MY METAPHOR

Come jump into my arms, you furry-feathered verse!
I’ll know you when I see you, either wordy or terse.
Let your metaphor roll in like an occupying force;
sit up high in your saddle on your literary horse!
A shining black stallion, he snorts and passes by
leaving a desolated mule who gives a piteous sigh.
My metaphor has four legs and is not a happy guy.
He does not jump into my arms or even give a try
but nuzzles me as though to say,
“Thanks for waiting for me today.”

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
This entry was posted in poetry, End Days, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to MY METAPHOR

  1. Aren’t you the poet!

    On Mon, Jan 25, 2016 at 9:51 PM, NANMYKEL.COM wrote:

    > nmykel posted: “Come jump into my arms, you furry-feathered verse! I’ll > know you when I see you, either wordy or terse. Let your metaphor roll in > like an occupying force; sit up high in your saddle on your literary horse! > A shining black stallion, he snorts and passe” >

    Like

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