Best Personify Poems
Somethings are best
said through blank
scriptures in sheer
silence, but pulling the
violin strings of
a poet strumming
to personify pain,
with tempests of
torment rushing
through thin veins,
would only widen
twisted tunnels for
ink to bleed in
vermilion lines of
broken thunder.
For these lungs have
long thickened
from scraps of
pretend promises,
to dress them
with mountains
of flawed flowers,
oblivious to the colors
that suffocate,
black hearted devils
hovering above
treetops of tainted roots.
And when the
angel of death
descends to steal
the steel within my
mind,
I question the vampire
grey hearts that kneel,
to raven midnights
beating tunes
of truth across
glacial valleys
of mourners.
Why is living a
gruesome terror?
Where artless spirits
sleepwalk along
olive lawns,
as grass snakes
sing deceptive
schemes-
with the reaper
that strolls through
a funeral of fairies,
collecting weathered
wings
and bleached skeletons
buried six feet under the
graphite soils of salvation,
confined within garden
graves of deception,
designed In unearthly
roses dipped in poison.
If only the sun would rise
and see,
how I am no longer
plagued by the vision
of you destroying peace
within your kingdom
of hypocrisy.
I am not your puppet
pirouetting through
hellfires ignited
by the thorny knuckle
of a megalomaniac—
chanting manipulative
mantras of a destiny,
devised from disorientation.
I will always sing my own stars
amidst suppressed scars,
until the moon trembles
and falls
into the heavy depths
of grieving seas
streaming in salty sapphires.
“I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.”
Frida Kahlo“
In the absence of love,
a childhood is shaped by the stars,
but when black smoke is the only impression in the light,
sorrows peel in soundless motions - slow burning.
When fate is sealed with a goodbye,
in an 'all I never asked for' moment,
the weight of fear appears as a niggling nightmare
in our personal book of dreams,
so we drift into an abyss of discarded destinies -
untamed we roam into a wildfire of lost souls.
I'm a silent knight unable
to suppress this wandering muse,
so I portray my darkness through rosewater ink,
which flows like a scarlet oasis of waterfalls,
merging into sapphire oceans of poetic heartbeats.
I blame my past for this saviour complex,
but battling demons has become my beautiful undoing.
Ugliness of sugar coated words,
hidden behind metaphorical daggers,
has engraved scars with unhealed wounds,
leading me upon a path resenting sealed emotions.
When nostalgic rain sings in sea shell whispers,
I wish I could hold the sun in my arms,
to stop me from pouring
in melancholic bleeding moonlight,
but my beloved's eyes resemble dandelion reveries,
reminding me of a fragrant bouquet of memories,
pleading to personify her in
petrichor perfumed poems.
Her scent resurrects my muse to life..
She always says:
"Never mind the moon, it's only a reminder of forgotten midnight promises."
How her heart is an island where my waves will eternally kiss her shores.
A sanctuary for my inner child to forever build sandcastles."
My destiny leads to the end of a rainbow,
which rests upon the ivory sands of her treasure -
where internal flames become calm.
Tongues of my temptress fire lick
arousing your ardent artistic desire
if you dare imagine me — the intensity
capture me, take your chance
I’ll love you, leave you, please you, tease you, traipse you,
take you heavenly higher
I'm your drama queen, diva, ballerina
I’m your fierce flamenco dance!
Scarlet swirls sweeping and dervish whirls weeping
we are a fluorescent fandango.
Flowing your ink through my virtual veins;
I'm your lust, your lament, your confession
in your skin stargazing, wrapped in rhymes rippling
your taste buds, your sweet wild mango,
breathe me to life with beauty and angst
I'm your dreamy rhapsodic obsession.
Fantasy clouds I fly, your bird-of-passionate-paradise
plumage preened with geranium esprit
in rhythmic rapture, twirl me in provocative pirouettes
flare the sensual skirts of your mind.
Alive in your heartbeat, I pulsate;
- you love me - hate me - need me - you can’t live without me -
I personify designs dancing across your page
of our pillow talk poetically lined.
Forge my nature in your flame as I mesmerize you
I am your ingénue;
your soulful seduction strumming my spirit to liveliness
with an effleurage of emotion...
I’m the creation of your inspiration
a dazzling display of ravish red and citrine hue
in prose I pose arabesque till vivid verse sets me free;
a flamboyant flamingo, your flirtatious muse in motion.
there is a river in each soul
flowing smoothly over sand
bubbling over rocky beds
until each living drop falls
Daniel ran through my river
second chance at love
flowing on gentle currents in my heart
waking emotions that lingered in limbo
lily drifting with tide
caught by the strong arm of a tree
until Daniel disappeared in dark water
dam broke; tears surged
lily cascades in a Niagara of tears
Daniel’s soul rises
tears chose to descend
the day he drowned
tears hold power, life
control their own release
drought consumes the heart
why can’t I release Daniel?
By Carolyn Devonshire
Dedicated to Daniel Sammons, a descendent of Daniel Boone, who proposed the
day before he drowned.
Written for HG’s “Personify a Tear” contest.
I am the loner, the rebel
never the leader, I go my own way.
Never trying to run with the pack,
but ahead of them.
I never go where they go,
or do what they do.
Surviving amongst the solitude
of dense forests and misty fogs.
Living for the moonlit midnight hours.
Running wild and free
with the wind in my hair
and the moon
reflecting in my golden eyes.
My kind is close to extinction.
Only a few others remain
who are trustworthy,
only to them do I remain loyal.
I am unforgiving to those
who would dare to cross my path.
I am never afraid
to speak out into darkness.
My wail fills the night air,
a lone cry
not of sadness, or loneliness,
but of freedom,
to go my own way
and be a loner.
For Just That Archaic Poet's contest - "Personify Any Animal Of Your Choosing"
Pure beauty is eternal bliss.
It permeates our existence
And lightens a burdened soul.
The most beautiful thing is love
(Without judgment or assumption)
Fostering acceptance that—
Nourishes the famished
And empowers the meek.
Aesthetics make a pleasing world
They personify lasting trends,
Stimulate creative minds,
And entertain world consciousness.
Delight embraces desire,
Passionate words inspire,
Art refutes retire,
All get to admire.
To be of beautiful spirit
Unleashes outward radiance--
A gratifying notion
To be of a beautiful mind
Fetches cognitive recognition--
An honorary triumph
Loving your own beauty
Transcends all other thought.
***Inspired by Catie Lindsey's "Focus on Syllables" Contest***
Boundless Blue
Born in a misty rainbow,
Blue slips out from her place
between her sisters Green and Violet,
painting the heavens azure,
covering the earth like the robe of Virgin Mary.
She floats into the ocean in a navy dress,
then waltzes on waves of the Danube.
Sailing the teal waters of alpine lakes,
she journeys to glaciers,
leaving her daiquiri-colored footprints on glacial ice,
taking some with her to cool the fires of Robert Frost.
She treads into meadows and gardens,
planting delphiniums, lupines, hydrangeas,
bluebells, and cornflowers to sprout in her wake,
with morning glories to climb fences.
People copy her free spirit,
painting their china in Delft and willow patterns,
sing “Blue Suede Shoes,” “Blue Velvet,”
“Blue Moon,” “Blue Hawaii,”
even play “Rhapsody in Blue” on their pianos,
blow their cobalt glass, dye their denims,
even their ice cream and candy.
They try to capture her lapis, turquoise, and royal sapphires,
pressing them into frames of silver and gold,
hanging them on chains.
She smiles at their craftsmanship,
then saunters down the path to the forest,
seeming to sway to her own swingy music.
With only her blue tick hound trotting beside her,
she picks wild blueberries, savoring the tart fruit
as its indigo juice runs down her fingers.
This poem was inspired by Meenakshi Raina's "Optimistic Orange". That poem is a great example of how fun it is to write about and personify a color. I encourage the rest of you to try it!
Contest: All Yours (May 5)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
5-5-21
by Michael J Falotico
I cry in the rain..
tasting the salt on my lips..
no one sees the pain..
"Personify a Tear" contest
Engulfed by all my
thoughts of you,
My mind remained
in constant bliss,
But very soon it
thought it through,
And realized who
my heart had missed
You are the epitome
of loveliness,
You personify all of
beauty's sweet,
And not to mention
your tenderness,
And all the divinity
your body keeps
You paint me full
with passion red,
And other colors
brightly new,
Like golden grace and
whitening wed,
But never colored
sadden blue
So hold my heart
and you will be,
Amazed at all its
beauty through,
But I am sure that
you will see,
The heart you hold
is really you
Line of inquiry:
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude”
~ Unseeking Seeker
******************
Are we perceived as hostile beings
by flora that we tend in our gardens?
If we intimidate petals of peonies
each time we walk past their stems,
we should make amends and ask for pardon.
Is the pink tint of their blush mistrust of us?
Withering zinnias and wilting wisteria!
We wouldn't want to burden them with fear
when we speak of how lovely they'd look
in a crystal vase, set upon our parlor mantle.
To ease their worry and not cause their tears,
in our pockets, we don't carry pruning shears.
We personify flowers as if they have feelings—
but do our innuendos have that effect on people?
We label shy ones as loners or 'wall flowers'
who pull back, often going unnoticed for hours.
Do some of us unintentionally cause that reaction?
If this proves true, we need to take a moment
to have in depth contemplative consciousness,
a change in our stance and make an atonement
if it's determined we're at fault— guilty.
If so, our aura indeed has need of correction.
One that shows us emanating a kinder reflection.
The one who wilted as we passed by—
was she the shrinking Violet we refused to see?
Would we bring her heart joy if we paused
and spoke to her with a gentle greeting?
Words that would give the fragile one cause
to not think of us as hostile and vile?
If a kind word is spoken with a sincere smile
wouldn't those greetings be worthwhile?
It's plausible that we'd then have a pleasant scent,
the treacly aroma of consideration and love.
Time taken to say, 'hello' would've been well spent.
Hold out a hand as a metaphorical invitation to dance.
It might give a wallflower the confidence and the chance
to stand tall and no longer cringe at being approached.
If we've been at fault for diminishing the smile in souls,
offer them emotional strength. Be someone who consoles.
If I were an igloos I would be different than the others,
more flamboyant.
Painted in rainbow colors,
I would play hip hop music, and I would wear
a colorful, feathered boa, sprinkled with glitter.
There would be loudness,
And frenzied dancing, possibly screaming,
Especially after the polar bears begin
Stalking my inhabitants
which would be pretty easy to find
in the whiteness of Alaska,
Thanks to the loudness of my songs
And my rainbow colors,
And my enormously wonderful
feathered boa, with the glitter shining.
I would have rapid changeover,
trading family after family,
Possibly switching to jazz or bluegrass,
but keeping the boa until it finally blows away on its own.
I'm merely mortal, a speck upon Earth,
circumspect of gazing into distant heavens,
spellbound by stars staring back at me.
They inveigle my silly senses.
I strain to hear their pellucid inscriptions
that shouldn't be clear to humans,
but are transparent to me.
I personify celestial orbs, attempting to break
their astral coded whispers through galactic
places that we thought were empty spaces
between each twinkling of starlight.
They wink through invisible portals,
murmuring secrets about us
or whatever stars are interested in.
Each other? Gossipers!
What secrets do they share, or keep?
Perhaps they're more like us than we suspected.
They have names, grow old, eyes dim
and die a cosmic death. I've been wondering...
where do fallen stars go when they die?
Within a frightened world
you arise with impressive dignity
accepting, knowing who you are...
With unruffled self-confidence
you worry not what others may think of you
for your insight goes beyond mere intellect...
The radiance of your spirit
illuminates your practical awareness of life
springing from the vitality of your fertile mind
You live the ethics of kindness, caring
symbolizing inspirations purity
you personify enlightened innocence...
This is my dedication
I am legend, so just push the start
I will save your family, so just call me Noah's ark
A pause on time as they show gratitude to the craftsmanship
1970 they created me, randomly introduced companionship
I transported the elite, by the way I still do
Range Rover was the name they gave me, so I said I do
It's been 44 years, V-6 or V-8, it maintains the same philosophy
I personify admiration; we read while it's in motion your Autobiography
Oh I forgot, HSE and Supercharged are other alternatives to what you can call me
Each with its legendary design and trim, okay enough about me
I send this invitation to honour me by occupying the rear seats
Yes, the Executive-class individual rear seating, those seats
Offering grand motoring while you show off your wealth
Those who pursue me grasp my worth
My capabilities engraved and stamped off-road
I reign supreme as they make way for me on the road
Take a bet; you can't go wrong with the horse power I possess
6 or 8 speed with pedal shifters, I ask you to regress
Allow me to grace your eardrums with the Meridian sound system
View what lacks around you with a surround camera system
I represent the fourth generation but my history remains intact
I had a conversation with my sister earlier, Evoque, she's compact
We agreed that we are timeless, absolutely classical
Should we pass on, our images are imprinted, just absolutely magical
How Did It Get So Late So Soon?
Lines on my face
How did that happen?
How did it get so late so soon?
Gray-streaked hair
and creaky old joints
How did it get so late so soon?
Can't think how to write
a line like Seuss
or personify a great big moose
No Whos here, no Fox
No Horton, no Sox
No cats and no hats
No Yertle the turtle
No counting fish
I'm starting to curdle!
How did it get so late so soon?
How did it get so late so soon?
08/07/2015