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11/16/14

Inertia

Inertia
On a
Grayish
Rainy
Wintry
Buried under
Heavy blankets
Sunk into
The deep couch
Watching
A documentary
On hibernating
Bears
Kind of day

Not sleepy
Enough
To join the bears

Just looking
At the remote
Control
A few inches away

But not moving
Until acted upon
By an unbalanced force
They call Spring

There’s a monster in my kitchen
He’s quite the gourmet
Since we’ve employed him
We’ve had tasty food all day

He’s environmentally conscious
Using every bit and dollop
Which is good for the earth
And even better for the wallet

You’d think we would get bigger
With all these luscious snacks
But we’ve actually lost weight
(He must reduce the fat)

He’s got a knack for spices
Each new dish is a hit
Nothing ever tastes the same
I hope he never quits

We often have asked why
This monster doesn’t own
A gourmet restaurant
He replies with a groan

He doesn’t like to share his space,
Original recipes
His secret ingredient
Or his methodologies

And I honestly wish
My brother’d never pried
And unearthed our chef’s secret
Ingredient – Oh, why!

Father made that monster
Gourmet hit the road
While we all pleaded
Father said he had no choice
No matter how scrumptious,
How cost- and eco-conscious
We were still just eating cardboard

There’s a monster in my attic
With a flair for the dramatic
Through every trunk placed in storage
She will forage and she’ll forage
Then she’ll recategorize
The items that she finds

Old clothing goes in wardrobe
Old letters filed as scripts
Curios are housed in props
Along with awful gifts

Old lamps are for lighting
Old furniture’s on sets
Stuffed toys are understudies
For the dolls who cry and wet

Old curtains are, well, curtains
For the stage where she performs
It’s such a thing of beauty
To see the way that she transforms

Our old junk into fine art
I once saw a play
In which a gaudy orange sweater
Symbolized a brighter day

I cannot count the times
That monster’s scenes have moved me
It’s so nice to have good theater
In your house, completely free

But sadly my way, way off
Broadway days may soon be ending
Our monster has an offer
For way on, on Broadway pending

Just think what she’ll be able to do
With real props, actors, and a crew
Her imagination can soar beyond
The discarded boxes that she found
In our cluttered, little attic
Too small a stage for a monster
So talented and dramatic

A monster lives in my garage
That beast is quite athletic
He makes my friends and family too
Look physically pathetic
 
Because, you see, he’s 93
And could run marathons with ease
While we couch potatoes
Cough and wheeze
Just watching a marathon
On the TV
 
That monster is in amazing shape
It’s the key to his longevity
It’s how he makes such grand escapes
Like using chimes for a trapeze
 
Yes, he can flip and swing and roll
At the jingle of some keys
Or vault from the floor with my dad’s fishing pole
At the approach of creaking knees
 
Our garage is a monster paradise
It fulfills his every need
Empty overhead storage for his sleeping
Bulk packaged snacks for him to feed
 
And a variety of sports equipment
That we slothful types must buy
To fulfill New Year’s resolutions
Yes, this year is when we’ll try
To get up off this sofa
(Well, at least for another fry)
 
From chin up bars to Dad’s bench press
Stationary bikes to ankle weights
My balls for ping-pong, squash, tennis
Mom’s treadmill, inline skates
 
That monster has a well-stocked gym
To keep him strong and buff
(Though getting away from us, sadly
Could not be all that tough)
 
In exchange for our hospitality
(Unknown to my family)
The monster keeps our things web-free
And oils up all the machinery
Which could come in quite handy
And make us all so healthy
If we ever turned off our TV

I hope you enjoy this Spooky Metaphor Poem I'm posting for Halloween. It is similar to Mystery Metaphor Poems in that the reader guesses the subject of the poem. Good luck!

A ravenous snake
Winds through the town
A head of bright eyes
And a darting tongue

Leads the beast
Down every street
Door by door
The monster eats

Until the sky
Is deepest black
And it's devoured
Every snack

Then back again
Each coil revolves
And as it turns
Seems to dissolve

And merge with darkness
Disappear
Not to be seen
Until next year

What is it? Can you guess the subject of this poem? The answer is below, written backwards.

Answer: SRETAERT-RO-KCIRT

Other Spooky Simile & Metaphor Poems:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ... 52 >>

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Lisa J. Parker's writing and creative works including poems, books, short stories, essays, movies, greeting graphics, and photographs.

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