In Search Of Metaphors And Images To Express Yourself In A Poem Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is the expression that matters most.

it is the relational flow from the writer to the reader
the bond that is created anew, just like an ordinary conversation
one fine day.

why can't poetry be simple and direct? that is the question that poetry
asks

to itself, in itself.

the poet in us can be lost because of so much demands for the absurd,
this metaphor fits, this imagery is perfect, what is it?

you do not accept the sun and the moon and the stars.
cliches of their poetry. You do not show compassion for his feelings
of being abandoned

simply because there are no images that tickle your senses.

even if he jumps with joy, you do not relate to his joys
simply because the images are bland like
burger without the black pepper.

it is enough that one bleeds, one wants a listener, one wants to open
up to the world
Like a bud turning into a flower

(oh forgive this lousy metaphor
i am not a good poet somehow at imaging
at imagining.
Am not a camera.
My eyes are clumsy at details.
And my ears are not sensitive to sound of
beautiful words. They even hide behind my head under my hair.
And there is no compulsion for high highfalutin
Ivory towers of similes from the gods and goddesses of
Literature)

Why can't poetry be just an expression? Just that. A dialogue.
This one, this monologue.

It is enough that you write from the heart.
It is enough that you are true

(oh forgive me, can i be really
true to you? Do i have to be naked and tell you that i am beautiful?
Do i have to master the art of metaphorisms
to be your poet
for the night?)

Or is it that poetry is simply our hiding place
From this world of pain?

Or our chapel for our prayers
Or our playground where we can be children again?

I am tired of squeezing my brain in the quest of the perfect metaphor.
I have read what they have written.
I pretend i like them. They sound so well.
They must be poetry. Real poetry
Those that garner plaques.
Prizes from the jury.

Honestly, I do not understand a thing. Those poems of my idols.
But I read them just the same.
Hoping that I am in and be counted as one of the stars in those
Metaphoric Heavens.I watch every meteor that drops
to the ground. Their tails.

I am not a star. I am just a pebble.
And it is enough for me.

The poem says, just write me.

Don't squeeze your brain to have metaphors
To draw the images.

Just be yourself, and for God's sake if you have something to say
Just say it.