Best Metaphorical Poems
Paroxysm of pain inflicts this pen,
tears cry poetic allusion.
When petal hearts are misunderstood,
life is full of confusion.
Distasteful thoughts set camp in my mind,
an unwelcome intrusion.
Virgin pages innocent in white,
yearn to wear this mind's effusion.
Too many deep unanswered questions,
lead to a false conclusion.
When judgement lacks honest intellect,
darkness defeats diffusion.
Sun is cautious to cast my shadow,
intolerant in inclusion.
Forever immersed in freezing rain,
victim to their collusion.
When metaphorical daggers scar,
they say it's an illusion.
Melancholic lacerations scream,
ignored by deaf delusion.
I'm bleeding, but you ignore this blood,
it's too late for a transfusion.
Silently sad soul seeks solitude,
far from sound in seclusion.
Silent One
Simple Musings
1 February 2018
In silence where no echoes roam,
Before the stars were carved in dome,
Before the seas had learned to swell,
There stirred a Light no tongue could tell.
Not born of flesh, nor bound by clay,
Nor measured in the light of day—
The soul emerged, so pure, so still,
Breathed from the depths of Heaven’s will.
A whisper from the Heart Divine,
A spark of love through sacred line.
No greater truth was ever known—
That we were never, ever alone.
The soul, a flame without a name,
Fell gently like a golden flame.
It kissed the womb of space and dust,
Entrusting all with sacred trust.
It wrapped in form, forgot its flight,
Became a child of day and night.
It laughed, it wept, it broke, it bled,
Yet felt a pull from Light ahead.
A homesick ache within its chest,
A yearning not for food or rest,
But for the arms that once embraced,
The Source it knew, the Face it faced.
Through lifetimes layered thick with pain,
Through joy, through loss, through sun and rain,
It carried deep, though buried far,
A memory of who we are.
Then came the hour the veil grew thin,
When grace awakened truth within—
A voice, not heard but deeply felt:
“You are the Light in which I dwelt.”
“You are no orphan of the stars,
No wandering ghost with shattered scars.
You are My breath, My sacred gleam,
A verse within My endless dream.”
And in that touch, the soul could see
It wasn’t bound, it had the key.
The chains were thoughts, the walls were fear—
But God had always been so near.
The soul then bloomed in quiet grace,
With tears that washed the inner space.
It rose in love, and there it knew—
Its home was not a place, but Who.
So now it walks with softest tread,
With stars above and Light ahead.
And in its chest, it holds indeed—
The bloom of God—The Divine Seed.
Yesterday, sociable sun embellished,
desires of my poetic garden heart.
Spreading sweet scents of serenity,
elegantly and enchantly, echoing,
vivid visions from my vibrant vocabulary,
but, such is the nature of the muse,
without refreshment, it's petal like mood cried
for raindrops of ink to nourish and flourish its
sensitive sleeping seeds, shielded by my soul.
But, howling winds arrived with bitter rain.
Their rapid rage of gusts so forceful,
fumed furiously at my simple words.
Hysterical and bloodthirsty,
their wrath devoured my delicate artistry,
all day and throughout the night -
for the first time, I felt empathy for the moon.
The morning after, I awoke to find my
flower garden resembling Greek ruins.
My cherry blossom tree is now bare,
her pink buds floating in depthless puddles.
Tulips are headless, with their perished petals,
laying lifeless along my purple slate path,
as rose bushes slump,
arching and aching from brutal blows.
Unsociable sun did not appear today,
maybe too afraid, maybe too shy.
In my state of despair, I wonder;
Is there beauty, in such a tragedy?
Is there hope in such an unfair travesty?
But raindrops keep pouring,
physically, emotionally and metaphorically.
I am a spirit
I shatter the dis-ambience of the country
with a flick of my fingers
a stone dashes for a ridge
with a tender tickle
trees rattle their drum branches
with the tip of my pinkie
I raise a rainbow to its potential
with the grasp of my hand
a tornado chews up cows
the length of my limbs
hurls waves towards their certain demise
my breath gives a sigh
to the wearied sheep dog
luxuriating atop a fenced-in hill
I was human once.
Do I perpetuate nature
out of resentment
or from kindness
It’s sure I’m invisible
but you’ll feel me
as hail strikes your bare neck
An Old Copper Vase – A Second View
an old copper vase
a witness of age
saw a lot
during times—
but all new to me.
the grace of the
experienced one
shall share it
with everybody
who is
willing to listen.
so
the old
and
the new
are
coming together
in a
new-found way
never expected
to find everything
that is needed
on their
individual path.
grace and openness
shall help
on the way.
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 30, 2018 (Imagism)
As I gaze in the distance of the field,
A field of wildflowers and thickets.
I see in the distance,
A blemish of temper and scorch.
The harmony of the field is plagued and tarnished,
By raged flames.
As the flames made their way through the field,
Devouring everything in its path.
The wildflowers, wilted and scorched,
Torn in their beauty.
The thickets lay blistered,
Weeping in sorrow.
The sky brings a cool mist of rain,
That has justice in its nature.
For the field of wildflowers,
And thickets are in harmony from the rage.
The dance of the wildflower and thickets,
Are the beauty that I have gazed at, in the distance.
An Old Copper Vase – A First View
a rustic object
with
a worn-weathered look
symbolizing
both
an artistic beauty
and
a metaphorical grandeur
when filled
with a few
red or yellow roses
it resonates
a certain emotion
and
it presents
and
it paints
an indelible
image and memory
that
cannot be forgotten
this is made
all the more
compelling
by
its rough-rustic nature
and
its physical view
from afar
which is
at once—
defining and dominating
and is
captivating and absolute.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 30, 2018 (Imagism)
Carrying the burden fortifying the mind building the neurons
A beautiful tree;
Can too be lonely and break;
Beauty can be fake
The Donkey of Destiny
The party was set, the guests were invited,
The adults were happy, the kids all excited.
All going to plan; the hosts were delighted,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
The Board of Directors set forth their campaign,
To conquer their industry, supremely reign,
To guarantee ultimate financial gain,
Til the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
Military leaders made their decision,
Troops were deployed with painstaking precision.
Soon they would realise their tactical vision,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
To amuse the young children, a day out was planned,
Buckets and spades and sunshine and sand.
Ice-cream and fish-and-chips; seaside brass band,
But the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
There’s nothing as fickle as Destiny’s Donkey,
Capricious as weather, and sly as a monkey,
Be certain that everyone’s hopes will turn funky,
When the Donkey of Destiny brays – he-haw!
When the Donkey of Destiny brays.
The clear, blue ocean,
Waves to the clouds above.
Then, the rain comes- down.
One day last summer,
In the stagnant July heat,
I was swimming in cool, green, waters.
As the one I loved
Dropped an anchor
From the little boat;
So that he may watch me dance.
My Hands glided
On top of the still bay
Fingertips believing it was made of silk,
And it gleamed with liquid sunshine,
Mimicking the smile on my lovers face.
It was then.
When I was fearless,
and arrogant,
A mermaid of cool, green waters
My sailor seduced and deeply in love,
That a beating blob of virtually nothing
Wrapped a hand of something like seaweed,
Around my very human ankle.
And entered into me,
enough venom to make me cry out.
Thrash.
And break apart.
The silk stillness of the Bay.
And the water no longer mimicked,
The now horrified expression,
painted on my lover's face.
One day, this Summer.
I sat alone on dry land.
And traced the jagged scars
like whip marks on my very human ankle.
Left by a beating blob of
virtually... nothing.
And i vowed.
To never again be fearless.
But instead,
I would stay in the little boat.
With the one I still loved.
Because I no longer needed
him to be entranced by the way I danced
In the cool, green, waters.
I just needed to float above it.
Allow him to Sail,
And allow me
To Heal.
she could not handle the truth
easier to live a lie
just the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth
does it still exist
when none believe reality its still truth
if all believe lies they are still falsehoods
authenticity captures facts that exist
cold hard facts metaphorically speaking
how do I substantiate its actual
is there a magic formular to follow
do I trust my instinct can it be misled
if its verisimilitude can I trust
being lifelike cannot be the whole answer
fakes can seem more actual than authentic
verifying requires a masters degree
some anomalies are true world or true life
says true fruit would they put fake fruit in the can
corporeality surely must exist
a physical body a truthful being
must be believed actual
Where there is war,
There can be no peace;
No matter who or where you are,
We must, as one, tame this vicious beast:-
Where there is war,
There can be no peace;
No matter who are where you are
Chanting "War For Peace", must cease:-
It's like a shark with an octopus' head in its jaw,
Changing to t it prey, "Thanks for this killing tasty piece;
And thanks to the gods of water, be floodedor this blood of ocean war":-
Oh, let the rumors of war be tabooed and forbidden:
Let peace on Earth and good will to all be as has been written:-
May the thunder of hope and elighten spirit sky our ways,
And may God's precious clouds of joy blacken with coveted love;
That in the coming remaining time in our lives' coming days,
Our blessed Earth will be flooded with raining peace from above;
And may that oxymonic warring chant be forever shoved:-
dizzying array of situations...with which to contend
time...that old adversary... has it's way
but it can even mend
moments can quite puzzle
so written words my friend
become my metaphorical muzzle