This week’s Poets & Writers prompt:
Make a list of objects. One thing should be from your desk, one from your closet, one a body part, one a thing you covet that belongs to someone else, one enormous, one slippery, and at least one that makes an odd or evocative sound. Now, describe each using a simile. Do this twice for each one. Using as many of the similes as you can, write a poem with a title such as “Checklist to Survive a Nuclear Winter” or “Things That Have Nothing To Do With Grief.”
So, I started (obviously) with the list and corresponding similes:
- Postcard Michelangelo’s The Furies
Like anger caught on film
As universal as love
- Brown leather motorcycle boots
Like freedom
Like cool carved in leather
- Red hair
Like a peroxide bottle mask
Wicked as only slutty girls can be
- Nothing
Like everything in a vacuum
As big and eternal as the night sky
- Barn
Like a rickety wooden fallout shelter
As unimposing as it is grand
- Carp from the pond
Like nothing but bills in the mail
Like the last spoonful of porridge from the pot
- Tree frog
Like a barbaric yawp from carpenter’s apprentice
As still and sullen as the moon
After that, I came up with a title and tried to arrange and order the list as well as make the similes work in a sort of disjointed narrative:
What You Focus on When He’s Away
The brown of your boots: distressed freedom, like cool harnessed in leather.
How you wear red hair like a mask, the slutty wickedness put on.
The Furies etched in ink like anger caught on film: universal as love.
The carp in the pond: the last spoonful of porridge from the pot.
The barn, like a rickety wooden fallout shelter, sits unimposing and grand.
A barbaric yawp from the tree frog as still and sullen as the moon.
Nothing. Everything in a vacuum as big and eternal as the night sky.
Finally, I shaped the lines. It’s still a pretty rough draft, but here’s where it stands:
WHAT YOU FOCUS ON WHEN HE’S AWAY
The brown of your boots: distressed freedom, like cool harnessed in leather.
How you wear red hair like a mask; the slutty wickedness: a put on.
A postcard: The Fury etched in ink like anger (anguish?) universal as love.
(Only) carp in the pond: the last spoonful of porridge from the pot.
Unimposing, the barn covering you like a rickety wooden fallout shelter.
Surprising sound, a barbaric yawp, from the tree frog: still and sullen as moon.
Nothing. Everything in a vacuum as big and eternal as the empty sky.
I’m still toying with the idea of adding dividers. I had each stanza numbered for a minute – didn’t like that in the end. I’m considering putting times, dates or seasons in between stanzas to break them up…still don’t know if it needs that or not. That’s it for this week!
Oooh, I meant to do this one. Nice draft. I especially like the last three lines.
Thanks, girl. This one feels really, really rough. I’ve never been any good at those list poems. I’d love to see yours if you get around to writing it! xx.