Think of your favorite meal. Write a poem about the recipe, describing how each ingredient and every action contributes to the final whole. Evoke the five senses--from the sound of a whisk to the smell of paprika. Explore what this meal means to you and why. Write vibrantly, unless gruel is your thing.
Poetry harnesses the power of metaphors and similes to reach a part of humanity that is inaccessible to all other forms of communication. Think about someone you love. Spend fifteen minutes making a list of their notable attributes--both flattering and incriminating. Describe those attributes using simple metaphors and similes to explain the complex feelings this person evokes within you.
When I was a kid alone at home, I beat a dozen eggs and wanted to add something. I thought about my favorite things and figured... why not.... I spooned in some Nestles Quik and made chocolate scambled eggs. I shoveled in the first bite and knew something was terribly wrong. The trash can even grumbled when I dump them in it. No one ever asked about the missing eggs. Who knew not everything taste great together even if they both taste great. Not me apparently.
Lol, great story. I once made cookies and argued with my mom when she said we had no flour. I made the cookies and added what I thought was all purpose flour and just about gagged when I tasted the flat weird chocolate cookies... It was corn flour. Nasty as hell.
|Windows, like frames for photos and paintings, provide a context to the vast world around us. Sit by your favorite window and write a poem about life beyond the glass: diaphanous oak leaves spangled in sunlight, fatigued men hanging from a garbage truck, chirping songbirds flitting through summer rain, a hunched elderly woman who feels forgotten. Remember: This is your window as defined by your life. Give yourself thirty minutes.|
|The center of our families, our homes, and our most treasured conversations occur at the kitchen table. We discuss the vibrant color of sautéed asparagus, the deep laugh of a deceased grandfather, or sit quietly, alone, worrying about our children at 3am. Write a poem about your kitchen table, and the food, voices, and thoughts it has experienced over the years.|
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