Metaphor
A pretty girl
is like a simile
and vice-a-versa
so I'd say
for like the sunlight it
delights our so prosaic day
and life is better for
a metaphor
when apposite
to what you write
the first I used
that made some sense
came out of childish
innocence
before I read
the word in prose
I thought that what
just goes and goes
was 'dire rear' -
not too bad
as an idea
for a nappy-happy lad?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Girl Happy
(words & music by pomus - meade)
Girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Every girl I see looks good to me
What crazy way I were to be
I love a life of nothing but beautiful women
Well Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Every time I see a pretty face
My heart just heads for outer space
I need a girl to make my life worth of living
Yes, Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Ive been like this since I was just a baby boy
First nurse that rocked my cradle made me jump to joy
Mama keep your daughter out of sight
Im in a lovin mood tonight
I love a life of nothing but beautiful women
Well Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Ive been like this since I was just a baby boy
First nurse that rocked my cradle made me jump to joy
Girl happy, well Im girl happy,
Yes Im girl happy, cant you see
Girl happy, said Im girl happy,
Yes Im girl happy, cant you see
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegantly Drowning
She stands so eleganty,
she stands so pretty,
pretty girl is suffering,
pretty girl is drowning,
Elegantly she floats through the last of her days.
Pretty girl drinks it all down,
Pretty girl passes out,
pretty girl doesn't cry out,
she screams in silence,
she stands alone in a crowded room,
no room for any more pain.
She lays there so quietly, she lays there so innocently,
Innocence lost, losing her own battle, a fight she can't seem to win,
Pretty girl so skinny,
Pretty girl so sickly,
Pretty girl is drowning.
Her memories haunt so elegantly,
She used to stand so pretty,
Pretty girl sufferers no more,
She rinces it all down,
Pretty girl poured her life out.
poem by Amanda Swindahl
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Wedding Cake Dance
A happy girl
And a happy man
She so happy to be with him
A pretty girl
With a pretty smile
A pretty man
With pretty eyes
He danced with her
Twirled her
They both laughed
Their minds raced with how pretty they were
Atop the wedding cake
They sat and spoke
Sipped on spirits in crystal
Perfectly square
The ice danced
Crisp noise against glass
With the music
Their pretty mouths moved
Then they smiled
He fed her something sweet
He wanted to know the taste of the prettiness that he saw
She wanted him to taste the sweetness
Until She felt it
In her hips
He licked the innocence
In one single kiss
Right off of her lips
She to blush
Next to smile
Then it was over after that
poem by Ana Burnhep
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Closest Is Always The Most Fun
I like to do this irrational thing
Some spirit of irony beckons me forward
Into this folly and fun, so onward I charge, onward I fling
My heart's words into this inked paper, praying they are ignored
Because the subject I write of is right there
Yep she's right there
Right here
This is when and why I choose to write
Because she is right there
So I write, I like to write as she watches
In complete ignorance; or that's the idea
Maybe she does know, but probably not
No one can read my handwriting, no one can read my thought
She won't see through the metaphor
How could she know it's her, she'd never it is her who it's all for
I play this fun game of risk and love
Throw my inhibition and write when she's on my right
Haha, I can write whatever I want and no one
Will eve know, surely I have won
Surely they will not see it's about them
I even tell them I am writing
I even allude to what I am writing
So roll the dice, pick a card, buy a stock
Let's take the risk
I'll do it and you'll never know
Irony calls to me to make it more and more
Obvious, you don't even notice me
I dare you to notice this
I dare you.
poem by David Knox
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Innocence Taken
Innocence taken
by those who thought
that it was ok to lie
by those who thought
nothing matters
Innocence taken
no longer available
Innocence unable
to ever speak again
Innocence silenced
to soon
Innocence taken
there's no truth over the lie
Innocence taken
by those who thought
I'll be the same again
by those who thought
its ok to kill
by those who thought
it's ok to take
Innocence replaced
by fear and mistrust
Innocence disappeared
before it came
Innocence taken
by those who
laughed at every cry
by those who had none
Innocence reflecting
a little girls eyes
innocence taken away
without my permission
poem by Kiara Davar
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXIII: Gender
In the past, man can disguise as a woman and vice versa
Because there are clear descriptions between them
And strict rules which separate their behaviors
Now, man can disguise as a woman and vice versa
Because the differentiations almost none
And the use of technology blurs the line between them
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mick takes it seriously!
'Hell, i read in bed, on the train, or walking
down the hall, don't you? ' Mick said.
We were sitting in his kitchen.
Celia was on the barcalounger
in the den watching a soap on TV -
Days of Our Lives sounded like.
'Books of Tennyson and Keats not my cup
of tea exactly, nor do I fancy them circling
overhead either - bleeding dangerous, that!
Sure, I puzzle over rhyme and meter, simile
and metaphor - shit! I went to college, too!
Can't hardly get that stuff out of my head!
I've bayed at the moon when I drink enough -
the curse of the Irish, right? But no dancing,
please! not in this neighborhood!
Celia is my idea of beauty, though a bit long
in the tooth, like the old Lab sitting with her -
they both shine with the patina of age,
know what I mean? They're the poetry
of my life, and I write about them both
in many guises! Say, is this Valentine's Day,
or am I sappier than usual! '
I agree with Mick all the way.
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Woman And Poetry
writing poems together
with that woman is so much fun
i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)
i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles
as she opens her mouth to syllabicate
i gulp some saliva to my mouth
this woman is terrible
she makes me giggle
i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor
there is no time to discuss
i like her to undress this time
i'll take the magic of her word
this time i will open my mouth
this time i will read all of her
i will not discuss i will not understand
i will just feel these metaphors
this mouth this tongue this body
this most important poetry
this love this lust this moment
after we have written
our poems together.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A girl of my life
The girl of my life
Turned me on
Made me stun
Told me hon.
The girl of my life
Said me be man
Come with me you will get fun
Never leave you hon.
Never make you alone
The girl of my life
Changed my feelings
Care my feelings
Loved my feelings
And described how valuable the feelings
The girl of my life
Who came with a spring in my life
Who made me feel that every season is spring if she is in my life
Who just show me how much innocence is in my life
What should i do in my life
The girl of my life
Who was a blessing for me
Who was not a girl a goddess for me
Whose voice was so adorable than every singers
Whose only word makes me feel the heaven
Whose one cute smile make the best for her
Whose one word hurt me so much that i deleted some of mine internet accounts
The girl of my life
Whom i love so much
Whom i wanna marry
Whom i wanna make mine forever
And ever and ever and ever
who is the one except who i cannot think anything
Who is my destiny
THE GIRL OF MY LIFE
MY RYTHIM OF LIFE
MY LOVE OF LIFE
MY HEART OF LIFE
MY POEM OF LIFE
MY SONG OF LIFE
MY DESTINY OF LIFE
MY AIM OF LIFE
MY DREAM OF LIFE
MY ANGEL OF LIFE
MY ANGEL DREAMY OF LIFE
THE SWEETEST THING OF MY LIFE
THE ONE AND ONLY POSIBILITY OF MY LIFE
THE GIRL OF MY LIFE
THE REAL LIVE OF MY LIFE
THE FUTURE OF MY LIFE
THE UNSAID WORDS OF MY LIFE
THE NE AND ONLY BODY LANGUAGE OF MY LIFE
THE DEPATURE AND BREAK WAS THE SADDEST PART OF MY LIFE
THE GIRL OF MY LIFE
A GIRL OF MY LIFE
poem by Rajnish Jena
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All Different Girls
Pretty girl, who is to blame
Frightened girl, they don't know her name
Saddened girl, who cries at night
Distant girl, who's out of sight
Psycho girl, with scars on her wrists
Fairytale girl, who don't exist
Silent girl, without a name
Ignored girl, who's filled with shame
Faking girl, with plastic smiles
Freakish girl, from a thousand miles
Emotionless girl, cant feel much pain
Darkened girl, who brings the rain
Crying girl, tears start to flood
Psychotic girl, who drains her blood
Hated girl, who no one loves
Such a weak girl, who's no longer though
Angry girl, there is no cure
Happy girl, she is no more
Hidden girl, she covers her scars
Prisoned girl, lived behind her life's bars
Crazy girl, who bleeds so much
Lonely girl, who's out of touch
Stupid girl, who no one likes
Beaten girl, who always fights
Pretty girl, don't give up now
Suicide girl, there's someway, somehow
Scared girl, don't be afraid
Distant girl, don't go away
Morbid girl, don't die tonight
Worried girl, it'll be alright
Stoner girl, tonight she'll smoke her sorrow
Alcoholic girl, she'll drink tomorrow
Furious girl, who has no more faith
Depressed girl, who cries and aches
Fallen girl, with broken wings
Disturbed girl, fell off the swing
Pretty girl, you are my friend
Aching girl, just try to mend
Ugly girl, not like before
Beautiful girl, she is no more
Pretty girl, who made her life end
Pretty girl...no...Not again..
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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I Started Rumors On Myself
It dawned on me...
Several years ago,
That there were folks
In actual discussions
About 'who' I 'was'...
And 'what' I did!
And vice versa!
As 'if' the court had appointed them authorities.
But then again...
You would have to be exposed,
To the environment I currently live in.
One would think,
These folks live just to get up to gossip!
Or look out of the window!
Well anyway,
As I was sayin'...
It dawned on me...
Several years ago,
That there were folks
In actual discussions
About 'who' I 'was'...
And 'what' I did!
And vice versa!
Believing any of that was their business!
Well...
I fixed that!
Yes I did.
I started rumors on myself!
Yes I did...
However,
They weren't the best!
One I heard...
Was so boring,
The person that passed it...
Made attempts to juice it up!
And it 'still' was tired!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In the steps of Rumi 88: Metaphor
Simile – what looks like something else –
that’s a fun game for the senses,
for the mind: oh look Dad,
there’s a scarecrow in that field
that looks just like a man, does it
really scare crows?
Oh look Dad, there’s a beggar in the street
who looks just like a scarecrow,
I wonder if the same crows
see him too?
But metaphor – ah, that’s something else:
explanations don’t quite explain it:
you see something; it brings to mind
something very different; maybe
you just forget it, pass on; maybe
you’re a poet, and you think,
that other thing casts a subtle light
on this first thing, I’ll see if others
find the same.. and, sometimes they do,
sometimes they don’t…
Metaphor brings the whole universe,
world upon world, to the mind:
you could write a poem full of metaphor
as long as the circumference of the world,
and when you’d written it out, you’d find yourself
right here again just where you were.. but
what a lot you’d seen on the way…
We’re so used to some metaphors
because by now, they’re shared,
written into language (lucky the people
who inherit languages such as these,
they’re born into poetry…) :
take ‘bread’: you walk past the baker’s shop
in the early morning when the air is clear –
or better, go in to buy your breakfast rolls:
the smell couldn’t be more wonderful,
more promising.. the bread’s so delicious,
and best eaten today..
ah yes, ‘daily bread’ – that becomes a metaphor
for all that each and every day brings –
waking up, new thoughts, new experiences,
all that brings life to life…
that covers so many subtle things…
where does it all come from?
that’s for you to say…
Sometimes it seems that the whole world
is a metaphor for something…
for what? For its own unity,
for its very creation,
for that which we call God,
for our very self?
that’s for you to say…
Metaphor. When you meet it,
does it make you think of
English class, another boring
poem, another boring question
to answer as you chew your pen –
‘What does the poet mean when
he speaks of, lies like oyster shells
to be penknifed for their pearls? ’…
or - does it fill your heart with joy
as if someone had given you
a golden key to a secret garden
which is all you ever hoped for;
more than you could ever imagine…
and yet you recognise
it’s all really just yourself? …
In the corner of your room
there's a little girl curled up
in a large armchair, reading a book.
Don't disturb her.
The book she reads with all her self today,
may never read again, doesn't need to -
is a metaphor for
all she needs to know today
about the world, about herself;
she finishes the book,
closes it thoughtfully,
looks up at you;
she knows herself
a little more today.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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All Different Girls
All Different Girls
By: Sabrina Smith
Pretty girl, who is to blame
Frightened girl, they don’t know her name
Saddened girl, who cries at night
Distant girl, who’s out of sight
Psycho girl, with scars on her wrists
Fairytale girl, who don’t exist
Silent girl, without a name
Ignored girl, who’s filled with shame
Faking girl, with plastic smiles
Freakish girl, from a thousand miles
Emotionless girl, cant feel much pain
Darkened girl, who brings the rain
Crying girl, tears start to flood
Psychotic girl, who drains her blood
Hated girl, who no one loves
Such a weak girl, who’s no longer though
Angry girl, there is no cure
Happy girl, she is no more
Hidden girl, she covers her scars
Prisoned girl, lived behind her life’s bars
Crazy girl, who bleeds so much
Lonely girl, who’s out of touch
Stupid girl, who no one likes
Beaten girl, who always fights
Pretty girl, don’t give up now
Suicide girl, there’s someway, somehow
Scared girl, don’t be afraid
Distant girl, don’t go away
Morbid girl, don’t die tonight
Worried girl, it'll be alright
Stoner girl, tonight she'll smoke her sorrow
Alcoholic girl, she'll drink tomorrow
Furious girl, who has no more faith
Depressed girl, who cries and aches
Fallen girl, with broken wings
Disturbed girl, fell off the swing
Pretty girl, you are my friend
Aching girl, just try to mend
Ugly girl, not like before
Beautiful girl, she is no more
Pretty girl, who made her life end
Pretty girl...no...Not again...
poem by Sabrina Smith
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Not averse to poetry..
Do you see life
through prose-coloured spectacles?
or has the squid of poetry
inked you into its tentacles?
There’s much more rubbish writ in prose –
though soppy verse
can be much worse;
or tepid epics
with vapid topics;
or stanzas dull
and fanciful;
or limericks
with silly tricks; or
couplets mock-heroic,
like empty crocks echoic;
lines that would be better for
their not being stuffed with metaphor;
unkempt attempts at simile
that register but dimmily;
and ‘moanalogues’ from broken hearts;
sad mishap crap; linguistic farts;
slam-dunk bawls, that mean **** all;
rhymes that over backwards bend
to cap a couplet at their end;
elegies, whose energies
not rapt, but sapped; and seldom apt;
dust-dry stuff that vaunts ‘tradition’;
limp Latinate, like micturition;
or classic odes
with massive loads
of sheer incomprehension..
My final word, in fine old words:
say what you mean… why be absurd?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Stole your life
He destroyed your confidence, girl,
He’s the cause of your pain, girl
You got to be stronger than that, girl
Innocent girl you once were.
He stole your innocence, girl,
He took your love, girl
He buried it with others, girl,
Loving girl you once were.
He tore apart your faith, girl.
He turned everyone against you, girl.
He made your parents not trust you, girl.
Worthy girl you once were.
He took your life, girl.
Gave it a new name, girl,
He drew your blood, girl,
Living girl you once were.
poem by Maura Hunt
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The Everlasting Throes of Those
The Everlasting Throes
Of Those
Who Argue about Poetry versus Prose
And about the Propriety or Crime
Of Meter and Rhyme
In Poetry:
as I see it, it’s back to the ancient Greek idea
of three near-absolutes – Truth, Beauty and Goodness
and although they’re all absolute in their aim,
and therefore theoretically equal,
most of us, I suspect, have our personal order for this list
those who put Truth first at all costs are more likely
to write prose; but if they love beauty in words
and have the urge to write something beautiful in words
they may try poetry; but to them,
rhyme is untruthful, dishonest, because
looking for a rhyme
becomes a crime:
and leads your mind away from the strict Truth.
while those who put Beauty first don’t have
a fixed attitude – they may, as children do,
love the formal music of hearing about
A certain Mrs Dhutti
Who was very slightly nutty
She wouldn’t wear a saree
As her arms and legs were hairy
And thought it was much better
To wear trousers and a sweater
etc.
or they may feel that their response to the world
is so full of love, of awe, of wonder
(of which Aristotle said the second and third
are shared by philosophers, that is, lovers - note the word - of wisdom,
and poets – though a poet
may not know it…)
where was I oh yes, their response to the world
is most truly - note the word - expressed
in free verse
which may be better poetry
or worse
and what about Goodness – oh let’s not
get into that: the poetry Forums are full of the emptiness
(though it’s a necessary evil, looked at in a way)
of poets and readers and critics saying
what’s good poetry and what’s bad
according to them and feeling
they’ve made a contribution to
Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, in that order
by pronouncing this.
some few, some worthy few, and I’ll mention no names
for reasons not unconnected as Milton might put it
with the previous stanza,
whose brilliance of that servant mind which we all share,
manages to juggle Beauty, Goodness and Truth,
in that order in this instance, and not only juggle but
remain faithful to them all; we could call them
The Absolutely Great – they speak straight from heart to heart
and they don’t worry about prosaic considerations like the above
because they’ve got it all, all this, within their art; within
their constant heart.
(Readers, please note,
that last line’s a quote.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Do it with grace
It is the Butterfly that visits flowers
And not vice versa.
Is it why you made me frequent to you
Yourself remaining passive?
I am happy that you had admitted me.
I am on your petal.
No flower rejects the landed Butterfly
From sucking her nectar.
30.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I write from a world
I write from a world
~
I write from a world
Of thought and feeling
A world of observation
There to be picked at
There to be used as need be
Whenever or however
It suits me to do so
I write to stave off madness
To save my tongue
From speaking ill words
I write in metaphor
To disguise such things
I am not freely open to discuss
Things better left unsaid
But which stew in the mind
And need to be let out
Other things I write in celebration
To share my joy with all
And all in this world
Shall read or hear that written
From a world of thought
Of feeling and observation
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Word Is Out
Written: stock waterman
Intro:
Ooh yeah
Now word is out
The word is out
Innocence
Word is out
Over town
Now the word is out
Word is out
Now the word is out
The word is out
1:
Youre clinging to a lie
Still you hope to try
And save your face, ooh
Its a no-win situation
There aint gonna be a saving grace
Because youre sticking to a story
It really makes no sense
No judge or jury could ignore the evidence
Chorus:
Because the word is out
I cant go on believing in your innocence
Now the word is out (the word is out)
The word is out
You cant go on pretending
Its all over town
Now the word is out (the word is out)
2:
Aint but one redeeming feature
So you may as well accept your fate
(accept your fate), ooh
You cant wriggle out of this, its gone too far
Its much too late (its much too late)
But its funny my suspicions lead me to the lie
From the friend of a so-called friend
I heard about your double life
Chorus:
Ooh yeah
Because the word is out
Cant go on pretending
Innocence
The word is out
The word is out
Yeah
Over town
Now the word is out (the word is out)
Its all over town
Chorus:
(repeat & fade)
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Serious
this is fun
and fun cannot be serious
if it were otherwise
there is no fun
anymore
this is fun
anything goes
prose, poetry, essay,
a novel,
anything is fun
even thoughts can just be fun
play with a word
like it were a doll or a gun
nothing serious really
just passing the time after
a nice dinner
when the stomach gets big
and wanting rest
because of
too much eating and dining
and drinking wine
this is fun
writing, making others read
something
nonsensical, and letting them follow
something prejudicial
a letter, a metaphor like what?
a sea that does not exist?
a flower that grows where?
on this cementer pavement?
on these four walls?
on the computer screen?
a bee? how can a bee exist
in thought alone?
unless i get stung and i run
and laugh
about this misery of
boredom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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