Author: JennyDetroit (Page 23 of 43)

Today I worked with my students on writing metaphor poems. The activity was as follows:

1. Make a four-column chart.
2. In the second column, write at least five concrete nouns (ex.: horse, star, hat, lamp, feather).
3. In the third column, write at least five action verbs (ex.: ride, laugh, play, dance, stroll).
4. Then in the first column, write a body part (facial body parts work well here). Ex.: hand, lips, eye, cheek, heart.
5. Using the three columns, write the beginning of a sentence that includes a metaphor. It should follow the pattern “My _________ is a __________ __________ing…” Ex.: My hand is a feather dancing…
6. Then complete the sentence with either a word or phrase that completes the metaphor. Ex.: My hand is a feather dancing over the clouds.
7. After doing this several times with different words from the chart, choose one metaphor sentence to extend into a poem. Write ten to fifteen lines that answer when, where, what, why, and how. Use concrete sensory details to extend the metaphor and paint a vivid picture for the reader.

(N.B.: I did not invent this writing exercise, but I don’t remember where I found it. My apologies to whomever created this activity. If anyone knows where this exercise comes from, please let me know so I may give credit.)

I taught this lesson several times today, and each time, I modeled the activity for my students. I tend to do my modeling in front of the students; I draft my writing up on the board and talk through my process as I go. As a result, I wrote three metaphor poems today. They’re all quite strange, a bit nonsensical, but I’m hoping their strangeness might give the students permission to also do weird and experimental things in their writing.

Here they are:

#1

My eye is a hat reading beside a lamp,

A fuzzy hat, made of wool, soft and warm in the shelter of my bedroom.

The book is an old favorite, something with mysteries,

And love, and adventure. Something that never gets tired or stale.

It’s night, and the time for reading has come — a time to forget,

To put aside urgent cares, to rest, to relax.

The lamp is yellow light, a soft sun in the presence of darkness.

My eye fits down over my head, covers my cares, floats atop

The pages.

#2

His mouth is a garbage can strolling around the museum.

It can’t help dropping its filth onto the marbled floors.

It’s after hours, the night watchman gone, the whole place silent.

But his mouth is hungry, looking for more trash, looking for more

Forgotten things.

The museum is filled with empty frames: artwork dismissed by the masses.

The garbage falls on the walkways and on the walls. Hunger is insatiable.

His mouth searches for the cafeteria but finds only Cubists.

Opening his tin lid, he devours a Monet, then a Warhol, then a Basquiat.

Genius is compacted into a landfill.

The garbage can burps.

#3

My heart is a computer singing along with the radio.

It’s a pop song, old school, Hanson or maybe NSYNC.

The 16-bit melody screams out of the computer’s speakers,

Unnatural but in tune. There is no strain on the processor.

Programmed to obey, my heart paid extra for more memory.

Uh oh, 403 error. Bad code. Forbidden. Blue screen of death.

Time to go to the Apple Store.