Your Metaphor











These days weather
changes overnight.
Smoke filters sunlight;

embers burn all
the more brightly
for the silenced

desire. Yellow
maple sky, old
cracked oak

carpet over grass
that hasn’t even
yet been born.

Dewed frost gilds

words like
sprouting in

untried accents,
“distrust” burying
its lips in glowing

ash. A hand
can be a hard
thing to hold

in such climes;
fingers all too
easily balled in

anger. Memory
just won’t burn
as quickly as leaf-fall

and faithlessness
doesn’t pass
with the dew.

38 thoughts on “Your Metaphor

  1. the held hand and the clenched fist…not a far fall from either….

    so i am going to get to hear this friday night? yes we will be there…and hopefully early as well so if you want to grab a bite that would be awesome. will call you.

    • not sure what i’m reading friday night yet… i never decide till the day of. 😉 it’ll be great to see you again, brian. hanging out beforehand would be great if y’all are around & up for it. poetry tailgating!

  2. Oh this is quite stunning. I love the short stanzas, the way they merge… so many amazing lines and the ending resonates so beautifully!
    Some deep music here!

  3. Very nice job here, lots of great images and well-thought out lines that both work as independent lines but also convey the overall sentiments that carry throughout the piece in the entirety. Enjoyed the piece, thanks:)

  4. Beautiful poem. I had to read it a few times, as it just resonated for me. You captured the season and the undercurrent theme wonderfully here.

  5. The flames as a metaphor for anger…. man I always know when I get to a damn good poem… makes me read it over and over and over …. and I have read it several times trying to find the right words to say to describe how it made me feel. All I can come up with is WOW.

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