Posts Tagged ‘metaphor’

This is some advice I’ve received about writing poetry. I’m just relaying it:

  1. Concrete images trump metaphorical or abstract concepts. “Red grit bricks” trump “the voice of God,” “calloused knuckles” is better than “soul.” No one knows what a soul looks like. Concrete images are usually examined under the lens of metaphor anyway.
  2. It takes years to cultivate your voice. Try new and different things. Try traditional forms. Experiment with perspective and tone. Stay on things for a while. Try writing lists for a month, then try sonnets, and then try love poems.
  3. Write early in the day, or late at night. What you think is great in a moment may turn out to be crap later. Come back hours later and look at what you’ve written. Keep what you like. Cut what you don’t like. Don’t just try to change it. Get rid of it.
  4. Your heart is the center of your poetry. Get in touch with that, and let it pour out. You have time to rein it in later.

Happy writing. ūüôā

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Like a cat,

the feeling lounges in my chest.

Sunlight is less a cure,

more a constraint-

it throws everything into too great

relief. Murk stirs in me;

the raven stabs the phoenix with its beak,

the phoenix will be fully-grown again

in six months.

For now, I look for-

something.

I’m a bottle that wants to be filled.

My eyes are dry.

My lungs feel like wool sweaters

rolled and stuffed inside me.

Spine is slowly turning into the St. Louis Arch.

Bones stiff as flint.

Muscles like ink pens, exuding

pain from the inside, out.

I’m turning into cardboard.

I’ll be arthritic

before I’m twenty.

An excess of absence makes the metaphorical heart dissolve.”- Original

It has been said that “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” but…

It’s an awful thought to have-¬†

the thought that you may have come between two people.

If you believe yourself to be

a Bighearted person,

then do not let anger

or grief fester

in your thoughts,

or come across in your deeds.

This may seem so easily said,

and not so easily done,

but the truth is

that bighearted people

are most easily broken,

but also the most forgiving.

A big heart

is a house,

with thousands of rooms

for guests-

for every person

the heart’s owner

has ever met.

Metaphorical hearts can only be large

if they leave room for love,

and force hatred

out their doors.

Look at the toy on display.

Printed on its hand is a small button

that says “try me”.

“Try me”, isn’t that

a lovely phrase?

Many have tried this toy out-

have pressed the button

and seen it jolt to life like a heart,

whirring and singing,

its cheeks glowing red.

Go ahead! Try it!

Try it! as so many have before.

They love it, but buy the ones

on shelves, the ones in boxes.

So many have tried this toy,

drained its battery song

by song.

The crimson in its cheeks

is dimming, its life

is fading.

Its electric energy is being used up.

Soon it will be thrown away,

singing and glowing no more,

dead.

Here lies the stone I have thrown,

regurgitated from my fist as if it were a serpent.

It will be missed.

Notice its gleam in dull light,

the clouds blot out the sun. Discriminate

is the light which floods the earth

as clouds move away, the true beauty

of the stone is taken. I have spent

hours staring at nothing more than a rock.

The realization hits with locomotive force.

Still there is some sadness to be rent

at the loss of something once beautiful.

My eyes linger at their corners as I step away.

They hope that grayness will reveal how radiant

this stone could be again. But it never said a word to me.

It only gleamed like expensive crystal

in half-light. Multivalent

as a stone, so beauty is.

So love is.