Art Simile Poems

A violin is like a lover--
A beautiful work of Art--
Precious, delicate, fragile.
It has to be handled with care,
Caressed, fondled, touched,
Hugged--but not too tight,
Or break it...

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In your silence I see colours,
speech crumbling like flaking paint, dried; truth dripping from lips, black spittle on a brush.
In the silence I inhale the...

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Whats about these flaws that everyone is scared of 
Scared enough to hide behind a mask
But never show them to the world 
Somewhere we are...

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**  Mother Nature Draws the Dawn  **


Already, 
Dawn sets off 
This longitude’s waking,
Displaying nearby trees
Into their scribbled silhouettes
In shades
Of gray with blasts of...

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Getting to say it 
In this real life
Even if we said it

To each other
Without saying it
 To each other

While saying it
To each other.

Aby M....

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Beauty is like a blooming rose,
A breathtaking sight from head to toes.
With petals soft and delicate,
A fragrance so enchanting and great.

It shines like the sun...

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		I.

A maid and muse, she is my Rose:
     the one for whom I pen this song
that trills a note which sweetly...

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Light crashes sounds like brittle glass 
Slashes shards across my worn aching eyes 
The colors reak of deep rot like blues 
Creeping green burning acidic...

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In Time with Autumn
—————————————-
Autumn rushed ahead  
without me,
Leaving me to chase 
After its perfect 
   violet skylight.
My running feet crack
The silence of...

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I.

O Muse divine! how rare thou art;
     how sought after you'd always be:
how I searched long with patient heart,
O Muse divine,—how...

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Oo those saccharine melodies,

Those yummy and dulcet candies,

Like this midsummer in June,

Sing one song in one tune.

 

Though music has evolved,

Still it feeds our hungry...

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Like a language I’ll never know,
I admire the art, longing to be among its people.
Seemingly it shall remain but as only mine dream.
Like a language...

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formed from the hot magma of the earth 
Tectonic plates that collided long ago
Although like the himalayas my heart still grows 

Where the creeks still...

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it isn't what it is
it is what it isn't

a window               ...

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Where art thou, Muse? I seek inspiration!
I have endured your absence for too long:
restore to me the gift of creation
once more, that I may sing...

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