currents for
Thousands of miles yearly, continuing
Always onward, always embraced by water
I am
The mighty blue marlin mirroring a sight
Of the blue heavens above, divinely
I was created to breathe and to glide
As this ocean life’s own,
Yet by His magnificent, pure Holy design,
I am
Powerful, challenging, defying death often
I leap
Above the rolling waves into radiant light
As water gleaming streams off my sides
Over the scars of hooks still there by fishers’ tries
I am a blue marlin
Born and destined to survive for decades
In sparkling waves observed by my sparkling eyes,
Loving the eternal swim through His created
Waters that brought our planet to life.