Metaphor Poems

Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
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Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
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(love is like)
Love is like a painting
filled with all colours and shades
love is like a bleeding heart
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My daughter plays on the floor
with plastic letters,
red, blue & hard yellow,
learning how to spell,
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As Parmigianino did it, the right hand
Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer
And swerving easily away, as though to protect
What it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams,
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The last leaves fell like notes from a piano
and left their ovals echoing in the ear;
with gawky music stands, the winter forest
looks like an empty orchestra, its lines
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I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
with similes that span the universe,
that sparkle, crackle, dazzle, woo the mind;
and touch the heart with tender, swoony verse...
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If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
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A pretty girl
is like a simile
and vice-a-versa
so I'd say
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Intoxicated by the inspiration
Of his trade—
With mental powers at work,
A true poet rarely sleeps.
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If one could bridge the distance with a word,
A journey would become a pilgrimage.
Elegant letters slant across the page.
My leaf has found a home upon your coat.
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The first poem was a wonder
The second was a surprise.
The third poem made me a poet,
The fourth gave me a name and fame.
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One thing that literature would be greatly the better for
Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and
metaphor.
Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,
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Loved to write as far back as memory goes
Without any thought for a verse to compose

Poetic expressions of innate creativity
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Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith 'A whole I planned,
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The room is full of you!—As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!—
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A sunny day's complete Poussiniana
Divide it from itself. It is this or that
And it is not.
By metaphor you paint
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The universe expands and contracts like a great heart.
It is expanding, the farthest nebulae
Rush with the speed of light into empty space.
It will contract, the immense navies of stars and galaxies,
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Everyone but poets
(who have their own allegiances)
would acknowledge it – you were, and I guess still are,
the most famous and popular poet of
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Mr. Cogito never trusted
tricks of the imagination

the piano at the top of the Alps
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A mirror of truth in a veil of disguise,
A river of meaning beneath calm skies,
Metaphor dances where language lies.
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Tuesday morning, November 26, 2024, begun at 8: 58 a.m. and continued at 9: 16 a.m.; completed and published at 9: 20 a.m.

'The boldness of language supervenes our actual experience… It creates the world … It's whole necessity is metaphor … What should we say? Nothing to say of ourselves and … the world is a silence … All we say is metaphor which asserts at once our unknowing, and our need to state in some language what we don't know. How we love … '
—William Bronk, 'Costume As Metaphor', from A Partial Glossary: Two Essays
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Friday morning, November 22, 2024, begun at 7: 40 a.m. and continued at 8: 19 a.m. and 8: 33 a.m.

Note: The longer quoted passage in the poem is extracted from William Bronk's book of essays titled A Partial Glossary: Two Essays, from the essay titled 'Costume As Metaphor'
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Nyein Way's poetics contain several key points that contribute to the perceived difficulty in understanding his poetry:

1. Abstract and philosophical themes: Nyein Way often delves into abstract and philosophical themes in his poetry, exploring complex ideas and concepts that may be challenging for readers to grasp without a deep knowledge of philosophy or literature.
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Your smile is a metaphor,
That heals and highlights every verse
With a holy rhythm of love and rhyme of revive
Leave a soulful sensation and keep it alive
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Is there a metaphor for simile? Is it like a simile? Your love is like a red, red resurrection; A resurrection is a resurrection is a resurrection. Synchronicity. A simile is like a symmetry is like a kind of tree that grows meaning fruit by planting word seedlings that come from a different tree, stolen from someone else's windowsill, the Yggdrasil can pollinate at will a parallel, and bend it to suit its purposes, clothing with nuance an alien object tailored to flesh out an aspect like a foundling thought in basket that might have been abandoned, like a simile, in otherwise colorless discourse
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Preserved time, writing or sound, many more kinds exist, with this tool, say to all come together right now of the soul, once hit...there's only peace and no pain, what a trip, is been awhile but what a site to see, a write listening to a perfect melody, godly only knew you will feel, feel soft and slow, twisted and sick, just let it give you a kick, so many to pick, piece of that passage, a truth, hell can set to a personal heaven, coated lyrics...what a metaphor, best to disguise true feeling, bitterly joyful, in that way, no one can accuse one of anything else, music mixes many things in life, politics shouldn't be one of them, how useless that is, words are the ultimate travesty, in that heaven it's the ultimate tragedy, different scenes, all unique, is the best thing ever invented, why so creative? Practiced everywhere by everyone, a change a day, never undone, from undefeated of it, an understanding of all who use it.
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If an ant possessed a weapon,
Would it first shoot at the pangolin?
Shoot at the elephant?
Would it enjoy the game of coronation?
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Two sages and a poet
If rivers irrigate a country, poets irrigate the people. Poets are the rivers of metaphors that work on the genetics of the human race.

While Sindhu and Ganga were the centers of Indian culture, Valmiki and Vyasa were the sources of Indian culture. After the center of gravity shifted in Indian life from Sindhu to Ganga, that is, after the Vedic period expired, the new era of epic was opened by the great sage Valmiki. There are no references to the river Sindhu in Ramayana whereas there are innumerable references to Ganga indicting the river's exalted place among the sacred rivers of India.
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There's such joy when I feel part of your bliss,
See smiles that you give me each day,
Though integrity wills me to say this,
No gift that I've planned is in play!
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