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Seeking Metaphor

Metaphor’s the soul of poetry:
this incongruous instrument of speech
with which we say one thing,
when we mean quite another:

I wish that Shakespeare, its greatest English user,
had coined a truly English word for it –
or perhaps, those blunt and foursquare Anglo-Saxons
who came before; their words as hand-hewn as are spades –

the word comes from the Greek, and means a transference;
‘My lord, your transference is apt and shrewd…’
no, even that’s but transferred to a Latin stem,
‘carrying across’. Too late to seek some native word –
a ‘thoughtshift’ or a ‘mindmatch’ then?

We wear it down, and make it less
by thoughtless grabbing at the candy-jars
upon the shelves of sweetshops of our speech,
as if to mimic poetry that we haven't earned..

but at its height, a metaphor shines like new light;
bringing together, two images so disparate
and making of their neighbouring, a moment magical in memory
as if we’d never seen the world so brilliant
or so revealing; moments when the mind’s a god,
and life itself a metaphor; a glimpse
that somewhere, two things mentioned meet
under the astonished, single gaze of eternity itself..

Metaphor’s a holy sacrament: one should never dare
to use it without some faint echo, of a moment clear recalled
when that which one refers to, came dazzling bright into the mind
as life transfigured to another world,
time lifted to the timeless;
the radiance of the world’s first day,
Creation, in itself, one glorious godly metaphor..
and nothing ever less than one.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Poem Is A Metaphor

THE POEM IS A METAPHOR

The Poem is a Metaphor
It means ‘the world’
It means ‘all that there is’
It means ‘the soul’
It means ‘our deepest feeling’.

The Poem is a Metaphor
It is more than what it just appears to be
It takes on a life of its own
It says more than it can define itself as

The Poem is a Metaphor
And it itself does not understand
Where it began and how it will end
And whether or not
It should always be rewritten.

The Poem is a Metaphor
And we too are metaphors
That will vanish one day
When all the real Poems
Pretend to still be here.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Is A Metaphor

Poetry is a metaphor
For beauty
For deepest feeling
For light
For all kinds of dreams we may not know the name of-

Poetry is a metaphor
For life at its most intense

Poetry is a metaphor for Poetry.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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For I Am A Metaphor

'For i am a Metaphor

For i am free as a bird

wiser than wise itself

brighter than a sun gama ray

FOR I AM A METAPHOR

for i love like the word

think like einstein

dream like Martin

FOR I AM A METAPHOR

For i smell like success

Achieve like achievers

and soar like number 23

FOR I AM A METAPHOR

for i deliver like mailmen

determine like focus

and prosper like underdogs

FOR I......AM.....A METAPHOR'

By: Kottrell Johnson

poem by Kottrell Johnson
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Is letting go a metaphor?

what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control

I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand

letting go is not for the faint-hearted
my hands and heart are tired from letting go
so many times over

examine why metaphor is not
a substitute for the literal

letting go is
a metaphor
for goodbye

110709

poem by Terri Turrell
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The Metaphor of Poetry/Meets The Mysteries Of The Soul

THE METAPHOR OF POETRY

The metaphor of poetry
Meets the mysteries of the soul
And wakes us in words
To worlds of wonder.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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The Language Of Poetry Is Metaphor

The language of poetry is metaphor
And irony and ambiguity
And beauty-

Beauty is the language of poetry
And metaphor and irony and ambiguity
And irony -

Beauty is the language of metaphor
And poetry without beauty
Is like poetry without metaphor
Like poetry without simile-

Poetry is poetry
Like beauty is beauty
And metaphor, metaphor
And language language -

Ironically
Without themselves they are something else
Or perhaps another variant of themselves
Ironically.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry.

quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All slang is a metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry.

G.K. Chesterton in The Defendant (1901)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0004 M i n d

and mind might ask,
why then are brain cells gray? Is it
because the world is just
so wonderful, that they, stunned
and amazed, cannot decide
which colour to praise first?
(Mix all the colours of the paints,
and the result is gray.)

or is it because they feel themselves
so dull in comparison
with the miracle which is creation,
the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve?
(Mix all the colours of the spectrum,
and the result is white.)

or is it, because they know
their work lies between ultimates
such as (do they themselves
call them this?) black,
and white? do they know
their work is equity –
to balance all things, so that gray is not gray
as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but

the gray of lakes at peace;
of silver that lives in itself,
needing no sun but its own innerness;
mercury that is moved but longs
to be united in a perfect sphere;
gray of clouds that know
the blessings that they hold;

and, the shining gray of mind -
for which gray hair is living metaphor,
the wisdom which life holds in store for you -
as how many poets, this moment round the world,
are joining new electric paths of thought between
these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact,
their vast and inner space which spins out eager words
of metaphor, for that so nameless,
boundless, dazzling spectrum,
the radiant space of self?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Poem Is A Metaphor/ For Whatever The Poet Needs It To Be

THE POEM IS A METAPHOR / FOR WHATEVER THE POET NEEDS IT TO BE

The Poem is a Metaphor
For whatever the poet needs it to be-
It need not know its own name
Or its destination-
It simply may suddenly appear
And take us to a place we’ve never been,
To a connection we never would have found on our own.

The Metaphor is a vehicle of transport for the Soul
And he who spells it out literally
Grounds it.

Why then oh why is this where we all be?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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0003 Reborn Metaphor

I was born to be a metaphor;
Darwin, embarrassed, did not talk of me;
I did not fit into his scheme of things; I,
knowing secrets of the tears of things,
while he used his fine mind
(which is, so obviously, beyond the physical)
to deny that world, the metaphysical..

To be a metaphor
you need to know your place;
stay around too long, you lose
that vital force; no one believes
in the unbelievable – when there’s no mystery,
that’s the end of metaphor for man.

Better choose a quiet place,
some corner of a foreign field
only to be found in mind,
do the necessary – a few dry leaves and sticks
to lay false trail – and the semblance of a nest; you,
a place apart..

The desert, then, was easier; Egypt understood;
the sun rose warm
on the eggshell of pure thought;
Greece, appreciative, then found a name for me;
a whole race followed in my rise;
Rome was, how to put it, unoriginal;
America called a dry town, in an arid zone, after me;
may yet know me, nested in my cruellest magnificence,
ash and twisted steel and concrete, office equipment;
I a metaphor, awaiting a new birth.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The lake of metaphor

and perhaps I came to poetry too late
to dive, a slimmish youth,
innocent as youth was or is
into the rich waters of the lake of metaphor
fed distantly by mountain springs,
welcoming in its wateriness,
chilling too like a demand for respect,
welcoming and chilling as a life;
a few strokes and already the green bank
and pile of crumpled clothes discarded
quickly distant, and here
in the middle of the lake, the sky
has opened out as if it were
some rival to a mountain-top

and the hands press against
the resistances of language, the palms
flat as between praise and surrender,
cleaving a passage to the depth
and then the shore of metaphor; and
emerging, the sunlight
catching the sparkling water droplets,
the skin shivering but invigorated,
the mind full of life
like a poem rich in metaphor.

Older now,
waiting as in the paintings of Saint Jerome
at his desk walled in by books,
pen poised, eyes uplifted,
spirit, rich, yet
mind not full, but waiting
for the grace of metaphor
like the brushing of a white dove's wing

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Making Of A Poem

What's a poem?
It's a metaphor, it's a metaphor,
What's a metaphor?
'It is a device for seeing something in terms of something else.
It brings out the thisness of that, or a thatness of this.'

How do I write a metaphor?
Think of rain as the cry of the heavens,
Think of love as a rose,
Think of burning candle as the agony of a lonely heart.

How do I piece together metaphors?
On a moonlit night, I see my love reflected in the moon's silvery light,
Holding her tight, I smell the fragrance of jasmine tonight,
Adoring her smile, I see the beauty of monarch butterflies,
Staring in her eyes, I see the oasis of love in my high desert lonely life.

How do I write a poem?
I love her but have not a spoken a word.
You have the inspiration, put in some romantic words.
On a beautiful moon lit night, I wonder who is prettier,
When I look at you, I forget about the moon.

Knit together love, loneliness, fear and tears of heart,
Into a beautiful tapestry of emotions and feelings that mask your heart,
Stitch some metaphors, make it a heartwarming comforter.

poem by Jay P Narain
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There Was A Poem About Poetry

THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY

There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-

The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-

It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -

All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-

poem by Shalom Freedman
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0008 The Gift

Who does not wish to give the perfect gift
to those we love – to whom we have already
given the greatest gift we have – our heart?
To choose a visible and outward sign
of love whose meaning’s inward, spiritual?

But who would dare to challenge innocence
and ignorance in their demonic bond,
and break the spell of Christmas wish and hope
by telling children, that old Santa Claus
is but the God who gave their life to them -
dressed up in red and white and snowy beard;
and who, in needing nothing of himself,
would be delighted to receive their thanks
and nothing more; and who, we might believe
of one who has all gifts in his command,
might be obliged by those laws he himself
created, out of justice, equity,
to give them that which they themselves have made –
a life of gratitude for life itself –
a life of praise, where all the world is gift
beyond all human gifts?

What parents now
might give their children gold, myrrh, frankincense
with all their love; and teach them by this show
why Christmas gifts are godly metaphor?

Of course, no parents would dare break this spell;
you’ll laugh at me for this absurdity;
yet it might build a clear-eyed, praising race
who thought in metaphor; spoke poetry.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rumi passed by here today

like a blank page, then
gold dust lightly scattered over it

then a soft breeze blows it away
but nothing is lost

for there was nothing to be gained;
enough, that you were here;

for you don't need to pursue a metaphor
when - see! - the metaphor is god, is world;

you don't need to convince us of anything
that we don't already know

just a reminder that this is
how it is;

a smile in passing;
your gold dust scattered;

for a moment
we are your beauty.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Metaphor lives a secret life all around us. We utter about six metaphors a minute. Metaphorical thinking is essential to how we understand ourselves and others, how we communicate, learn, discover and invent. But metaphor is a way of thought before it is a way with words.

James Geary in Metaphorically speaking (2009)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The world is emblematic. Parts of speech are metaphors because the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind.

quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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