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Sam Knaus  Aug 2016
Sam Knaus Aug 2016
All I know how to write are metaphors.
Metaphors about starry night skies
and infinities and galaxies
and delving deep into myself
to find something nobody's ever known,
**** that.
My metaphors are stupid
and confusing.
Just like me.
My metaphors never make any sense-
just like me.
My metaphors are the bane of my ******* existence
because they're the only way
I know how to express myself
and I can't help but wonder
if that's because I never want anybody
to know how I'm actually feeling,
full of crypticity
my metaphors tell your realities
to go straight to hell,
man, you mean you want people
to understand you?
What's that all about?
Don't you enjoy only being able
to write your poems about
being shrouded in smoke that hides your guilt
and about bathing in moonlight
and being infinite
and inhaling the stardust of my peers,
what the **** does that even mean?
I grew up learning to go after
what I want
and as far as I'm concerned, it's a problem
that I can't come out and say,
"I want tranquility."
Instead I shroud it in some **** about
inhaling twilight and finding peace in my inner galaxies
What a loser.
What a loser to believe that metaphors
are anything but a way of disguising
the truth.
What a loser to think that I am only a metaphor,
even if it's the truth.
What a loser to believe that I am something
so simple but so complex
and hard to understand
especially when I say it
because I never know how to say anything properly
it's all surrounded in mysteries and confusion,
My metaphors say,
"who the hell wants to understand me?"
The curse of poet, I suppose
a curse I'd do well to break free from.
I only know how to express myself in metaphors
the only problem is that nobody knows
what my they mean,
nobody knows what I really am
because I shroud myself in stupid,
enigmatic, asinine metaphors
that when you asked me to say what they mean
sometimes I'd be able to,
but most of the time...
even I don't know what the **** they mean,
but I say them in the hopes that someone will
be able to decipher them- and me-
cause maybe then they would know who I am
without me having to tell them,
maybe then I wouldn't have
to figure it out myself.
moss Feb 2016
I explain my metaphors with metaphors
I don't know how else to express
My thoughts that sit in clutter drawers
And leave my mind a mess

If you don't understand my comparison
I'll just say it in a different way
My thoughts still shielded by a garrison
Suppressing things I need to say
Oliver Philip Nov 2018
Poem Ref 027

We had better to talk in metaphors
We had better to talk in metaphors
Every time we open our mouths to speak

Have you thought , how it’s misinterpreted ?
As the listener you pass it to your brain n then
Depending upon your intellect or vocabulary

Between bull sh** or beautiful prose
Everybody gets to talk in metaphors
Tongue twisting Twitter patient trash
Time and time again it’s so misunderstood
Each dull mind resorts to that freeking F word
Rather than the composition of a good reply

Then we’d best to talk in metaphors.
Only then does it season verbal prose.

Talking in metaphors displays an active mind.
Active mind negates the essential need entire
Like a good metaphor can be twisted in a fight
Knocking arguments,do you know what I mean

If you talk in metaphors you have a chance
Not only winning an argument but saving face

Metaphors have been around for many years
Eventually loosing their initial meaning.
To shoot that messenger or be in the hot seat
An eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth satisfy
Procrastinating has become a thief of our time
Holidays all around the world Perfect Paradise
Only we had better talk in metaphors for life
Really it guilds the lily of the English language
So step up to the plates  ,friends , give it a try
Written by Philip. 26/9/18.
We had better to talk in metaphors
Sarah Spang  May 2014
Sarah Spang May 2014
If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-

Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.

If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-

You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.

If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-

Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.
Akira Chinen May 2016
Goodbye world
Goodbye poetry
The metaphors have sold me out
And exposed my lies and lies and lies
And now I have no where left to hide
The doctor tried to lock me up
And tear off my new head
But worry not for he did not succeed
I pushed and knocked him down
He yelled,

"Come back!  Come back! You're  mad!"

But I knew
It was he who was crazy
Fallen I may be
But I know my heart
Is exactly where it belongs
That doctor would rather make me
Numb and dumb
He doesn't know all love must be
Or not be done
So I jumped the wall
And escaped his Loony-Bin

He gave chase
And yelped for help

"Stop him! Stop him!"
"A stark raving Lunatic is on the loose!"

Having taken lessons from my fallen heart
My feet did race fast and quick
Oh my metaphors, my metaphors...
How could they!?!?
Exposed my lies and lies and lies!
Now where can I hide?
Oh woe oh woe oh woe...
I've got nowhere else to go
But to take the trek
To the forbidden
Hills of madness
My crayon eyes of red
Now turning blue
As I run and cry and cry and cry
Why oh why oh why
Did my metaphors betray me?
My heart head
Feels doomed to breaking
But broke or whole
To love you
Was the only sensible thing for it to do
Even if it seemed crazy
I run and sing
Off key and out of tune
And horribly
But no choice left
All other words have disappeared
No more metaphors
No way to lie and lie and lie
Only three words left to sing
And scream
And howl
And I trust the moon
To pass my song to you
Across the sea between us
It may be small
Only three words long
But these three words are true
And this may be my last breath
So here I sing

"I Love You!  I Love You!  I Love You!"
Kiss me today and **** me tomorrow
Loving you was easy
And if this heart does break its love will not
And forever will it sing off key
Skypath Sep 2014
Metaphors for blue eyes
There's one for every shade of blue
A rainbow of silken language meant to charm
They're as common as the color itself
But recently I've come to realize

Her eyes
Dark, under curling lashes and golden hair
Like crystals flashing from the rough
Dream-catching sunbeams and sparkling
Like the summer sun on a warm pool
A medley of sapphires and diamonds
That I wouldn't trade for the world

His eyes
Fairy pools of magic wonder
The not-so-secret glimmer of bright water
An enchanted river whose glow
Is the bright warmth of an autumn day
Crystalline water that welcomed my touch
The still surface broken when he laughs
Faith and George
Red wine bubbling in the back of your throat
Rewind the kindling of a fire you won't put it out
Oceans unchanging, swallowing whole boats
You and I left in the void, to drown

I am unfeeling and fleetingly alive
I am lonely and slowly finding peace of mind
You are salt spilled across table tops
You are a child tearing apart and lost.

Dirt on your knees and scabs on your skin
We live free with the pleasures of sin
You taste him on your tongue,
Songs we left unsung.

Your old jacket, the one you gave me,
Well the zipper broke last week.
And the sleeves are torn apart,
It's grown too tight, it don't fit how it did in the start

Metaphors for a broken heart
How the ocean rages and pulls us apart
Smiles for the tattered soul
How the angels play their role.
JLB Aug 2015
In your arms
Just two days ago but the feeling’s already leaving
I was bent out of shape
I was dry heaving
on my own stupid emotions so
I wasn’t able
to burn the vision of you in my mind
so hot that it stuck
stuck into me like a point in a *****, turning the turbine
and molding the muck
of my reality, in my conscious so clear it
separates from this one from the great spasm called space and time created by…
I don't know why, but, life sometimes separates the score from the assist.
and now i can’t resist
to list
the ball from the bat
the land from the sea
the you from the……
too corny.
I hope that I don’t seem too pathetic, I’m just too empathetic,
and I need to put this to rest:
to me,
I'm afraid we might be
like that bird who had flown from
The nest, and had his body broken by the nets
seizing the life from his chest.
aHH and now how I seem to sling
with a piece of string
a metaphor
back around to tie the knot
around that bird who got caught cuz
Metaphors and me are a package deal.
they allow me to feel.
And in my sweaty palms.
I felt the life leave
after having expected that it would, yet still also hoping that it might not.
But it did.
And everything should be ok but it’s not. And I should feel relived but I don’t. And I should be excited for what’s next but
I just feel sad.
Arlene Corwin Aug 2017
Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

         (the lack thereof )

I cannot think in similes or metaphors.

I can, but it’s

An artifice.

A gift

I’ve not been left with.

Of course,

I’ve got Thesaurus –

My old pal -

To push me

In the simile





To see,

Their inner eye

Comparing parallels unconsciously –

A gift of gene and DNA –

Overwhelm me.

While I moan about my lack,

They sit with throne and luck

Expressing with an ease,

Anything they ****** well please

In metaphors and similes

I lie in bed,

This running through my head.

That’s why it’s here.

Bemoaning Smiles & Metaphors 1.13.2010/8.17.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin
It can seem silly sometimes - even containing a sense of the ridiculous
I write metaphors
and speak in analogies
because I like them more
than my realities
Because metaphors don't tell the truth
they just sum it up in a way that makes sense
sometimes they make more sense
than anything I could write in past or present tense

Metaphors aren't as personal
I don't have to give names or dates
I don't have to tell any anecdotes
or write down any footnotes
with definitions of what I mean
I just give symbols and motifs
and hope you understand the motives
I have for doing what I do
and writing what I write
and not letting you into
my personal life

I like metaphors
because they give me an excuse
to lie and get away with it.
Austin Sessoms Apr 2012
metaphors are
rubber bands
we may extend them
as much as we like
we may shoot them
at our classmates
we may impress
our professors
with the shapes
we can contort
them into
but the more
we extend them
the more we
wear them out
and its very possible
that with all of our
stretching and extending
we could render
our metaphors
Tom Leveille Sep 2014
i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there

— The End —