Metaphors Poems

El Mismo Abismo Destructivo Bolso

Pálida, quedará la Luna 
por tú decepción.
Pero alumbrara aún 
está y las mil
noches que vengan.
Se filtrara por la persiana 
de la alcoba.

El árbol, copozo de
mango y hojas verdes 
que alimentado  
siempre a los dos 
por la sequía 
de tu ausencia 
no sé desplomara.

Tus pertenecías
junto a postales 
con Rosas secas y
poecia q ardía de pasión,

Random Thoughts

When random thoughts are bombarding a mind,
Cohesiveness among them is hard to find.
Metaphors and symbols just like in one’s dreams,
Even what is seen, is not what it seems.

One must not resist, just let the thoughts flow.
Look for the patterns and see what they show.
They show the direction, but rarely the conclusion,
There isn’t much reason, just

Bonding with Nature

Bonding with Nature

Early Sunday morning; 
nature rattling at the front door!
I accept the invitation to bond,
stepping out with nothing more in tow
than an upturned collar
and a theatrical imagination.

The morning’s ground is well-baked pastry,
crusted with a shiver of winter;
sunlight whispering across the ground 
all sharp colour and playfulness.
So I stride out, church bells skipping alongside
with light

My Muse

Has she left me? I wonder.
‘It’ is not the same as it once was—
The passion and the playfulness,
The tumbling of words
Finding appreciative expression.
Bereft of ideas, bereft of thought,
All my efforts coming to naught.
Dreams of she holding me tight
Once sparked metaphors deep in the night.
Now, it’s ages anything was penned,
And this was never how it was

Droplets of Relativity

Life moves ever forward
Every minute that passes
It changes ever so slightly
Stepping closer
Step by step
Til the steps fade out into the night
Millions of them start and end
Like droplets of rain
Eventually they evaporate
Into clouds they form
And soon they'll fall, again and again

The Paradiddle of Being - Book Two: The Becoming

VI.

We are all metric modulations
of our former selves—changing time signatures
mid-measure, learning to count
in odd meters when life refuses
to conform to 4/4 expectations
finding beauty in 7/8 existence—
the off-kilter cadence
of becoming.

The teenager tattoos pain across her skin
in sixteenth-note flurries—
razor crescendos marking flesh
rimshots echoing in a locked room
her body a snare absorbing
what no one will hear.

But the counselor

The Paradiddle of Being - Book One: The Struck World

I.

In the beginning was the Single Stroke Roll—
left-right, left-right, the primordial heartbeat
of existence itself, each alternation a binary choice
between being and non-being, the eternal paradiddle
of consciousness striking against the drumhead of reality.

Listen: the Buzz Roll of morning traffic—
ten thousand souls creating multiple bounces
against the stretched skin of commuter silence.
Each ghost note a rhythmic prayer unheard
each

A Lantern Made of Suicide Notes: Suicide by Metaphors

I. The Hour of Approach

The poem I was writing refused to end—  
it kept writing me.  
Blood didn't ink these lines—  
the ink bled me.  
Each stanza a hidden-hematoma  
across the white of nothingness.

Somewhere, midnight faltered,  
and I was no longer alone.

II. Visitation: Sylvia Plath

Sivvy came barefoot, 
bees orbiting

Mannequin of Metaphors

When the
   malevolent moon
drapes
   black current vines
around my neck, 
etching
    the blood of betrayals
in my white-whirling wings ~ 
I cease to scream
  in sanguine sighs 
within
     sangria songs 
              

The Lunar Vein and Sunken Emeralds

The cragged moon, a curdled, midnight bloom,
Where veins of frost, dissect a shadowed room.
A galaxy of mold, on lunar stone,
A whispered legend, soft and darkly known.
It weeps a brine, a sharp, celestial tear,
A pungent phantom, banishing all fear.
Then, amber relics, in a glassy tomb,
Where time's slow fingers, weave a spiced perfume.
Each wrinkled emerald, a sunken,

A Drawn Reflection

Is this what was meant for me…
The drawn reflection of a man?
Each step taken with the lightest touch,
So many they tread a new course.

At every bend, a choice was made,
Drawing circles and channels upon the land.
Choices made, lines in sand,
The track lies ahead, not behind.

I thought I’d rise, reflection true,
With head held high, over the

Bad at love

Repeating old mistakes
Falling harder each and every time

Love is a poison
And I intend 
To drink this remedy 
Everyday 
Waiting for my
destiny

Love shall find even the undeserving
Yet the deserving only find love at the end
People who don’t look 
Find gold 
People searching for ages 
Find fools gold

So if love is poison
Let it drown me 
And then

Metaphors In Life

Life is like a cup of coffee
Sometimes bitter
Add a little sugar
Taste differently. 

Life is like a hamburger
Both ends has cover
In between has fillings
For you to decide to eat.

mismatched metaphors

misplaced in moonlight
my muse lay mute and inkless~
venting in darkness
like mourning mists crawling through
sleepless stars before sunrise

but between silence
and twisted tunes of twilight
I found silver runes
carved with mismatched metaphors~
healing hymns amidst blurred lines… 

Nuclear Warfare

Nuclear warfare?... 

Nuclear warfare,
the storm's on the brink,
How will it happen?
Where will you sink?
When the tidal wave of war crashes from the sea,
What’s the first thought?
Kids and my partner, gotta be. 

Holdin' hands as we vanish in the mist,
End the war,
nuclear warheads,
clenched fists.
UK next,
for aiding Ukraine’s fight,
Keir Starmer’s lies,
truth in the night. 

Are we blind,
do

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