Moon Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Moon Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Moon. These are the best examples of Metaphor Moon poems written by international poets.
will it up
grill it up
fill it up to brimming
swill to still those silly cells
drowned in what they’re swimming
press ‘em up
mess ‘em up
dress ‘em up with practice
a hoarder in its order
and thorned as any cactus
mock it up
talk it up
chalk it up to neurons
firing with mis-wiring
the receptors that they were on
hike 'em up
strike 'em up
spike 'em up your coursings
joy's in that sweet poison
tho it's life that you're divorcing
burn it up
churn it up
turn it up to 'leven
bursting drums, but first it comes
and lies to you like heaven
smoke 'em up
toke 'em up
choke 'em up a-breathing
red, the mud, as thin as blood
to leave your angels seething
tighten up
whiten up
lighten up and torch it
melt the moon into the spoon
and soon you'll swoon to scorch it
wind it down
bind it down
grind it down to fill you
you won't miss
amidst your bliss
the sweetest kiss ... to kill you …
her sweetest kiss ... will kill.
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
Mist is deliberate veil
Just to notice
If the eyes risk
Entering to meet
To greet and embrace
The face wearing
A dotted lace
Mulling to reveal
Knotted thoughts
Those plots
Of dense stories
Ivories of memory
Glory of the sun
We used to build up
From the point of
The startup
Until the plates and cups
Would get satiated
And the golden dust
of the pulverized sun
Would turn into
The moon of contentment
I know my dear
That won't happen
Because you're hesitant
At the very entrance
Of the mystery
Ignoring the filigree beyond
Waiting to dawn
______________
12 September 2025
Lost in writing iambic couplets, the moon and sea
Sounds of whispers from between long eyelashes
Waves moving from side to side, a provocation
Quick, let's fly out, chirping the wild ducks
________________________
11 September 2025
From my Hillview home beside the Ruby Gate,
I watched the blood moon rise,
its red fire spilling across the Bay of Bengal.
The sea turned into a vast mirror of flame,
the mountains stood hushed,
their green shoulders brushed by crimson light.
Karnaphuli flowed like a molten ribbon,
carrying whispers of old songs to the shore.
Not alone on the hill,
I felt the city breathing beneath me,
yet only the moon kept me company.
Its scarlet face leaned close,
as if the heavens bent toward Chittagong.
In that hour,
I was both witness and keeper of the glow.
And with my brother Shimul by my side,
We sealed the night in memory, unforgettable and wide
Roof and the moon in a deep chatting session
Bare tree filling with the flood of jasmine
Clouds joining from Mesopotamian rivers
Two horses attempting to break loose
_________________________
September 9, 2025
CELESTIALLY GRACED LOVE
The day has its sun,
And the night, its moon;
I’m blessed to have you,
Each day and its night:-
For your love is as
The cosmic beauty,
Reflecting the shiny glow
Of God’s divine light:-
As you are the ever glowing
Sun and moon of my heart,
May I likewise be of your heart:-
And may God forever grace us
In this onederful onement of
The oneness of our love:-
COSMIC BLINKING
Moving,
Blinking the moon,
Bold shaped clouds
Drifting by:-
Likewise,
A flock of geese
Silhouette the sky;
Their flapping wings,
Waving goodbye:
My blinking eyes,
Release goodbye
Mirroring tears
Of keloid memories
Of you and me
As a shooting star
Departed the sky:-
Poets, let us always unite
in the most noble crusade...
to bring peace and beauty to life!
Scarcity is good for the economy
but very bad for the poor
who need great abundance...
To understand life well,
and to live it happily,
we need good practices and ideas...
It is very difficult for us to refuse
a good and happy life...
impossible to accept a good death...
MOON
She silvers me with pure love,
I refuse with embarrassment,
she is everyone and no one's...
Poet, a strange fellow...
he projects himself in the face of danger,
he walks on the edge of the abyss...
Poet, you are truly a stranger...
He cries a lot without feeling pain,
he smiles even when he loses a love!
I plucked the moon from the sky last night.
No one else seemed to be using it
So, I thought, “Why not?”
I mistakenly thought it would fit comfortably in my pocket
But, it bulged, protruded, and made it difficult to sit!
“Stupid moon!
What good are you?” I grumbled.
A TV news anchor rattled on about
Potential collapsed ecosystems, climate chaos, and mass extinctions.
All around me
Would-be lovers unraveled their arms and parted ways and
Dreamers no longer looked to the sky.
“The world has gone mad,” I muttered.
“But, at least I have this shiny rock, even if it IS a pain in the rear.”
However, it kept tugging, pulling, and wouldn’t stay still.
Determining it not worth the trouble,
I relinquished the object to the night
And went to dwell in a crazy world.
("Peyote Moon", 2018, original encaustic)
The Great Toad
At the gateless gate
I met the Great Toad
Sitting tall and wide
And in his gaze
All my needs were known
And met
And in that moment
I passed beyond
Without a trace
(8/17/25)
iconic sunrise
I wear no disguise,
really.
as do butterflies,
earth, I colorize
freely.
golden moon full-size
lulls school bus allies
briefly.
Line of inquiry: “the essence in us is the same
as the essence of the sun”
Dweller of Our Heart
I can’t hear its crackle or sizzle. What am I?
Swaddled in the all-encompassing wisdom
of light; it burns slow. I develop: a seed to die.
My eyes move as my head spins around the world.
There are only so many spaces my foot will land;
not on the moon; moonbeams in my burnt-orange hair.
Warm-blooded rays reach out and touch; skin to skin.
I illuminate someone else’s countenance with my smile.
My Summer eyes grab hold of theirs; a plum blush.
When Winter comes, I’m far-removed ; housebound.
Still, I will be replaced; it's not me. What are they?
The days crack like porcelain
under the heel of my wanting.
I am a spine of restless birds,
feathers slick with salt and early light—
my mouth tasting the metal
of doors I have not opened.
They ask me why.
Why walk without a destination?
Why carry a compass
if you don’t believe in north?
I tell them—
the road does not need an ending
to be worth taking.
Some skies are meant to be looked at,
not arrived under.
I keep moving
because stillness feels like rust,
and the wind has a way
of remembering my name.
The Great Perhaps is not a prize—
it’s the taste of rain
before the cloud bursts,
the echo that lingers
longer than the voice.
If you need a goal,
call this my goal:
to know how a streetlamp hums at early morning,
to count the freckles on a stranger’s knuckles,
to find out if the moon
is the same shade of bone in every city.
I have no anchor,
only her pulse like a lantern in my palm.
We are marrow and tinder,
always burning toward a horizon
that refuses to hold still—
and I love her for it.
Echoes of the holy grace, for this place,
Endless woe of devolution,
Forever entice, your grace,
The moon is your solution.
Confined in this space, of endless grace,
Under the moonlight, it is illusion,
Illusion of woe, forever retrace,
It is all persuasion, or is it union?
Shadows creep, where darkness breeds,
A symphony of sorrows, never-ending,
Lost souls wander, planting crushed seeds,
A tale, forever transcending.
He was a canvas...a beautiful sight,
An expanse of white, so pure and bright.
Not like the moon that graces the night,
Nor like the clouds that drift in flight
Unlike anything else... but like a swan
Engraved in chiffon.
My feet drew towards him,
Each step etched in the dim,
Crystal chamber of love.
My fingers traced him,
Stroking with hymn beneath the moon,
Coloring a secret wove.
I drew back to esteem,
Stumbled, feeling light-headed, lost in a dream.
Dropping to the cold tile.
Glancing through drowsy eyes,
My gaze stared at him, painted in red.
My blood, my soul
…lost in his stead.