Poetry on the Pillars

Metaphormosis

Metaphor is the term we use to make creative comparisons of different objects that may have little in common, but when compared reveal a conceptual relationship that helps to identify a hidden meaning.  Directly, a metaphor is simply calling one thing something else.  Referring to a problem as a wrench in the gears is a metaphor.  Many common insults are also metaphors, such as calling individuals by words that do not literally depict them, but create a comparison that you believe they deserve because they cut you off in traffic. 

Metaphor is also a general category that contains other literary devices such as similes and analogies.  You will have a difficult time finding poetry that does not contain within it some kind of metaphor.  Some poems are a metaphor in and of themselves.  One famous example of this is Walt Whitman's elegy to President Lincoln, "Oh Captain! My Captain!"  The poem speaks of the captain of a ship who has died having brought his crew through some rough waters.  The rough waters, of course, are the civil war, but you will not find any direct mention of Lincoln or the Civil War in Whitman's poem.  Another example you will likely recognize is Robert Frost's poem, "The Road Not Taken."  I won't go in depth on this one, but I will give you a hint.  It's not about roads.

For this theme, write a poem that is a metaphor.  That is to say write a poem that is about something that is really about something else.  Ready?  Activate your powers of subtext, and...GO!

 

-This week, the themes for metaphor poetry and limericks opened up, but we will keep all themes open through the month of April.  You may still submit entries to the first pair of themes, Odes and antique poetry. 

(Please remember we are asking for original poetry only. By submitting work for this project you attest that you are the original creator and owner of the intellectual property. Further, by submitting entries you license the Round Rock Library to include those entries into its published compilation, sales of which will benefit the Friends of the Round Rock Public Library. We thank you for sharing your creativity.)

Posted: Apr 08 2011, 03:30 PM by David Sharp | with 5 comment(s)

Comments

Atrox said:

My Clock

When it was new, it ran so well

Never early, never late

But lately it has faulty spells

Missing hours, missing dates

Alas, today Its hands are bent

With blemishes upon its face

I think its spring is nearly spent

It surely is a true disgrace

There is no way to trade it in

Its manufacturers are dead

A flawed design it must have been

No hope of digital instead

But oh, it had a happy life

It used to give a merry chime

It never yielded to the strife

it ever was a child of time

So no regrets, and no remorse

With always smiles and never frowns

As all our clocks will run their course

Will mine, now finally run down

--- by Dennis Sustare, April 2011

# April 10, 2011 7:26 PM

Eric Towler said:

Constellation

by Cristy J. Crowder

 

Somewhere,

I'm in a constellation.

My Sun, a simple star

Twinkling in a child's eye.

 

Wishing,

He hunts happiness outside.

My Sun, his hope and dream...

Eyes closed tight against answer.

 

Mornings

Arise, and mourning arrives.

My Sun, he sees it not.

Swollen eyes admit anguish.

 

Falling

Tears reflect constellations.

My Sun, anticipated

Star pursued in clear twilight.

 

Silence

Weakened by recognition:

"Oh, Star," he sputters, "Why?"

Scrounging, his eyes dash and dart.

 

Reason?

Peace must be caught within...

My Sun, a reminder

That he just is as am I.

# April 12, 2011 2:44 PM

David Sharp said:

Cold

(submitted by Diana Lewis)

It flows through me still,

It has been hours since my last chill.

It’s cold as hell, in my realm,

Bring me out from the darkness,

Take me with you I need your warmth.

The cold is like shards of glass,

First the sting hits but it doesn’t last.

Suddenly my bone burns the cold has got me now.

It aches it hurts to move,

Slowly I breathe to keep in my agony.

I’m freezing, I’m dying!

Can anyone see? They just walk past.

I’m not here just a shadow.

I hide behind benches in the day,

It guards me from the suns hot rays.

Then at night I fear the darkness more,

For what come with it fears my soul.

# April 14, 2011 11:47 AM

David Sharp said:

Submitted by Ken Wood

(I wrote this years ago for my sister.  She had just been diagnosed with MS.)  

I want to give you a castle--not too far or too remote,

but with a working drawbridge, and surrounded by a moat.

Multi-colored banners flying proudly in the breeze,

the only road around winding gently through the trees.

Not so large as to overpower, but also not too small,

just a nice-sized kind of castle where friends would like to call.

Some to sit beneath a Chestnut tree and picnic on the ground

while dogs and birds and squirrels were being playful all around.

The noon-day sun would not be hot, the nights would be just right

for sleeping with the windows open, the room lit by starlight.

The morning sun would wake you just by shining on the wall,

not on your face, for in this place, its at your beck and call.

This castle I would give you if it were but mine to give,

and inside this great castle maybe all of us could live.

But Fate decided otherwise when fortunes were passed out:

Mine was not there, but I don't care, its not what I'm about.

But if you ever need to use this castle I've described,

its waiting for you in your mind, from these words that I've inscribed.

You will be the Princess and you will feel your spirits soar,

and look for me, for I will be your faithful knight of yore.

# April 14, 2011 11:54 AM

David Sharp said:

There is a song like a spider in the corner of my mind and I know that it will never let me be.

And once I may have known more words, but they are gone and lost. So I'm haunted by a distant melody.

And in between my synapses, it weaves its subtle web strung and tied among dusty memories.

And in its net it may catch a string of wandering notes that, merging, form discordant symphonies.

And all the day it will not leave, and all the night stay with me still and all along the web is growing wider.

I drown it with the radio, I flood it with white noise, but you can't help when a song is like a spider.

# May 25, 2011 1:41 PM
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