Advanced Essay Writing, Spring 2013

As empty as an abandoned apartment
As weak as the ebbing tide
Gathered together like chains on 
As rough as my summer soles
Trembling like an apartment in post-earthquake Los Angeles 
Praying like a brotherhood of monks
Bouncing like a tennis ball
Smiling like a kid walking into Disney World for the first time

Heart of splintered bark
Mountains of cigarette ash 
War is a lost boy
The ocean is a well of unheard wishes
The moon is an escape from the darkest night
This house of broken glass
My love is a prisoner
Writing is a beaten dirt road 

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rooftop wishes (bedford)

my love is a prisoner of a brownstone in bedford,
   where mountains of cigarette ash build on the rooftop,
          the surface as rough as my summer soles,
   as i look out across the borough of the kings.
the moon, an escape from the darkest night,
   no longer lights up my night as it has before.
                          the ocean, that well of unheard wishes,
    has finally heard the splash of my latest coin.
          my heart now beats hard and fast,
          never to be as weak as the ebbing tide again.
                my love is at home in a brownstone in bedford.

After listening to the NPR segment “20 Stories in 60 Minutes”, I found that I was most attracted to stories to which I was able to relate; they struck a chord with me, creating a pathway through which I could connect to the speaker and the material through a strong combination of humor and familiarity.

My favorite segment by far was the story of the Penguin from Batman.  Early in the story, the reader begins talking about a cartoon character drinking Absinthe and reciting poetry from Blake.  this idea both made me laugh out loud and become eager to find out where the rest of the story was going.  The music in the background helps to tell the story and gives time for reflection, an important factor in any story.  The connection to Mary Poppins is also unexpected and hilarious, and the mental image of the Penguin “challenging her to a duel” and “umbrella travel” again kept me on my toes. 

The story of the boys naming their dog Pasta-Batman held many similar qualities to the first story despite touching on a completely different topic in a different way.  What I liked about this story was the way the readers played off of each other, keeping the listener engaged much in the same way the first story did.  I wanted to know more.  The humor in this segment came across in both material and style, and I found myself laughing frequently throughout the course of the tale. 

A final story that contained similar qualities despite being told in a different manner is the story of the woman babysitting for a family with her future husband.  Her voice was immediately engaging, and she allowed time and space for the audience to process that story and imagine what was going to happen as the story went on.  Despite the pauses, the story teller still managed to add shock value to the segment because of her content material.  The lies that they blatantly told to the parents upon their return were hilarious and unexpected.

I enjoyed hearing these stories read out loud because they highlighted the content material and allowed me to reflect on how to get these important factors of making content familiar to your audience and incorporating some shock or surprise into a story to make it a quality read.

Simile 

As empty as a graduate student’s bank account (how’s that for originality?)

As weak as a new born calf

Gathered together like Starlings

as rough as sandpaper

Trembling like a washer

praying like hoarding

bouncing like Mitt Romney’s policy?

smiling like squinting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Metaphor

Heart of a mammoth

Mountains of crap

War is a mill

The Ocean is the bed

The moon is lamenting

The house is a lagoon

My love is a lock

Writing is the Universe

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Composition

I walk the vast stretch of the land: pavements as rough as sandpaper, air too thin to feel, and the scope far too blurry to bring into focus. Everything seems elusive; my breath blends with the silence of what surrounds me. Every new and different shape has to fight my pessimism to come into reality. Reality–huh! I whisper to myself, with every snaps of scarce optimism that glimpses by, “the moon is lamenting on the other side.” That moon is the shelter waiting to be felt is the only solace that my endless steps, exploring void horizons, couldn’t salvage. If you see me, don’t be fooled, I am only squinting like smiling; the arch of my brows have nothing in common to the line of my lips. If you hear me, don’t be startled, because that’s my passive pulse. The heart of the mammoth has still the magnanimity, but between stillness and eternity, it is bound to halt.

Similes:

As empty as shelves in a grocery store before hurricane.

As weak as gossamer

Gathered together like a flock of sheep scared by a wolf

As rough as Hitlers hand

Trembling like colibris wings

Praying like mother whose son is at war

Bouncing like a check from an unreliable source

Smiling like a fourty-year-old who is finally getting married

Metaphors:

Heart of gold

Mountains of flowers

War is a dead end

The ocean is a mystery

The moon is Earths friend

This house of cold roommates

My love is a cherry in my cake of life

Writing is pouring your soul on the paper

My friends mother has always been as rough as Hitlers hand, still somewhere deep inside she had a heart of gold. My friends boyfriend brought her mountains of flowers, her mother did not know where they came from. He was her love, he was a cherry in her cake. Later her mom realized that war is a dead end, so she became friends with her cherry and they started a big family later.

Simile

As empty as words.

As weak as a tongue.

Gathered together like strands of hair.

As rough as an emery board.

Trembling like a needle.

Praying like a mantis.

Bouncing like pebble.

Smiling like an actress.

Metaphor

Heart of steel.

Mountains of ice which melt below your feet.

War is an abortion, taking the life of a son from the mother who bore him.

The ocean is a chisel which sculpted the seven continents.

The moon is the sun of the night, allowing for dim lighting in the night sky.

This house of  disconnect.

My love is a nest.

Writing is history.

Poem

My love is a nest

Protecting those it holds dear.

As empty as words

Like broken promises that will never be fulfilled.

As weak as a tongue

Which in anger utter words that rain down like a waterfall.

This house of  disconnect

In which empty words are exchanged.

Similes

As empty as tear ducts.

As weak as muscle tissue.

Gathered together like a funeral procession.

As rough as a whisper.

Trembling like an epileptic.

Praying like an atheist.

Bouncing like flat stone across a lake.

Smiling like a fool.

Metaphors

Heart of coal.

Mountains of fear.

War is life.

The ocean is the moon.

The moon is the ocean.

This house of cards.

My love is the sky.

Writing is living.

Lost in Translation

Gathered together like a funeral procession

My thoughts set fire to my eyes

And burn through everything in sight.

My lungs left;

Empty as tear ducts.

My sanity teeters

As the ceiling closes in.

I am happy.

The thoughts linger still;

Uncertain like the past.

Life is war;

War is life.

My heart of coal sits still

Atop mountains of fear.

Beneath it the ocean is the moon.

My love is the sky.

Always there;

But never the same.

I am happy.

I am…

(I’m not very good with metaphors and poetry but hopefully this didn’t turn out too bad)

Simile

As empty as…the desert

As weak as…a little girl

Gathered together like…prisoners

As rough as…burlap

Trembling like…a first date

Praying like…a nun

Bouncing like…a ball

Smiling like…a clown

Metaphor

Heart of…gold

Mountains of…laundry

War is…a drug

The ocean is… a hole

The moon is… meditation

This house of… horrors

My love is…magic

Writing is…work

Trembling

With my eyes closed

Talking about what happened

Trying to put words together to not cause much harm,

My words gathered together like prisoners yearning for freedom

And I’m still trembling like a first date

He caresses my face and closes his eyes tightly

And brought his lips to mine.

I squinted

It was a bit like a big, wet kiss on the lips,

But I was sure that I don’t wanted to be kissed by him anymore

I felt nothing

I was empty as my silent face

Mountains of agony washed over me

I was trembling like a first date but it was the last one

He was trembling too and crying and trying to make me change my mind

But every single word from his mouth I didn’t want to hear

And I just left

Similes

As empty as the devil’s heart.

As weak as a feather.

Gathered together like pieces of broken glass.

As rough as a cats tongue.

Trembling like a chihuahua.

Praying like a nun.

Bouncing like a bubble in the wind.

Smiling like freshly bloomed flowers.

Metaphors

Heart of a lion.

Mountains of pain.

War is infinate.

The ocean is eternal.

The moon is the light of the darkness.

This house of memories.

My love is destructive.

Writing is freedom.

Destruction

My emotions lay puddled on the floor

Gathered together like pieces of broken glass

I stand there as empty as the devil’s heart

Numb; as weak as a feather

It is a constant battle with my giving heart

But this war is infinate

The puddle swells becoming a red ocean

And the ocean is eternal

Piecing together the shards of glass

Too many to put back together

Overwhelmed; I’m sucked in

My love is destructive.

Similes 

As empty as death.

As weak as human flesh.

Gathered together like bees.

As rough as tree bark.

Trembling like a junkie.

Praying like a saint.

Bouncing like a deflated beach ball.

Smiling like serpent.

 Metaphors

Heart of ice.

Mountains of tears.

War is peace.

The ocean is corrupt.

The moon is wild in the quiet of the night, escaping the claws of the night.

This house of crumbs.

My love is war.

Writing is dreaming.

My love is war

War is peace,

Peace unknown without the war,

War unknown without the hope of peace.

Even the moon is at war against the dark.

The moon is wild in the stillness of the night,

Escaping the claws of the darkness.

Waving the white flag.

The good is at war with the bad within us,

One is smiling like a serpent,

The other, praying like a saint.

I dream and dream for peace,

But I can’t write my way out of this one.

The war is constant,

The loser always left trembling like a junkie,

The winner reaping the benefits,

Neither of them being able to keep the winning title.

This race in never ending,

As the moon fades

And light shines anew,

We have entered phase two.

Writing is dreaming,

And I write for you,

as I write for me.

Imagine the sinner without the saint,

and the saint without the sinner.

What a sight such a thing would be!

We are as weak as our weakest link,

the weakest link being our own skin,

the humanity within.

war is peace,

love is war,

neither of them a winner,

both of them too proud to surrender.

thus we reach the end of phase two,

with a screeching halt,

and as empty as death.

[Some of the similes/metaphors I have used might be wrong. I dont know why, but I think sometimes I use them without noticing, but when asked to identify it, for some reason I am having trouble; or maybe I am just over-thinking here.]

Similes

As empty as a cookie jar within a child’s reach

As weak as the delicate silk of spider webs

Gathered together like sewn pieces of thread

As rough as a stubbly beard

Trembling like a racing pulse

Praying like a frightened child

Bouncing like a coin across the water

Smiling like a rich gambler

Metaphors

Heart of sand

Mountains of frozen tears

War is death

The ocean is a blanket of silk

The moon is a beacon of hope

This house of hope

My love is an endless sea

Writing is a battlefield

Poem

I stand by the shore,

Clutching a thin shawl around my shoulders,

Trembling like a racing pulse.

The harsh wind is cold and unforgiving,

Biting at my icy, cold flesh.

I look ahead at the water.

The ocean is a blanket of silk

That ripples with the whistling wind.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a pebble-sized rock.

I roll the smooth pebble between my thumb and forefinger

Before I toss it into the ocean.

It crashes against the silky surface,

Bouncing like a coin across the water

I dig my toes into the wet sand

And enjoy the grainy sensation.

I look down at my feet and I can see the grains of sand

Being pushed and pulled by the water

These tiny specks of sand that are washed away,

Bit by bit, into this endless sea of blue

And I suddenly think

Of how much I’ve changed,

Of how much I’ve lost,

Of the tiny bits of me

That have slowly been washed away

I can feel myself fading,

Like a helpless creature with

A heart of sand.