Long Metaphor Poems
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Sometimes the Dead
by Michael R. Burch
Sometimes we catch them out of the corners of our eyes—
the pale dead.
After they have fled
the gourds of their bodies, like escaping fragrances they rise.
Once they have become a cloud’s mist, sometimes like the rain
they descend;
they appear, sometimes silver like laughter,
to gladden the hearts of men.
Sometimes like a pale gray fog, they drift
unencumbered, yet lumbrously,
as if over the sea
there was the lightest vapor even Atlas could not lift.
Sometimes they haunt our dreams like forgotten melodies
only half-remembered.
Though they lie dismembered
in black catacombs, sepulchers and dismal graves; though they have committed felonies,
yet they are us. Someday soon we will meet them in the graveyard dust
blood-engorged, but never sated
since Cain slew Abel.
Until we become them, O, let us steadfastly forget them, even as we know our children must.
i remember the day
i saw my belle.
stood before a great glass window
and oh, she was pretty.
young eyes, innocent cheeks,
one little, beautiful heart.
my glass belle,
whole,
smiling right back at me.
carried carefully
everywhere i went.
she's a delicate one, my belle is.
if my belle were simply older,
she would be worn at the edges.
but no -
broken is the little glass doll inside of me.
hurled,
dropped,
hammered.
and now, all that remains are shards.
and yet, i prize every shard.
especially those that make me bleed -
those that will never heal -
i will cherish those for eternity.
oh, boy...
they're back at it, again.
they never learn.
two clamps
on a worn-out jumper cable;
true to form,
crossing leads
to resurrect
a flatlined relationship.
as expected,
they've hooked up the circuit
backward...
all of humanity knows
how the story will go.
of course,
the flatline
never zigzags.
so good are these two
at chasing
the most distant of dreams
and always
finding their way back
on the road
to nowhereville.
m a g n e t s
never meant to click;
toxic twosome
never meant to be together,
forcing a spark
that will never ignite.
all their efforts,
a complete waste of time;
somebody tell 'em...
a reverse polarity
will always
remain so.
[PLACED FIRST : STANDARD CONTEST]
____________________
starlit night so bright
walking soft under moonlight
owls watch footsteps hoot
___________|\|\|__________|\|\|____———____
*****. :::*****•••=•••xxxc%^***++=++*•
[][][]{}{{}{}****^:;:;::;;()();(****)===**starsareforever
*******. —:;::;:,;; STAR *******
::....,,?!?!? *************
****************************** LIT********
%*%*%^^^ [][][]]]]]][]{}][][][ *******^^[]{}#%^*+=STARS ••• stars U r a Star
******** ••••••••••••NIGHT *****
working Illusku OUT in moonlight ***. !***. ……wiseoldowls wisdom owls
SO 888 w. I. S. E
boldandbeautiful ______ brightlights 888
****** #%#%#^*+=
walked walk-in walked bright light BRIGHT OOO moooonwalkingwith owls
^*^*^*#~~[][][]!!!bright. Bright Owls Watch Us
white.*******...........********........@@@@0000
sight ********~~~~~~~####_||||__|||.
no blight******^*%*^^^^^
kite no fight light
MIGHT nite//night
Zero.plight ***QUITE@RIghtTight
we walked_________~~~~~~_______~\|\|_\~
under MOONLIGHT SSS ooooFfffttT
moonlighting umm umma
O O O WWW LLL S OOOOOwls wiseold OOWWLL. _~_~_~_~••••_~_~_ O_____O
hooting watching our ^
U
~><< footsteps footle foot feet
watch feet DELIGHT moonlight path…….
…………….
:::::::::: ***^*^*footstepshoot^*^*^^^
:::::::::: Hooting Owls Hooting Feet
:::::::::::hundreds.of.paths.in.starlit.night&-/::;()()££
under mmm of Love in moonlight
_________watching feet hoot so neat________
s. T. A. y to END did U stay 2 end live OWL??
XX
O _______O
** ^ **
U
To See the Other Side
The mountain boldly looms, impeding my ambitions.
My stature dwarfs to accept these preconditions.
My prestige cowers and independence shatters;
There is no solidity in my appearance.
The fixture mocks my character’s unravelling
Of a fleeting, hysterical montage weeping,
Defiantly cursing God and parents, cursing all.
“Cajole me!” I cannot climb, and so I will crawl.
Brush this monstrosity away from my vista,
This horrid rock that curtains my soul’s perspective.
“Remove it for me!” Let me see the other side;
If it’s not good, then show me another direction.
Mellow the view and let compassion be reflected.
“Let me breathe!” This isn’t the life I envisioned.
The world is crazy,
believe me or not—
it knows neither good nor bad,
only flows forward,
shaping wonders
for you to see.
A meal needs its patience:
chop, fry, stir,
each in its turn—
only then
can you taste its truth.
So too with life:
blended as you seek it,
revealed only
in its season.
Everything takes time,
wrapped in its own package.
Do not blame time—
stay open,
for it will come
when the moment is ripe.
(This poem is also posted on medium for wide range audience under the pen name Trishila, for more poem and stories you can follow me on medium website as well)
outside my window
there is no mercy left for you and me,
just the sound of traffic coughing
and a siren arguing with the night.
a child is crying because she’s hungry,
not in a poem,
not in a metaphor—
hungry like an empty cupboard
that keeps opening itself
out of habit.
I only go out for cigarettes and coffee,
the two small lies
that keep the heart beating
without asking why.
the clerk doesn’t look up,
he’s seen this movie
too many times
and knows how it ends.
we are doomed, hopelessly lost,
heroes of nothing,
braving the cold apartment
where the walls listen
and don’t care.
the heat clicks off like a bad joke.
the floor remembers better days
than we do.
there’s only enough to pay the landlord,
always the landlord—
the god who never answers prayers
but always cashes checks.
food can wait.
hope can wait.
everything waits except the rent.
outside my window
the world keeps going
without permission,
and inside
we sit with our paper cups,
our shaking hands,
our stubborn pulse,
still breathing—
which is either a miracle
or a bad habit
I haven’t managed to quit yet.
Aimlessly I meander in expansive barren-landscape
Whipped by the assault of rustling windy gales
Embossing sandy designs resembling ocean waves
Simulating pools of water in mirage of seascapes.
Plateaus upon reddish hills reveal cracked earth
Where decaying mangled-trees in rising heat groan
As cobalt-blue sky yields to darkened dye of dusk
And blistering winds blur vision whirling sandy dust.
From the apex of ordinary I intently walked off
Letting thirst of quest confound my whereabouts;
Lost and hungry now, signs of life I strive for
Hearing the chirps of crickets and croaks of frogs.
Exhausted I fall besides flowering cactus plants
Hosting frightened thoughts of dehydrated pleas
Awakening to twittering sounds amid birdsongs
Rising in breeze from distant oasis of Joshua trees.
As the daybreak on hazy skies paints golden sunrise
Trekking for miles and miles audacity reaches hope
Dispensing staggering words incapable to explain
Dysfunction now longing for embrace of mundane.
September 30, 2018
First place in I wander the desert alone contest, sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Also, placed first in standard contest #140 by Brian Strand
NOTE: Joshua trees are found in Mojave desert in California.
("Dreaming Gaia", 2020, original encaustic)
Good Night Irene, Sweet Dreams
We live in a time of two competing visions;
The creation myths of sudden and gradual change,
Or monotheism’s creationism on one hand
And scientific materialism’s evolution the other.
Both spring from the same source
Of course,
The human mind in general
And Eastern Mediterranean cultures in particular.
In this way they are part of the same continuum
Steps along a single ascending path,
Not actually mutually exclusive
But still wildly at odds.
But what about a third option,
The option of a changeless nature?
This is the view from outside of time and mind
Which being changeless has consistency on its side.
This is the door that leads to a holographic universe,
The matrix of a dream within a dream within a dream…
Being dreamed by who knows who
Who just happens to go by the name, me and you.
Really weird sh*t you say,
But as they also say, truth is often
Stranger than fiction
And it’s clear the two main competing myths are fiction.
So there it is, a 21st century view of Hegel’s dialectic
Thesis, antithesis and synthesis played out in real time
Simultaneously seeming, but actually existing
Only in the timeless now.
An enigma wrapped in a metaphor
Pretending to be a mystery, or something like that
Waiting for the dreamer to go back to sleep
So the dream can get back to the business of unfolding.
(7/11/24)
My grinning shadow the—truth that seeps behind me—
seeping in my dreams, bathing in muddy swirls of hope, anger, and sadness,
singing
“A B C D [ ]
-step
F G H I J
-step
K L [ ]
-step
N O P Q R
-step
S T U V W
-step
X Y Z”
—miss a step, stumble—
No—
N-ooo no
NO.
A deer in the headlights of hope.
Why am I submerged in overlapping bowls of serial
Nu2b4rs—
Taught twenty-four… is—“close enough?”
Taught to “leave THIS language”—
Taught to leave, M E.
EMber,
EyEs,
sEEping,
bEaMs,
EvEry,
My,
ME
Earth,
EvErlasting,
ovErripE,
MEtal,
sMoldering,
Why does a tongue whiplash my shattered heart?
Yet no question.
Cold granite steals the warmth from my fingertips.
Alone in present thought.
Stark white blank canvas,
unblemished by life’s stroke.
Pristine office,
Tight leather chair,
my reflected eyes interviewing.
Ribs stitching my stomach, my shadow,
the sower of doubt,
Still stumbling through a web of words,
Words…
Frag24nt.
Drea24r
Na24…
Love—
Cackling… in screams, shouts, states—of-truths.
I throw it all back on the table,
Stark white canvas—scribbled.
Earth—a circle.
Snap, cough, roar, amber beams radiating.
Click of the car—solitary words unlocked.
I am 24 + 2 = M + E
Me.
What are we without our scars.