Long Metaphoric Poems
Long Metaphoric Poems. Below are the most popular long Metaphoric by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Metaphoric poems by poem length and keyword.
An anchored statue
can no longer be a metaphor
for liberty;
like-wise neither can unbalanced scales
be a matching simile for justice—
and a cracked bell
whose sound has been eviscerated
will never ring out freedom.
Broken chains
dangling from the wrist cuffs
of outstretched hands
do not symbolize liberation;
and the split in the veil
fails to reveal the deception
in the utterance
of “We hold these truths to be…”
The metaphoric chorus of deceit
must be met like-wise
with the metaphoric chorus of truth
is the light—
which can’t be chiseled from stone.
True light can’t be forged
from furnace metals
teased in Dante-like flames…
the truth is the light
and the light of truth is
as the sun—everlasting.
We are people of light
and like its companion waters,
we’re people of blood…
lightning…thunder…
and must liberate ourselves
as such—opening
the minds’ eyes and ears
of our children
to the light…to the thunder…
and roaring liberation…
all raining down into freedom’s sea—
evaporating the (in) from injustice!
As is the sea…so must we be…
with eyes and ears
stayed on the prize—screaming
choruses of blood, sweat, and tears—
creating clouds of hope
that will let freedom rain down
in the light first spoken into existence
by Him who has never failed us.
Come let us name it…claim it…
collect it: our liberated humanity…
our precious God-given grace.
Alright, Pharaohs and Queens, gather 'round, let's set this basement ablaze! Yo, check the mic, one two, it's time to elevate these days. Incense burnin', roses spread, yeah, that's the vibe we chase, Got that desert heat flowin' even in this hazy maze, Underground oasis, where the rhythm plays, We buildin' pyramids of pleasure in these modern days.
Sun sinkin' low, but the heat's still pumpin' high, Summer solstice magic, reflected in my eye, Family and my crew, yeah, they right here by my side, Got a sigil star shinin', banishin' the lie, Feel that bass drum thumpin', reachin' for the sky, Tonight we kings and queens, no need to even try.
Purple haze rain, yeah, metaphoric flow, These good vibes washin' over, watch the energy grow, Open up your mind, let your inhibitions go, Basement heaven's gate, where the real ones know, Lindt kisses meltin', sweetness overflow, This ain't just a party, this a spectacle to show.
Warm embrace offered, ain't no need to be shy, Got that earthquake love shakin', from your head to thigh, Body talkin' volumes, louder than a battle cry, "When Love Calls", baby, you know you gotta reply, Don't play hard to get, let your true feelings fly, This ain't no ancient riddle, just look me in the eye.
Got the smooth delivery, like the Nile river flow, Confidence is pumpin', watch my charisma glow, Egyptian queen steppin' in, takin' center stage, yo, Breaking hearts and rules, that's the afterglow, From the sphinx to these speakers, the legend gonna grow, So step into my kingdom, let the good times bestow.
Yeah, this our piece of heaven, right here on Earth, No need for no afterlife, appreciate your worth, Shake that body, baby, show me what you're rehearsed, Love is in the air, let the feeling burst, Forget your daily grind, quench your soul's thirst, Incense + Rose aroma, ain't nothin' worse... than missin' this verse!
We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Love’s Path
Love's Path
Rules bind us from infancy
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson works
for success, we forget practices that thwart happiness.
Passages and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Romance, a chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery- our endurance of drudge before we fly
We are living in the middle, you and I
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings- what if we had never met? Our paths, never intersected or,
if they did, we missed our chance to connect.
The perfect moment when the sky was right to usher in romance,
the laws of attraction that shaped the joy of love in magic renderings, in heightened awareness of simple things.
Brighter colors, heavenly perfumes
the harmony and peace of mutual understandings.
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings
Time came for making promises --getting used to things,
expected or not—learning the art of forgiving
Consenting to cherish common objectives—
was it our love succeeded because
we overlooked each others’ flaws, or unmet expectations
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord
or was a momentary whim the cause?
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we reád
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years
weathered all the seasons with forgiving hearts
Nothing could measure the small eternity we made ourselves-
we endured life with every sinew- refused to imagine
a life devoid of one another
Now matter how circumstance may try spin you
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue
“The Waves”
The waves are full of viscous hyperbole -
the looped feedback reeking vicious bleeds
into hungry sharp-toothed grins
wanting pure metaphoric new feeds.
What is a novice to believe?
Love reflects Love?
As below
So above?
Fighting the incessant misery,
Lionlike a demiurge swallows
its own serpentlike tale – and crows -
"believe in me".
What is a novice to believe?
Hecate holds a new book
full of lost Sophia syzygy keys,
casting her ill-born progeny into a soiled world
purring and hissing,
walking un-straight lines into the corruption
of unwalkable deep burley seas.
Her eyes mirror yours incessantly,
while You, the unreadable read
lazy Skys of blue.
She touches your soft bare sandy watermark
calm waters rippling stormy deep beliefs…
Though, you would disagree -
through The Great Sleep.
What she dreams,
seems to be
becoming real,
it brings you to your knees ...
late prayers arrive
like unwanted help.
The Lost
are hung upside down
seeking vindication like Peter -
You find yourself, now holding his keys.
Angels arrive unceremoniously,
in their much looked for legions
heaven sent ...
in moments of divine agony,
they stand in front of you like precognized warnings,
burning all with their glorious torches of Love -
all too late;
without Books in hand –
some revolutionaries let their fires loose,
unheralded, they make it through … The Gate,
after the cock crows.
Three times ... and,
You’re out.
The majority hesitates.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
“Before a rooster crows, you will deny Me three times.”
Matthew 26:74-75 (NIV)
“Something is here
I can hear them breathe
Something is here
But I'm not scared
Beg to your gods
But I don't believe
Nothing in here
Can help me now
[Chorus]
Cold warning comes
Cold warning comes for me
Cold warning comes
Cold warning comes for me…”
(excerpt, “Cold Warning”, Gary Numan)
And She said :
Be gone...Do not look me in the eyes
We were not belongers but intruders
who happened to trespass into each other's lives
We were no Romeo and Juliette but great pretenders.
Like moon rocks- Believing they are the ones
who light up an infinite sky.
Be Gone...Do not look me in the eyes
Let not my lips go there to that young and serene night
where we danced barefoot on the sand
with arms embraced against the sadness of lost time.
Your decision has been made.
The last petal of an untouched margarita
withered too early in dust and rain
And you never asked why.
Be Gone...Do not look me in the eyes
Do not remember me Do not think of me...
Forget my foreign whisper
Like I'll soon forget the wrinkle in your smile
There was never a better place
Nor will there be another time
The empty pages have been filled
Our unfinished book- Not anymore.
You' ll become a nobody...Like I am your nobody
A trembling echo in your hourglass fading in the sand
An empty barrel without sweetened wine.
Do not miss me Do not need me..
Do not long for my touch Do not remember me
Who am I ? I am just your rehearsed dream
Who am I ? I am just a metaphoric lie.
Be Gone..Do not look me in the eyes and say goodbye.
I was never yours You were never mine.
I was you were Were you Was I?
Be Gone...Do not look me in the eyes.
Just musings inspired by music.
The Conference at Mantua
Ah, what a scene of tranquil learnedness!
The scholars nurse their tomes like babes in arms:
white locks: heads cocked to savor the address
of Pius, in his charming Latin: balm
floats in through high-arched, airy colonnades.
The lake is laced with skittish little skiffs:
those rolling lawns of Mantua could be made
to sport a kick-ass golf course. Oh, those cliffs!
But life just ain't that peachy. Belching blame,
the Cardinals did squat, but bleat and *****.
No representatives invited, came.
And Mantua was a cramped, unhealthy pitch.
Scarampo wasn't much inclined to linger.
With imprecations colouring the air,
he gave the Pope the metaphoric finger,
and rode away, at haste -- to God knows where.
The Lake was nothing but a sluggish stream.
It bred mosquitoes in malevolent clouds.
The croaking frogs made sleep a pious dream.
The locals were more oafish than in Stroud.
Bessarion stayed true, and Torquemada.
A basis, then, for troops to rally on:
but Europe's bookends? "Altar y espada"
is not much use among Italians!
At last, some envoys came -- but far from helping,
they asked for help! From Burgundy came Cleves,
but not disposed for listening, more for yelping
about the local petulance and peeves.
And when they paint the frescoes of your life,
they'll airbrush out the unappealing grunge.
They'll strip away the struggle and the strife.
And you'll bequeathe what's pretty (dung expunged).
Violins plucking strings
of horsehair, satin ribbons
violet violate a dark
foresaken world
like a beautiful dream
romance unravels
the sweet pain
comes undone
then those wild horses
dance macabre neck-to-neck
racing all the way home
for want of a better country,
these beautiful creatures
limbs racing all lathered
opening wide
and unconquered
plunder new territory
in the red seeded seat
royally the hidden thing
beats like a machine
underneath the skin
a ripe juicy red apple
no cherry pip
feeds the mind of
marquis de john donne
and dorian's sybil vane
gone all wrong
Violins the shape
of a woman
the music inside
her intense jungle
prowls around
like an exotic
soft pawed purring
black leopard
something wicked
or wonderful
in the garden
this way it comes
the soft satin
that binds metaphoric
minds like wrists
the will to resist
comes undone
something wicked
or wonderful
in the garden
dappled in shadow
shining and hidden
like a solitairy secret
like a morning star
this way, it comes
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Pieces of broken glass gathered in ocean
undergoing gradual conversion
by metaphoric changes through ages.
As processed by rigorous vigorous rolling
under turbulence and tremendous pressure,
rough edges to get rounded off producing smoothness,
lastly happens to yield sea glass :
Nature ‘s marvel and splendour.
Glossy texture to claim : lovely looks of a gem,
with frosted appearance.
Trash turning treasure, nourished by ocean.
An accomplished sequel on transformation .
One can't surmise : Splendid surprise !
Available on some beaches not in abundance,
but bare fact : not so rare!
By chance , I glanced to pick up prompt
ignoring envious looks of my friends.
I collected few from sea beach in Puri, Orissa, India.
I feel proud to own
those, comparable to precious gem stones.
Groundhog day 2021 - Tuesday, February 2nd
Coincides with astronomy's cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox,
which will occur at 5:37 AM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Saturday, March 20.
Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when massive nor'easter
predicted today January 31st, 2021
including within neck of woods
named Perkiomen Valley Pennsylvania.
Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (hoar) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
vernal equinox
rattling barenaked branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.
Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.
Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth
amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.
While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break
burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.
Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of Matthew
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue
man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those,
either hashtagged as black, brown
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.
Peek, if you dare…inside my Palace of CREATIVITY
Observe my drafty walls, and rhyming dungeons ^^
Enter, my friends, with no delusions! ^^
There are marbled halls of mass confusion…
Regarding your ILLUSION, of metaphoric INFUSIONs,…
Your opinions may falter, upon the alter, compared to other verses ^^
^^
Poetic attempts, and past regrets, are ghostly curses
And with INEVITABLE blunders, they rattle off meter, the echos could haunt you!
Lest you dare, just beware, dear readers…. WATCH YOUR STEP! ^^
As your guide, I’ll confide….people have died!
'Cause this Poetry Palace, has bats in the belfry! (As everyone knows)…
EVENTUALLY, this palace place should be foreclosed!
For Linda Marie’s Contest “Poetry Palace”
By Carrie Richards