 Poetry: May 13, 2020 Issue [#10172] |
This week: Metaphorically Speaking (err) Writing Edited by: Fyn  
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“Exhaustion is a thin blanket tattered with bullet holes.” ~~Matthew De Abaitua
“The sun in the west was a drop of burning gold that slid near and nearer the sill of the world.” ~~Lord of the Flies, William Golding
“Bobby Holloway says my imagination is a three-hundred-ring circus. Currently I was in ring two hundred and ninety-nine, with elephants dancing and clowns cart wheeling and tigers leaping through rings of fire. The time had come to step back, leave the main tent, go buy some popcorn and a Coke, bliss out, cool down.” ~~Seize the Night, Dean Koontz
“The parents looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab. A scab is something you have to put up with until the time comes when you can pick it off and flick it away.” ~~Matilda, Roald Dahl
“He could hear Beatty's voice. ‘Sit down, Montag. Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh? Light the third page from the second and so on, chainsmoking, chapter by chapter, all the silly things the words mean, all the false promises, all the second-hand notions and time-worn philosophies.’” ~~Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
“Delia was an overbearing cake with condescending frosting, and frankly, I was on a diet.” ~~Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception, Maggie Stiefvater
“My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.” ~~Fault In Our Stars, John Green |
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A metaphor is a literary device that imaginatively draws a comparison between two unlikely things that are different. This is done in such a way to produce an entirely new way of perceiving something. People (mistakenly) tend to think of metaphors being something only used in writing fiction, yet by far their most common use is in poetry.
Keats, John Donne, Shakespeare were poets who mastered the art of metaphor. Slyvia Plath, in her poem 'Metaphors', wrote:
"An elephant, a ponderous house
A melon strolling on two tendrils."
Another famous poem that is entirely a metaphor is 'O Captain, My Captain' by Walt Whitman. Here he writes of a ship's captain but refers to his fallen president, Abraham Lincoln.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
A favorite metaphor of my own is from my poem On Geese and Growing Older.
Overhead
the Canada geese were shaftless arrows
shot from some instinctual bow
piercing the morning sky
with their raucous goodbyes.
I've put together a random list of things along with a list of emotions/ideas or happenings. Play around with some from each list; you just might come up with something extraordinary!
List 1
knotted sheets
shriveled dandelion
steam-fogged glasses
sliver ribbons
splintered wood
iridescent bubbles
age-softened cotton
baby powder
copper coins
taste of vanilla extract
List 2
bad dreams
a lost child
missing piece of jewelry
antique book
changing seasons
fear
hate
love
upset stomach
quarantine
mistakes
detours
Hve fun; play with them. We all need some fun right now!
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Beholden  writes: I wish I knew what causes the sudden cessation of writing. There are all sorts of things I can blame the present drought on but I know that the real cause is not out there - it's in me. If only I had enough motivation to find that reason, I might be able to fix it. But I suspect that I am secretly draining all motivation from me to sabotage my desire to get writing again. My advice to writers is not to think about it - just do it.
MirandaCookies IS IN COLLEGE  says: How do you get through the day?
One spilled coffee
mug at a time,
a slice of hug
from man or beast.
(Not sure sometimes
which is which.)
Or which is least appealing
when they come in from the rain.
Watching videos through other's eyes.
How to get through a day?
Violet sunsets over velvet lawns,
facetiming my daughter
well before dawn.
One word, one spat of giggles,
one ticklefest, one unexpected batch of cookies,
disgruntled basement vanquished.
And, as always,
night comes
and we sleep into
another day.
I guess that's how! *smiles*
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