Friendship Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Friendship Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Friendship. These are the best examples of Metaphor Friendship poems written by international poets.
o pray …
should count we all the phrases fought
there is not time with conscious thought
sieved, all those hearts that poets wrought …
and when their breaths come laid to bed
sweet then those dreams are softly bled
souls lost thru time and stained to red …
oh …
how dear praise giv’n midst life … instead.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art of yours truly created copyright-free by the poet with Prism/Lightroom software )
I’ve never learned the art of a reliable recipe,
only the art of guessing who might eat it.
I will learn what you love,
the way you take your coffee,
that you’d rather have mustard on your sandwich,
that you prefer your toothpaste tastes like fruit instead of mint.
You see, I try too hard.
My food can’t be one flavor—
that would be boring.
I stir,
and stir,
and stir,
adding more until the dish is heavy, uneven.
And when you eat it,
you’ll taste the coffee grounds,
the mustard,
the toothpaste.
It’s not because I think it belongs—
I couldn't stop myself
kept reaching for anything with your name on it,
hoping the thought of the meal would soften the sour taste.
I serve the same dish to everyone,
each batch a strange new mix
of flavors I don’t even like—
and I wonder what keeps them here:
do they hunger for filling,
or for something truly mine?
I’m not sure I’ll ever know.
So I will watch you chew,
watch the fork sink to the side of your plate,
waiting for the scrape of truth—
for you to push the dish away.
I’ve left the recipe wrong on purpose,
hoping you’ll taste the absence,
and ask what I might make
if I cooked with my own hands.
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 of you.
A life packed full of solutionless problems,
scribbled out like math equations
written on a chalkboard
by a genius mathematician
who can’t ever prove his theories
or get anything to work.
Nobody understands him
because he can’t even understand
the things going on
in his own head.
Now,
enough of the comparisons.
Let’s get back to the subject.
You’re chronically ill.
Your condition is worsening.
You present yourself in a positive light
while, under the surface, you're
withering.
I worry for the day
when all of your problems
become too much
for you to bear,
and you slip away
like an avalanche
in the Arctic,
never to be
seen again.
I told myself just one—
two, max.
But you were hot, sugar-laced,
pressed into shape
some ancient, grooved machinery
I’ve never been strong enough to resist.
I knew better.
Knew how this ends:
oily regret
bubbling just beneath the pleasure.
Still, I bit down
until I was dizzy
with want
and half-cracked sweetness.
Now I’m sick
on everything I swallowed
pretending it was worth it.
And still—I’d do it again
if you were warm,
and near,
and looking.
I wear a thimble to protect me from blows
I can't see the enemy,
But I got to fight anyway I suppose.
My thimble's a bit battered
Worn down by old wounds
I might need to get a new one
Till then this will do.
My kingdom depends on me
I guess so,
Haven't heard from them in many moons.
I fight, waving about a needle
I feel the enemy's presence
They wonder why I haven't given up hope.
I cut down through a couple of bushes
And there are the foes standing tall
They don't look all that scary
Just a bit tired, that's all.
I recognize them I think
I've heard their voices before
I take off my thimble
Strangely soothed by their song.
They say they're my demons
Trying to help me find a better end
I believe them
For they are my only friends.
They accept me, make me feel safe,
So much so, without my thimble
I still feel brave.
I don't think I'll go back to the kingdom
For the foes are now my friends
No matter what someone says
I'll stay with them till the end.
Live life not alone,
Friendship is essential
To the soul in need:-
Live in wonderful oneness
Of the onement of God’s love:-
Misery picks all;
We all have our time for it,
And its survival:-
Praise God for his healing grace,
And divine wisdom and guidance:-
If you don’t like the weather
wait five minutes and it will change.
A pitcher has pitched a shutout—
he is a hero.
You can bet
he’s talked about everywhere.
Somewhere something is on sale—
it was marked up the first day.
A song in the background rocks
but it is lost in haste.
A stitch in time saves nine
but old blue jeans are thrown away.
People say take care
and disappear.
A man in a bar nurses his drink
half-empty or half-full.
Let’s not make a scene—
not in front of the metaphor-curious.
We owe them a semblance
of shared syllabic stability.
You take Tuesdays,
I’ll keep weekends and the enjambments.
Let’s split the metaphors equitably—
you keep flame, I’ll keep ash.
No one touches liminal.
I’ll speak highly of your similes
at open mic,
nod with gentle gravitas
when they ask if we’re
still...collaborating.
We’ll stage polite reposts,
perhaps a comment or two—
Stunning work! Your voice is missed!
Even though our voices
are on everything. Loudly.
We’ll give them what they crave:
poised poets
posing as lovers
in the filtered light
of someone’s Instagram story.
Not because it’s true—
God, no.
But because some of the haiku kids
just found their footing,
and I won’t be the one
to shake their form.
The nights were short,
A clear summer, long and hot,
A chickadee visited every dawn,
And caught a stunning view by the pane.
Maybe my nest’s walls knew,
A fluffy gray-black chick who...
Lit the sun pointed to my nest house...
Captured my morning drowse.
A courageous little skylark,
With a notorious chirp crack,
She repeatedly taps my pane,
And sharply beeps, in rhythmic strain.
Pulled from beloved slumber, I scan who,
Through my drowsy eyes, I view...
The vivid rattle, truly, she’s a great dancer,
My ears almost paralyzed by the clatter.
Through the solid unglazed pane its clear,
The morning breeze powers the air,
The lovely melody alarms my doze...
Tirelessly, she airs her pose.
The shrill stole my focus,
A lone owls’ hoot – a secret in the sunrise,
The arduous tweet feels counterfeit,
But the unfolding truth won’t lie or cheat.
Your handkerchief dropped;
I happened to pick it up—
Returning with love:-
True friends can share love;
True friends need not be in love—
True love bonds friendship:-
We’re not Othellos,
Neither are we Desdemonas;
We’re fath-loving friends:-
You are a Simon
Of Cyrene; a supporting
Shoulder of crosses
I bear in this testing life;
You, a laborer of love:-
I wish I could tell you
And have you understand
That you are you,
And I am me.
We put so many years between us
And in all that time you’ve changed nothing
While I’ve had to change everything about me.
Just please understand
That I am a locust
And you are a tree.
I laid dormant for years
By your side, if only by circumstance
I shed my skin again and again
While you sat still
Unrelenting in your ways
Unmoving through the seasons
Resistant to the surrounding decay
I pray you understand
As I only have this to say
You and I were born in the same forest
And you expected me to stay?
Your energized words
nourish and heal my spirit
with uplifting joy...
Your wisdom's cistern
fills the dry cup of my soul
with inspiring hope...
Your enlightenment
dispels dark negativeness
airing hopefulness...
My saucer of mind
is filled with sips for others
likewise seeking light...
May your vibing waves
continue frothing my mind's
shores with peace and love:-
.
hern ol' soul
wise eye'd
pout'd
mine oxidized
wise eyne
shout'd
i ruuuun'd
Clap
ourn connect'd
Shnap
.
'gainst mine
craft
her cinnamon
hern dome tilt'd
aft
whilst
the sea caress'd her
tressez
with it's wave
SslaP
thunder
clap
lightning
Bang
"Lord"
tap