Extended Metaphor Poems | Examples of Extended Metaphor Poetry

it’s still brick ...

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The horizon is a blade— it glints whether I run toward it or watch it withdraw. Each dawn splits me open, spilling a slow trickle of salt, as if the sea is feeding me to itself, one grain at a time. I know the undertow’s handwriting— it pulls not to drown, but to measure how far my lungs will stretch. Even in absence, the shore presses...

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its whimper sounds like a whisper, it slips as it slithers away the loud fear it left on my mind still spins my spine i run, forgetting my heart is still hanging in my mouth~ it pounds like a tornado blowing through my veins the ricochets of its anger shudder even my tiniest nerves our nights and days will never...

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I just heard two elevator pitches Surgeons both, too int’rested in riches Yet I found them quite funny Even if they loved money ...

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My thoughts walk barefoot on gravel roads—aching, slow, and scattershot. My mind drifts like dusk in worn linen—frayed, faded, and folding in on itself. My mind, grown tired of its tidy metaphors, slumps like a clerk at closing hour—unnoticed, necessary, numb. My brain, vast as prairie land at sunset, lies fallow—dreaming the hush between thunderclaps. My brain has taken...

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The fruit of freedom may take time to be harvested, but it deserves every stoic sacrifice......

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Time passes, time has passed, but not completely I came from the past but I will embark towards the future in the present time in which I am... To enjoy the present destiny that...! that was given to me... !...

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Limerence pools, at the lip of skin. Bleeding like I love ; slow, hard, full of regret....

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The jars were meant to confuse even me — labels scrawled backward, dates falsified, contents misnamed to keep them harmless. I stacked them like decoys — rows of false feelings, the real ones buried deeper, sealed in wax no hand could open. Years I have walked these shelves blind, touching glass like a stranger in my own skin; aware of the weight, but never sure what...

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Each thread hums — drawn by patient hands, dyed in storms and thaw. The base is pale as morning frost, fibers holding winter’s quiet breath. Across it, ribbons of shifting hues wind like rivers — green bending to blue, violet bruised into pink. At the center, twin knots gleam — changing under every flicker of light, tidal glass or meadowstone, never the same twice. Edges fray softly, not from...

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The door swells in its frame each winter, paint curling like old tongues — still you press it open with a finger, leaving soft dents in the wood. Inside, the walls hum from hidden wires; plaster sighs under your barefoot weight. Every step — a loosened nail, a whisper of dust sliding down beams. The windows breathe in drafts, their single panes shivering; no storm...

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Earth to give form... Water to give spirit... Fire to give heat... air to give ...

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Contest: Rolling With The Rs Sponsor: Nette Onclaud Date Written: 3rd August, 2025 •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• Heartbeat, loud in my chest, sings with sweet melody, like the cadence of a streamlet, when its silver ribbons drape the mountains, with a smile that delights the sands, as it cascades the slopes and thunders—like heartbeat....

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OF FOOD AND WARRING (A TANKA QUIENTET) Juxtaposed bombs fall… Food’s down, starvation rising… Death…collateral… Thus, war’s new reaping of death: Food uprooted and destroyed:- Food’s an enemy, Seeking to eat, deadly: Starvation killing:- Thus, be war’s new strategy: Piled skin covered skeletons:- Ironically, All this is merely Breaking News! War’s politicking: Pontificating power; Not nourishing peace and love:- May these fruitful thoughts Excite your hunger for peace And its divine love:- Not...

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I’m Also A Song Hey… I’m also a song And I’m not afraid To sing my own tune But don’t Think me Arrogant Or selfish You too Are a song To be sung But this song Is about me Rather than About you And if you Don’t want to hear Me sing my song Just freely close Your eyes… In introducing My song I give the glory To the Creator For having me Tuned...

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