Selfish young youth has brightly beamed faces
And beautiful gleaming gold hair as loose lace is,
Like balmy books with pale prefaces
Its intrinsic inceptive and prompt paces,
Soon, sad torrid time replaces
The sunny sparkle with gentler graces
And young youth with those tacit troughed ages.
cellar door afar
cellar door ajar
amber discovered
candle uncovered
cellar door afar
cellar door ajar
candlelight covered
amber light hovered
cellar door afar
cellar door ajar
amber light covered
candle smoke hovered
BRAIN FLOW
Dark clouds moving on;
Winds of wisdom are blowing:
Well-breezed mind, soaring:-
Contest Name: 1501 Sept 2026 part 4x4'
Sponsor Brian Strand
******************************************
How I hunger for the connection
that I always break
or fail to make.
Its absence is an emptiness
invading my personal space.
Deafening silence rings my ears
and making my head throb and ache.
Whether surrounded by people or all on my own, there's no change
Though its presence is unwelcome, it persists to overstay.
Insistent that within its grasp
is where, forever, I shall remain.
Imprisoned behind the bars
of its isolating ways.
Feeling crushed beneath the heaviness of its invisible chains.
Wheezing shallow breaths, suffocating and in pain.
Asking, telling, screaming, yelling; it just won't go away.
Neither will it set me free nor permit me to escape.
Sentenced my whole lifetime as its intimate inmate.
It's ineffable...
So why do we persist in it's expression
Bubbling up from somewhere we can't even name
It has to come out somehow, and where and how it does is unexpected
At least by those around us who're subjected to what remains
As a mystery to most... now that all is open
To that nameless hole that fills up with what needed to come out
Someday medicine might pretend to know what autopsies can't tell us
But despite what they'll come up with,,, I'll bet it isn't right
Some fancy Latin name won't begin to explain
How this spring can be continuous yet not have a known source
Just know that when the well runs dry
No matter that we knew not why
We knew it would happen by and by
In spite of where suspicions lie
In spite of who cried, "My oh my!"
A look inside is still worth all our questions
But we'll just have to live with the suggestions
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would teach them to waltz across vast skies.
They would never dissolve into nothingness—
And they would always inspire searching eyes.
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would be a musician of bright notes and vivid colors.
I would take them by the hand like friends,
So they would never grieve as lonely drifters or lovers.
I would teach them how to be like the swans,
Moving gently with grace as they glide.
A composer floating endlessly in the lake of dreamers.
Samael: "The orchard is open to omphaloses the stables are Sable's cheery O's and so cereal of woodwork, is fairy cereal so bold."
Uraeal: "I open the gates true north crashes down, the hell of highwater is where the shark surely drowned, but the westward gate is closed and so is the east and the south closes now, like heathery feasts.
The Pro: "Should be palaver again, the moon bright the brittle bread?"
Samara: "I bred in this fire, I tire of liars who are of the sort who won't kindle my fire."
Gladius: "The other festoon is under thine eyes, like he needn't cross-work on crosswords for prized possession, taken by the ghoul of Mary sent brethren."
Aurora: "If the course if taken by the northmost gate, let golden rakes fill the plates."
Helel: "Should we wait for the north gate to crumble, before he humbug the buggie and send swallows aflutter?"
(Anonymized character) "I created once before now I was become death, the pita bread moon like the harvest moon's friend."
---End of act V---
Peep day matrix,
of willowy fog,
grey sprinkled usher,
to ephemeral epiphany,
frail cloud mantle,
vacuous veneer,
or token inkling,
amorphous tweet,
encoded riddle flimsy,
sunshine arbitrator,
dispells hazy,
symbolism
I wait ‘til the end of the day
when I may have more to say
At times the words come tumbling out
Poetry, a teapot… my pen, a spout
Then there are nights I stare at the screen
Handcuffs on my heart, sight unseen
In the morn I once tried my hand ~
Muse yet ‘neath the spell of the sandman
Accountability is like a signature
that puts one's name directly behind a promise;
When the stamp of fault has left its mark,
the hands of guilt cannot hide the mess.
Accountability is like luggage
that carries the consequences of what we choose;
The suitcase of error exposes the blunder,
revealing what the bearer tries to refuse.
Accountability is like a camera
that captures and preserves the evidence;
When the lens of mistake witnesses the crime,
the picture of proof reveals grave offense.
Accountability is like a hook
that lets results catch up with those who do wrong;
The snare of slips silently sits and waits to trap
with a string of detection, swift and long.
Accountability is like a calculator
that computes the end result;
When the keypad adds every miscue,
on the screen, it will display the fault.
I JUST LOVE AND MISS YOU SO MUCH
Loneliness is as a period
Without a full sentence;
It mirrors a riverbed
That once knew water;
Yes, loneliness can be canvassed
As a dried eggshell that has lost all:-
You were my life’s sentence, water, and yoke:
And this life of mine, just misses you so much:-
I would free a butterfly
Exhale a lifting goodbye
Never knowing where
Or why he drifted
In frivolous flight
I would remember
As he faded slowly
Into a sunset memory
Lost in the now
Slightly forgotten
Her colors would mingle
An oil paint pastel
Dissolving on the horizon
Challenging the critics
To define their meaning
I would free a butterfly
,,,Knowing
That it was the butterfly
…Who freed …me.
O fall, let this lore of love be the last...
as your tight, chaotic grip holds me hostage.
Don't count against me my downfalls,
but the endeavors that have stitched the fabric of my days.
Still, this mask of anguish shapes its heavy cry,
wrapped tightly against the core of myself—
absent of mercy, mocking that pure moment in time
that allows us mortals to be human.
Yet, neither dusk nor dawn can delude me.
They try to imprison me, and hate may fill me with sorrow,
but the flame carried within shall never be dismissed—
a hunger not easily satisfied, refusing to die.
Discarded, a silent alchemy works in the dark.
I am the fire the shadows could not smother;
I turn the leaf, rewriting every page,
rising far above the ashes of my pain.
Last standing—strong,
amidst the dust and foliage of farewell!
Arising out of
The primordial poet
The poetry soup
It's not what evolves
As each writer creates on
Tabula rasa
Like a phoenix does
Dancing in the skies above
Using silly words
Like spelling goop in
A bowl of poetry soup
Alpha and beta
And rising out of
The poetry soup, a group
Best quill and inkers
What is a ripple without its rhythm?
Ripples and rhythm fashion life
Together like a pulsing heart
Rippling with the magic flow
Caught in rhythm like the beat
Flowing, swirling, with ups and downs
Creeping along with measured steps
A team of joined togetherness-
The Dance of Life goes rolling on.
Metaphor Categories
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animal, family, friends, football, kids, lion, love, loneliness, moon, nature, yourself
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Definition | What is Metaphor in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
symbol, image, analogy, similitude, emblem, personification, allegory, hope, metonymy, trope,