is the deliberate suggestion of more than one meaning, sometimes in conflict with one another, but with the purpose of being able to be interpreted in more than one way.  Look for it here:

The Unknown Citizen by W.H. Auden

Our Nature by S.M.(M).L.

The world melts:
drip, drip, drop
little April shower.
It's January.
Snow becomes slush,
slush becomes ice, 
and we're stuck
waiting for the rivulets
to turn to rivers,
hoping for an early spring.

The pine boughs heavy with
drenched snow release--
branches spring back, joyous
that their weight is lifted.
We too, that our wait
might be over, but it's not.  
Wind will turn cold again,
and the erratic patterns
signal we are out touch.

The weather, used to avoid 
contrasting emotion, once
relied on as almanac truth,
has turned its back on us,
we it, true force revealed.
Although we may relish
an early thaw, it means
less water to cycle, less
vegetation to nourish, less
oxygen to breathe, more 
power to put us back in
our place, just wait.  

The attitude a writer takes toward the subject of a work--differs from mood in that this is what the writer intends while mood is what the reader experiences.  Tone is revealed through the writer's diction (word choice), figurative language, and structure.  Look for it here:

I Have a Dream by Martin Luther King, Jr.

Puzzle by S.M.(M).L.

Peaceful and wise
beaded and brave
this piece at the center
held it together
dark hair with a feather
all dressed in leather
the strong nations
to whom we're all
indebted for home.

Hard-talking and working
pale and strong
this piece came looking
for a life beyond rule,
separation of church
and state.  Wanted different,
a safe haven, one nation,
indivisible, created equal,
but all takes time to be meant.

Stolen and chained
beautiful and brown
this piece didn't choose
this life.  Found strength
deep inside with pride
and the help of but half
a nation to alter the course
of history.  Even then,
not part of the all until
future generations can heal.

Still more come crossing
borders or waters
to seek out a new way.
At times the way is open,
at others it is closed, but 
always what is new is peered
at through narrowed eyes.

Forced to assimilate
reduced to stereotype
nothing left to cling to
nothing left that makes
sense because making
cents is all that is left.
Criticized for being
critical of capitalism,
but it's left each of us 
with the same questions. 

You are not me, and I
am not you, and we've got
to get to where that's just
fine.  We've seen ounces
of greatness from each
and every nation and
all had the same answer.

From Thoreau to Gandhi
to King to Yousafzai,
look to their kindness,
look in your heart for
courage to stand alone
together in a world
that hasn't changed
as much as it could.

We're selfish and empty
preferring entertainment
over empathy because if
you see me for who I am,
and I see you, no longer
assuming but actually 
knowing we can interlock
our hands and really
mean that gesture to 
hold us together.

It's what makes us different
that matters the most.
Despite our sameness,
our love, hope, and fear,
it's the beliefs about them
that make them so clear.
Each culture carries them
in their own way and there's
where we've got to get back to.

Individually we're broken
what's within is bent
and won't fit. Without
heritage were lost on
the table. Instead of making
each piece exactly the same,
we've got to come together
in our own way to feel at
peace with this home 
in the making.  No more pushing
or shoving to get it together
and let's forget edges to let
more in looking for a place.

Rounded and smoothed
we don't fit together,
better left with ragged edges
not forced into blandness
because the pretty picture
doesn't make sense when
it's covered in blood.

When the gunshots fire,
let's look and listen to ourselves.
Let's not cower in the corner
looking outward rather than in.
Each time we ignore, we are open
to more, we have to admit it's gone
wrong.  We can swipe away pieces,
point fingers and blame, but it still
won't come together as it should.

In this moment, not the next, stop
telling the same story.  It's a must
to be different, to accept the hurts,
and the happiness of the past.  It won't
be the same, because it's never really
been changed, the pieces have always 
been there. Let's shift our thinking,
stop beating our heads, and put our hearts
​back together instead.

a sad and thoughtful poem about the death of an individual.  Look for It here:

Elegy for Jane by Theodore Roethke

Book Ends by S.M.(M).L.

We are the stories we tell,
the lives we become.
Every page a new moment,
every moment a new page.
Some stories are broad and beautiful
and deep. Some short and sweet.
Each one as meaningful as the next,
a library of who we become.

You were at the start of my story.
I am here for the end of yours,
but in this way you live,
and so the story goes on.
Volumes into an eternity 
we can't comprehend
exactly where we begin
and where we end.  

an expression that calls to mind an idea outside of the work itself.  Most effective when the reader has a reference for what is being alluded to because it adds meaning to the work without further explanation from the writer.  Look for it here:

Prometheus by Lord Byron

Ethereal by S.M.(M).L.

These mortal cages hold us in but a little while. 
Locked with blood and bone, we knock around,
bump into each other to let a little bit out, 
a little bit in, a way to save our selves--
reincarnate incarceration.  As if we have found
the key, we behave, lending this unto the next,
never stopping to peer through the hole
to see what's on the other side.  Out there, space,
star after star, beyond until these ribs
are nothingness holding us together.  So far 
out there, there's no coming back except 
that we've chained our hearts in inescapable love.

It seems. Except. That's all there was all along.
Love in and out, around, folded over on itself,
infinite, not a chain, but a link, not a cage, 
but a scaffold to lift ourselves back to whence
we came if only we can let go these bounds
desirous of Prometheus that seem to hold
us in but merely let us perceive the impossibility
of existence for a breath of time, in, out, exist,
out        in        love        breathe        be