A Metaphor Poem

 A Metaphor Poem

I don’t do metaphor very well any more.

Too many years of haiku and ‘small stones’

focused on the present and immediate.

I could tell you this poem is a dark orchid,

arising pure and bright from the wilderness 

that is me. I could tell you it’s a fire brick

able to contain my inner heat – how macabre!

Could you decipher from that the wonder 

you seek in a poem, the honeydew sweetness?

Can the quaver in its voice be an innuendo

too intimate to subdue? Is the poem tragic,

a wounded heart? Or an old song unforgotten?

No, let’s be down-to-earth, while I try to make 

this poem a tough weed you can’t eradicate …

or the music of a sea shell: lingering, nostalgic.

But I don’t do metaphor much any more.

This poem is a clown with a silly face, which you

won’t think is funny; you might even recoil.

Poetic Asides prompt 8 for April Poem A Day: write a metaphor poem.

These words came from the skyloverpoetry list: dark orchid, wilderness, fire brick, macabre, decipher, wonder, honeydew, quaver, innuendo, intimate, subdue, tragic, sea shell, nostalgic.

Sharing with Writers' Pantry #76 at Poets and Storytellers United.

The Poet’s Best Friend

The Poet’s Best Friend
To Metaphor


My dear, my confidante, you fill me with laughter
each time I greet you again – the laughter of joy,
because I know you will embellish my tales
with your own wit, your quick understanding;
you will give them extra point and purpose.

You will take my stories, as I whisper them to you
between giggles, oohs and ahs, and linger over them
to give added flesh to some — which you’ll then
costume in red, black, amber, whatever colour
best suits the tone and shape of my dreamings.

We’ll disappear under the blankets with our snacks
and drinks; between whispers we’ll die laughing
at the things we divulge to each other – or else sob
at a memory we continue to share with regret,
but may yet decide to save from annihilation.

Girlfriend, I know you will always have my back,
until time ceases. I know you will help to preserve
all the meanings, the mysteries, the fictions, the facts
I pour into your ears. You adorn them, not to disguise
or perplex, but to seek they be written in all the best books!


For April 2020 Day 13 at 'imaginary garden with real toads', we were asked to write a poem celebrating metaphor, and using 13 non-consecutive words from a particular prose passage. My words are: disappear, die, laughter, flesh, memory, ceases, annihilation, books, continue, tone, written, perplex, amber. This poem is addressed to Metaphor, who is identified as the (any) poet's best friend.

I have now added a dedication to try and make it clearer who/what I am addressing, as my first few readers clearly didn't get it, even though I said so here.