Long Metaphors Poems
Long Metaphors Poems. Below are the most popular long Metaphors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Metaphors poems by poem length and keyword.
The Winds of Wars
The winds of wars have shorn the shores where children once had played,
revealing bones of dead unknowns for whom the faithful’d prayed,
to no avail beneath the veil of death where rockets strayed,
for tit-for-tat is where it's at when war hawks’ eggs are laid.
The winds of wars destroy the moors, strew corpses’ burnt debris
which stains the staves that mark the graves (blest signs of victory)
where somber moms are sighing psalms while staring wistfully
upon the past before the blast that doomed their destiny.
The winds of wars clog corridors with folks in search of peace
because, outside, the genocide is giving no surcease;
‘But what the heck, it pays the check’, so say the world Police –
beneath the sky, they slice the pie, each hacking off a piece.
The winds of wars have wiped the floors with foes who won’t obey
(the bombs that fall are meant for all, the bodies ricochet) –
‘The carcass count may sadly mount’ the vanquishers will say,
while hiding facts of heinous acts neath verbal lingerie.
The winds of wars (soon metaphors for hellish deeds, though deeper)
have flattened schools (allowed by rules as written by the Reaper),
and brought despair beamed through the air (beware the booby beeper)
and, when they slay so faraway, make human life the cheaper.
The winds of wars have spread the spores that taint and mangle minds
with doublespeak and hide-and-seek that closes eyes and grinds
the passive pawns (once mowed like lawns) with servitude that binds,
and while the blight is holding tight, the wider world unwinds.
Postscript
The Wins of Wars
The wins of wars fill warlords’ drawers (some call it charity)
with yellow gold for weapons sold to kill the enemy
and purloined oil from conquered soil and tankers seized at sea –
the poor are billed to fund and build the wartime industry.
The wins of wars are won by whores who sell their souls with glee
and run amok to spend a buck (for killing’s never free)
and more and more they’ll arm for war (a spiraled spending spree)
until at last the warrior caste’s deposed and forced to flee.
Ink Empress is my muse
Her poetry takes takes me away
To the land of butterflies and gems
Her metaphors are unique
Enlightening me to the fullest
I’m indeed impressed
And wow! What a vocabulary
I constantly have to look her words up
So I can fully embrace her wonderfulness
I’ve become a misanthropic lonely person
After my divorce
But Ink’s words restore my faith
When I need a lift
I go to Ink’s prose
And there I find happiness
While others go about their business
I sit and I wait
For what Ink will post next!
Thank you Ink for being such a delight
In a world that has turned so cold
You are the fire that warms us all
A POET'S LAMENT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Under the night's blank canvas,
I sit, a lone figure,
my ink-stained fingers poised.
I carry the burden of unsaid poetry,
ideas that were never expressed,
and metaphors that disappeared like echoes.
I linger upon the rhymes that unraveled
like threads pulled from an old sweater,
frayed and forgotten, lost in the seams of time.
I am lost in the fabric of language
unable to stitch together
an ensemble of cohesive words.
In dawn’s quiet hours, I wait for inspiration,
for the first light to break, to spill over
into the edges of my thoughts.
I sit, a solitary figure
my weary mind suspended
beneath the empty canvas of daylight.
Inspired muses reach out from the page
To touch the hearts and minds of those who read
Their presence in descriptive rhymes, a sage
In words of ink your thoughts become a seed
I wonder if it's ever crossed your mind
Someone in years to come might feel your muse
Will it be inspiration they will find
Or will your words just leave them more confused?
And yet we bleed our muse to feel the high
Then cover up the blood in metaphors
We make them laugh, so no one sees us cry
Those fears we hide in words forevermore
But muses rarely ever get the blame
Cause down below, they wisely sign your name.
by Daniel Turner
“Mystic Moment with you”
A natural look of who I am on the inside.
A reality check of who you are on the outside.
A mirror facing west makes the difference in you and me.
Open your eyes and see.
The child I was today is the reflection of you tomorrow.
The ideas of different skies drifted off without sorrow.
I am the good the bad, and the ugly…
A song permitting retrospection to delay the same face with yesterday’s glee.
From the moon to admirable moon;
The dignity of holding the same tune.
I am the swan that swims through your veins.
You are what swim’s through my moods and rain.
The miracle of our heritage echoed so far away.
Auspices now imitate metaphors that were under the surface bay.
An unknown look strays outside the window.
Behind the gates, that leads into tomorrow’s limbo.’
A mirage of turning around and seeing nobody but you and me.
Mystic moments that attract other moments of originality.
A dream that speaks about the image of my new beginning.
My courage polishes off the mirror image of a falling stars ending
You are the beating pulse that resides on the inside and outside of my being.
“You are the REFLECTION of my spiritual place”
THE CURRICULUM OF LOVE
In Biology, you’re my heart,
Pulsing with lessons of life right from the start.
Cells may divide, but they never stray,
For in your rhythm, I find my way.4
In Chemistry, you’re my oxygen,
Bonding with me in reactions when you begin
Without you, my equations fall apart,
You’re the catalyst that ignites my heart.8
In Mathematics, you’re my formula,
Exact and timeless, no room for error.
From algebra’s proofs to geometry’s lines,
You solve the theorem of love that shines.¹²
In English Language, you’re my expression,
The grammar of grace, the syntax of affection.
Every sentence I craft about you is clear,
You’re the meaning that my words hold dear.¹6
In Literature-In-English, you’re my poem,
An eternal sonnet, a timeless emblem.
Metaphors flourish where your presence lies,
You’re the verse that never dies.²°
In Physics, you’re my force,
Driving my motion, shaping my course.
Gravity bends when you’re near,
Space and time dissolve, everything’s clear.²4
In Philosophy, you’re my truth,
The question and answer, eternal proof.
Logic bows to your radiant flame,
For wisdom itself whispers your name.²8
In Economics, you’re my demand curve,
Shaping my choices with every swerve.
Scarcity fades when you’re in supply,
The market of love is soaring high.³²
In Computer Science, you’re my algorithm,
Sorting my chaos into a perfect rhythm.
Binary love, ones and zeroes aligned,
You’re the code that rewrites my mind.³6
In Geography, you’re my equator,
Balancing my world, my love’s navigator.
From north to south, east to west,
You’re the center that feels the best.4°
In Music, you’re my symphony,
A harmony of joy, a sweet melody.
Notes may fade, but you remain,
The eternal chorus in love’s refrain.44
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
Copyright ©?20th February 2025.
Discrediting plausibility
by shredding their humility
to a place of vulnerability
devoured by inabilities
cowardice incompetence
showered into consciousness
empowered causing confidence
validation found in compliments
a false sense of accomplishment
resort to intense punishment
to knock down their competitors
who speak of truth not metaphors
that could reverse their actual course
see them falling through floorboards
far from craved credited applause
a status low as though blackballed
on salaries always needing more
survival gifting no rewards
a personality to be ignored
social skills which leave them bored
testing humans to their core
needing a win but cannot score
electrical without a cord
no plug socket or power source
as management you were assured
entitlement had power stored
defensive walls they reinforced
the canon fire rains then pours
constant drainage of resource
when liars reign without remorse
demonstrate through acts of war
axing allies no friends of yours
switching sides ending support
backtracking and invasions fall
forward thinking backward thoughts
two faced fronts fights are fought
defend positions within the fort
saving supply routes to the port
lowered standards poor results
lose respect face the onslaught
enclosing can’t escape assaults
laced with disgrace of dense insults
unsatisfactory falling short
the cost of power steeply soars
run out of bullets fight with swords
sticks and stones not canon balls
back to basics of infant schools
learning how the mighty fall
turns out you might be a fool
from the authority you adore
to unemployed and lost it all
from big and powerful to small
once important not anymore
once arrogant above the law
apparently now unloveable
a tyrant silenced by rivals
the outlaw downfall locked indoors
freedom within the prison walls
abusing boundaries horribly
so far beyond authority
explicitly and vicously
fully of inefficiency
faults and inability
soulless animosity
dethroned without the sovereignty
lost lonely in unpopularity.
love is a marionette, kissed by kismet,
stitching in secret ~
the cursive cure from Cupid’s strings,
whilst this ink slowly breathes
on the silent sinews of devotion,
as if the heart never knew
the synonyms of the soul’s touch,
too afraid to embrace
the sound of the wind ~
caught in your dreams,
for the inner child
harbors bruised blues,
b r e e z i n g through abandoned dawns…
and I sit in my seclusion,
sipping the aftertaste
of a sad surprise ~
haunting my psyche,
knocking on my cruel conscience,
for romance has always been
the start of an undeniable unraveling ~
of hurt and illusions,
of sorrow and helplessness ~
a peony that pains and pines
beneath its own lament,
yet still I muse ~
tasting the testaments of truth,
of what could have been
and what almost was,
for the ending was the beginning
of my heart’s harp harmonizing,
plucking aching echoes
from coffin-colored chords,
cryptic cadence,
that still lives in the afterglow
of an amethyst sunset ~
painted with tears and time…
so remember me
as more than a poem
spun from metaphors of misery ~
in desolate delight,
as I am the silhouette
of your solitary scribbles,
the sigh that drifts
between your syllables,
a rhyme of what was crafted
in silence,
and what bleeds on endlessly…
When I sit still and calmly read the works of Poets True
It is nice to know I'm not alone because of all of you
There are stories being told here in such different forms and ways
We have happy times, some joy and pain, and some for special days
There are some who write in Haiku, there are those who love Quatrain
We have those who write sweet Sonnets telling us about the rain
But we also have some Poets True who write as though they sing
With a Rhyme Royal or Limerick that will cause your ears to ring
How about the Free Verse Poets and the Funny Poets too
Those Acrostics and the Metaphors that can help the sun shine through
There are Ballad Poems and Lyrics truly wonderful to find
And the Epic Poems and Tanka's that will stir things in your mind
On a quiet night with softened light we'll read an Ode or two
Or a Villanelle or Couplet that someone has shared with you
What about those Nature Poets who can rhyme about the Earth
How the flowers grow in colors even different kinds of dirt
We have those who write of waterfalls; and sounds that fill the air;
Of deep mysteries and great mercies that reveal how we should share
Some are Kyrielles and Kwansabas that find their way to you
Those Alliteration Poets can help you think of things to do
We have Poets True from nations far that share the things they see
There are dreamers here with mighty words that say we can be free
We read Love Poems so sweetly said they cause your heart to melt
They will talk of Love lost or Love found that's truly deeply felt
Well, I could go on forever speaking of the Poems found
Here on Poetry Soup with you and these true treasures that abound
But I guess I'll stop and thank you all for sharing what you do
And I'll say right here that we are blessed - We all are Poets True!
Ecologically resilient health
and WinWin spiritual fueling economic development
and biologically transforming nature,
Combined with reflection
deflection
inflection of our personal
and economic
and political health v pathology experiences,
Recouple complex metaphors
of green commonsense
inviting a resilient ZeroZenZone case
for health benefits
of planting and harvesting basic humane-divine communion values.
Health allegories and gospel wealth parables
need not autonomously rely on sacred principles
equating blind faith with good faith.
Reassociating non-sectarian positive faith
with active sectarian research for healthy development
of significant positive and negative correlating trends,
appositions and oppositions,
invite regenerative climate healing
especially for remaining secular dominant skeptics,
anti-sectarian nihilists,
LoseSacred and LoseSecular paranoid sociopathologists,
conspiracy theorists,
God is an AngryWhiteWesternMan wounded children
and our fundamentally mistaken keepers,
zealous nature v spirit terrorists,
anti-theological bullies,
healthy climate haters, deniers, fear-mongerers,
self-righteous war marketers and managers and magnates and magnets
Dismissing lists of positive health values
like smiling
and kindness
as weak love tools
for marginalized tender trans- and pangenders
and cooperatively misguided souls
Longing for ecologically resilient health
and WinWin spiritual-economic development
and transformative belonging nature.