Metaphor I Am Poems | Examples
These Metaphor I Am poems are examples of I Am poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of I Am Metaphor poems written by international poets.
iconic sunrise
I wear no disguise,
really.
as do butterflies,
earth, I colorize
freely.
golden moon full-size
lulls school bus allies
briefly.
Green, that enraptured hue scape a blooming quilt,
goodness gracious am I gracious for being that tint,
to loiter breezily amid the luscious woodland habitat,
as this green chameleon spring spree now ubiquitous,
I am that maestro metaphor for wild adornment rife,
whilst trailing pots, urns and archways in deft design,
green hedges, lawns, verges, meadows, trees I bless,
am I that arch victim of my mint leaf fragrant fetish?
a dash of humour surely counts as nuanced shade,
so I’m “GREENING” from ear to ear - could not resist!
B orn on a Wednesday, a child of solemn woe
L onesome in wonder, though flirting with the 'why's
U ndine's daughter, thus brazen like a flow
E rudite wanderer, fleeting in the sky
G ladly I receive this God-given mystery
I ncandescent oceans hiding deep discovery
R ivulets outflow as ink-penned filigree
L aced in providence, this azure pattern of me
tar ink
ready olives
oil slicks, carbon, nightlife
jazz, tunnels before light
ebony pitch
ravens
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 need rage —
your shadow is enough to rattle them.
In the hallway, wallpaper blisters;
your sleeve grazes it,
and flakes of me snow to the floor.
The ceiling, swollen with damp,
droops lower each night you sleep here —
timbers ache above your breathing.
Downstairs, the kitchen faucet drips
like a clock without courage;
your laugh sends the pipes ringing,
and the cupboards cough up ghosts.
Upstairs, in the attic, silence nests —
you climb no ladder,
yet I feel your warmth seep into rafters
where rot waits, patient.
When you close the door behind you,
its frame leans inward, yearning.
The house is always colder after.
pretty or slippery are not my names
no time for docile dolly games
peaceful presence my authenticity aims
ascension not something timidly tame
Chorus : shiver shake not, I have nothing to hide
flowing with life’s lovely tide
if you cannot bear scars and shadows
go elsewhere to see what flavour marrows
sure I hold open portal doors
when lightning strikes you can endure
Chorus : shiver shake not, I have nothing to hide
flowing with life’s lovely tide
radiate stories of sorrow and glory
twinning beneath Sun’s shimmering corey
hearty love tender truth upward spiral
mystical might muse antiviral
Chorus : shiver shake not, I have nothing to hide
flowing with life’s lovely tide
walk promised path alongside mine
consciously curious from divine timelines
earth wind fire water akasha guide
shiver shake not, I have nothing to hide
Chorus : shiver shake not, I have nothing to hide
flowing with life’s lovely tide
~~~~~~~~~
I am verb! Created by the divine breath,
coming from primitive events...
Essence of ethereal circumstances,
Plasma of thickening, voids
Of invisible cosmic mysteries,
juice of amalgamated conceptions!
Succinct metamorphosis of balance.
In my primitive molecule, the genesis
the core of physical-chemical reactions...
It is from the axis of me that magically spring,
The health of subterranean energies
And the phantasmagoria of utopian beings!
IN THE SEA OF LIFE AND THE SANDS OF TIME
As the sun continues to rise,
As the moon continues to wane and wax,
Here I am, continuing to wave on
The wrinkling sea of life, streaming to its shores,
To froth and seep deep into the waiting sands of time;
Here to canvas clanging conch-like echoing footprints:-
As the sun continues to set and rise
And as the waters of the sea of life continue
To evaporate to freshly, freely rise again,
I likewise, continue to fall asleep and rise again
In the circadian rhythms of time’s clocking
Of the ebb and flow of my mission-purpose: poetic
Cistern-sharing of divine wisdom, guidance, and love:-
Once experienced deserts of oasis have had their day,
And are now overcome valleys of the shadows of death;
I now know that where love is there’s peace and no fear of fear:-
And though I’ve had storms in life’s sea, I’ve sailed them, Paul-like
And I’m now on the shores of time, breathing God’s breath of wisdom:-
As the sun continues to rise and set, and the moon likewise wane and wax,
I shall continue to pour out clanging echoes to my fellow poets like all of you:-
OF ME!
A man said to the universe:
‘Sir, I exist’. (Stephen Crane)
You made me
The human tragedy;
You made me
The human comedy:-
God made me
Black and comely:
The essence
Of his beauty;
The recurring decimal
Of your stupidity:
To God
Be the glory;
For me,
There's no worry:-
If your misunderstood
maybe God just left your definition out.
In an attempt to clarify something .
no one would understand.
You are a riddle,
for what its worth,
what is a riddle if not a question.
longing for an answer.
Some intellectual level
that many wouldn't understand.
I'm i not to know? Must wonder aimlessly amongst emersed possibility's?
Do the answers you hide even remember the reasons why they are occulted, or do they stand in defiance from a questions lack of understanding? Are these riddles that escape me? Am I a troll that can't cross his own bridge? Or am I the cleaver traveler that chooses a different way avoiding the troll altogether? Is there a god? If so is he defected like me in all his glory? Or was I the last to be cast in an unclean mold, sold to the world for the same price? Is there balance we should all find? Or do we as imperfect individuals form the scale on witch we are all measured? If so how is it calibrated in a world that refuses to carry its own weight?
I'm the flicker, the flame, the spark when you can't see,
I'm the moonlight in the dark, a mystery.
I'm the rustling in the leaves, the breeze and the trees,
And maybe the wolf's howl on the wind whispers, "That's me."
A long, drawn-out sound, both wild and free.
My roots run deep, a Cherokee decree,
And when I stomp the earth, its strength flows into me.
The river flows onward, a path my spirit knows.
Where in its cool depths my true reflection shows.
I don't know if I'm the beautiful wolf or the woman,
Yet, I know I have them both running through my veins.
I am poetry
An unheard whisper
Shadows
Conspiring
A tear
Soaked in laughter
Anger
Molded in metaphor
Humor
Wielding the axe of angst
Whispering
A farewell kiss
I am poetry
The invisible heart of language
Beating a near silent drum
A quiet vibration
Teasing the moonlight
A cool breath of air
Drawing lovers closer
A metered heartbeat
Quickened in passions petulance
I am poetry
A dream yet unformed
Stirring the ink of dreams
Weaving a wondrous web
Awaiting unsuspecting words
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Pheromones fill the air as the males call the females to their abode
their abdomens linked tail-to-tail, and on the damsels' eggs the male seed are sowed
From thereon, dull caterpillars slowly transformed into exquisite beauties
then, to a new hope, many newborns flew, making gardens filled with cuties
She then whispered that before brightness, there was a very dark darkness~
so don’t give up on your life just because your present swims in starkness
"Learn from my life cycle," she further said, "beauties that once were can still be
so your belief in sunshine after this raging storm is paramount and key"
From then on, she became me, and I became her, and hope of a better tomorrow fills me
far from me, fear then fled—I face my problems with glee, from hopelessness my life is free
I like to invite Happiness over for tea
But I'm always anxious when it stays longer than I expect
While it sits in the living room, peacefully drinking from it's cup
My heart beats faster
Anytime soon, the cup will break
Maybe there's too much sugar in the tea
I start pacing around the house doing everything but entertaining my guest
But when I come back
It's still sitting there
But why?
Does it not know that I don't want it's company?
Does it not know that I would rather it tell me that the tea is too sweet instead of drinking it in silence?
Does it not know that I don't trust it?
When happiness comes over for tea
I always expect the bad things to sneak in with it
When they don't show up, I become skeptical
The silence is deafening
Being able to hear my thoughts
To have them not yell at me
To not have to sweep up broken shards of plates offf the floor
Or to not be pulling shards of glass out of my skin
It's so peaceful
Which is why it feels wrong
I know why it keeps returning
It knows I don't accept it
Yet it still shows up
Waiting for the day I sit across from it
Finally sharing a cup of tea with it.