Metaphor Personification Poems | Examples
These Metaphor Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Personification Metaphor poems written by international poets.
step …
across the sill
this haunted house
walls of torn paper, dripping
crumbling plaster ceilings
hanging like rotten vines on a gaunt
and bony frame
dark, broken windows, the
empty eyes that stare -
once aglow with
the bright from within
life and light … and love
made a home
until …
just an ember -
one flame of your kiss -
and it was gutted
burned raw and ruined
with no thought to what filled these rooms
or graced the facades
or warmed the meager marrow …
now all phantoms
howling in the barren halls
sodden and saddened
for sake of the abandoned -
the threadbare -
dilapidated … desolate
welcome to the
vacancy …
your fool.
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Richard Barden
( artwork is a number two pencil sketch of the cottage from “Summer of ‘42” by the poet )
Violently thrashing and jerking and pulling
It implores me to act
Desperate to stay alive in it's final hour
Reminding me of our pact
It pleads, it begs, It cries to me
All the while concealing it's fangs
It tears me apart inside
It hammers, it pounds, and it bangs
A love earst alive and warm and real
Now cold and cooling yet
Longing to be revived, it's fighting
Refusing to lose the bet
Once nurtured now neglected, alone and afraid
I must let it die
And to ensure it won't return a spectre tomorrow
I'll stare it in the eye
When life gives you lemons
You make lemonade
I am a banana
A beaten and bruised banana
Too ugly to sit on the marble countertop in the kitchen
Wouldn’t want the house to look poor and unkept, right?
The good news is that there are layers to the banana
The bad news is that when you peel the unappealing-looking exterior, a mushy interior meets your eye
Too soft to enjoy without leaving a bad taste in your mouth
When life gives you a banana like this
You make banana bread
I am a banana
I can’t make banana bread because I am a mere ingredient in the delicious pastry
I am the unwanted ingredient that can magically turn useful by the powers of others
I need flour to hold me together and keep me from going all over the place
I need sugar to make my softness appear sweet to others
I need baking soda to help me rise and grow out of my imperfections
And I need someone willing to put in the effort to make me into tasty banana bread
Damn, I want some banana bread right now
Who’s cookin’?
• Look at the sun
• Can you see its face?
• It is staring at you
• All the way from outer space
A broom is a flight of fancy
at the witching hour
A machine gun uncased
in peril, it’s power
Waltzing Matilda
on the ballroom floor
Sweeps me away
~ with so much more
• Up goes the Sun
• Down goes the Moon
• Their relationship is one of longing
• But they'll see each other soon
The tree sheds tears when
It's leaves are shed in the glen
It feels a piece of it is ripped apart
When the fruits rot and fall from it like a dart
It feels pained when the beautiful flowers wilt
But it feels pushed to the hilt
When mankind , to who it has given its heart and soul
Cuts its bark down whole
Such; is the tree's tenderness
Which we need in our own feelings to address
The finer qualities of life
Which will carry us through every strife
In the pure bright wake, I went fishing’ for calm and all I caught was tumblin’ time.
The hours were soppin’wet with pond scum and the seconds kept getting’ away as soon as I thought I had them hooked.
The minutes peered up at me from the crepuscular waters and told a lie. “Be patient, those seconds can’t escape forever! You can get them, we just know it!”
They spoke with bubbles in their mouths, then those minutes were gone.
I struggled with my fishin’ pole, the line hopelessly tangled with some phantasmic bugbear, my nightmares come alive! Probably a log, though.
The hours in my bucket (catch of the day!) pulled me from my musing with weepin’ and howlin’, it was all so unlovely. What were they cryin’ about?
“Our beloved minutes! Precious seconds! We are in ruin without them, can’t exist without them,” the poor things whimpered.
I kicked the bucket over and the dark water inside spilled the trapped hours onto the dock and over the edge. Sploosh! Plop!
The hours proclaimed a love that is by far the only great love there is. Flawless. Desperate. Irrevocable. This paramour is unheard of! I heard the whispers on the bubbles.
You sit upon me all the time
as you compose your latest rhyme.
Yet, you never deign to admit,
it's - what's the word? No, that's not it.
It's time you give me some credit.
Yet, I never make the final edit.
Consider me a hero, unsung,
on which the taint of disregard is flung.
It comes from high, it comes from low.
Don't compare me to driven snow.
It is a thankless job for sure,
so, I wouldn't use that metaphor.
Your poetry makes your guest vomit?
Sure - use me, but don't use Comet.
I ask you with an ironic smile,
Won't you clean me once in a while?
It's time this missive comes to an end,
your disrespected ceramic friend.
A stretched gloaming tethers creation in a
daystar's wake ... askew parts The Old Guitarist
ebbing lambent stars strung to a yarn of spring ...
'Tis the volley of calendrical crasis
poised to a youthful Einstein that subtracts from
the sum and substance whence summer makes a splash ...
The advent of an enchanting star dulls a
chant that the Khanate only stains upon its
Golden Horde smolders beneath befriending clouds ...
A whiff that slights Aurelius' bearings yet
still trifles a chalk absence to the presence
of cheese that embellishes the languid tracing ...
The shallow space of bards decreed a crowning
flock of teary favoring san tissues of
lissome verdancy choral ode vibrant charms ...
Worshipped effervescent microscopic dew
bringing into being just one bell prayers
bearing fruits of promise in globule water ...
Petrichor emanates to a hoverance
wisp claim as wandering brevity stands still
amidst a sonder of souls ventured threshold ...
Gold beams glimpsed a bevy coup of a vast crest
as the dripping stalled in evaporating
stares chase a clinked rainbow flaunts with ... creation.
In the chilly hours of the graying gloaming,
silent shivers rise from the estuary.
Just before the waves churn in frothy foaming,
Goddess Moon approaches Her adversary.
Sun slinks away at Her approaching homing,
slowly shedding His cloak as Luminary.
She reigns all through the darkened and leaden night
until stubborn Sun returns, anew and bright.
Refreshing Rain sits beside Withering Rose
inquiring if He might settle around Her.
She gladly accepts the offer He bestows,
a more precious blessing She could not prefer.
She felt the nourishment from petals to toes,
grateful to Him for His gift of life transfer.
Sometimes we need a little help from our friends
for gracious compassion and kindness it lends.
Sheila asked him
“Do you have the time?”
Ben answered “It’s five after two.” She responded “That is a perfectly good answer, but that is not the answer to my question.”
He responded “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, you don’t want to know the time?” “That’s right.” Sheila said. “I asked, " Do you have the time?”
Ben looked perplexed “The time for what?” Sheila’s eyebrow raised just a bit, “Well that’s up to you isn’t it?”
Big Ben paused for just a second. “Wasn’t his whole existence about time?” Over a Hundred and sixty years he had been marking time. In fact the people of London have always looked up to him. Who was she to question him about time? Because of her he lost a second. How would he get it back? He thought a bit more, “That was the first second he had ever had to himself!” I guess Sheila will get her answer afterall, he does indeed have the time. In the end a Clock can’t make time but perhaps one named Ben can keep some for himself.
I am a metaphor for tears,
born from murky clouds,
pouring gracefully or rampantly,
in a choreography of liquid grace,
dancing to the sound of pitter patter,
upon rooftops and window panes~
but I am mercy,
flourishing your crops,
nurturing roots of blossoms,
softening hydrated lands.
Yet cursed by climate change,
I am blamed for human neglect.
I soar high above the mountains touching every elusive peak
carrying white fluffy clouds on my back, unhinged and free
The parched lands look up to me to quench their thirst and pray
I blow the moisture-laden clouds, I carry from place to place, their way
I never rest a moment for that would be catastrophic beyond reason
the same is true of my excessive agility as I cause storms of destruction
My power is immense to cause havoc when angry, which is often
But, I also touch the cheek of a child gently, and caress unseen
I go everywhere, I touch everything, nothing escapes me on the surface
I snuff out flames but I also fan fires, I'm the original 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde'
Many ancient religions and tribes worship me as a Diety of some stature
But I must admit I am disoriented by the Sun's heat, and Earth's rotation.