Metaphor Poems | Examples of Metaphor Poetry

When alabaster twilights rain upon celestial roses, with tear-soaked trinkets of ancient aromas ~ I wear their amaranth scents upon acrylic wrists, and tie my terracotta threads of twinkling trust with those topaz ribbons of reminiscent tales, slowly floating in an opal olive fog ~ where a bouquet of bones decorates my heart-shaped coffin and this hoaxed bride, veiled in...

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In just a day, I lost my father, my mum, and my only two siblings, I became the only member of my family: my own father, my own mother, my own siblings. I was left to s~w~i~m the ocean a l o n e... I was like the only spared t^r^e^e of...

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The clouds are swirling in the wind, Unique designs appear within. An artist’s brush could be the air, For many forms are found up there. Look up there, it’s a swimming whale, ‘Twill quickly change with the next gale. It seems so strange to change so much, It makes it hard to keep in touch. There’s a ship with the flag raised high, It...

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TEXAS FLOODING WARS (Apropos Of A Lesson Of Nature) The flood waters came, leaving lost lives washed away; eyes flooded with tears: Nature herself, warring with collateral disaster:- So many children won’t be thirsty anymore; flood waters drowned them:- Let us thirst for quenching peace: our human nature flooded:- ...

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Your smiles frozen over, and you stand tall above the water like an iceberg, so tall and elegant in your presentation. But surface-level trickery can’t fool or satiate my scuba diver curiosity. I see through your poorly constructed ruse. I prep my gear, dive deep into your ocean, and discover that underneath the surface-level beauty lies dormant a bummock of cuts and bruises. The true nature of things, the true nature...

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O moon, the blood-rose pearl of my aching soul, the ghostly seer of hourglass woes ~ heed these wistful words ~ forgive the dreadful quivers between cacophonous quiescence, tremors within lungs of lament, spears of piercing p a i n ... Read through...

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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...

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This poem is my final submission to poetry soup, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank some of the loveliest and kindest people who supported me along the way, the few know who you are, from the bottom of my Irish heart I thank you for your kindness. And a huge thank you to...

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We dont have to use our voice to scream Because a voice isn't just words It's art, it's our presence, it's how we exist It's being unapologetically black Our presence is like the rain after a drought And the rain nourishes the ground It's like walking into a room and it's brought back to life Where once was darkness, has now been...

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She knocks on my rib cage seeking access to my heart again The knock—the pounding pestle— taunts, its echo won’t stand ignorance I hold my knees and cover my ears as if that’ll keep my walls untampered I let my flesh wrap me whole— so tight I might suffocate, but I cannot breathe outside this prison, no—this haven She’s still here at...

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In The Waiting Womb Thereof (Apropos Of Poetic Onement) Thanks for being here with me in the waiting time of the birthing flow from the poetic womb thereof: We mind-pregnant poets have all experienced that spacing time reality of which poets must be in waiting for the waiting poetic womb to give birth:- At times, we’re forced to realize that we, too,...

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edged teeth grate live bones ransacked by its spineless bite red bubbles at sea __________________________________________________________ ...

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Chicago Cubs stumble their way to another loss tonight ~ tripping over their own press clippings ...

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## I Eleven, Tehran's burning heat— sleeve rolled high against the summer's weight, the Revolutionary Guard's fist finds my face like a question mark carved in flesh. A G3 rifle barrel cold against my cheek, the hammer clicks, a seed of fear in my chest. First lesson in the game: some moves are forced on you. ## II Sixteen, when Basij militia boots thunder through...

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Throbbing, concave marks adorn my skin—records of your hunger, sated only by the meat of my body. Though the pain is sweet—craved, fulfilling—and my blood rushes to provide you with drink, my head—detached, neglected—wanders. Tell me, if the flesh fell away like tender rib meat off of the bone— would you still ache to sink your teeth into the me that remained?...

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