Oh…I do love a good metaphor.
Pat Pattison, my teacher from Berklee and good friend, is re-vamping his “Writing Better Lyrics” book. He’s asked a few of his students to contribute, so I feel like I’ve gone back to school with the exercises in metaphor and object writing (sensational writing). I LOVE IT. Here are a few of my recents:
Quality 1 Concentration– Target idea 1: Meditation
sit bones like little triangular shapes planted into the floor, eyelids closed over, i observe the other senses. acute sounds step forward, car tires pressed into asphalt wooshing past, bus revving like a tired heavy elephant, carelessly exhaling black acrid gasses, birds high pitched squawks crack the silence, staccato notes shot across the yard into my room, my mind takes another turn, towards what my breath is doing. it lingers soft at the nostrils, waiting for my diaphragm to pull it in, down it goes like a rollercoaster or a bird swooping it glides into my guts like water filling a chasm, oo, my lungs opening like an accordion’s folds they stretch wide as though they are lit up with light, the lethargy and languid emotions are invigorated and moisturized like little cobwebs unfolded and stretched long, hwooooahhhhh they are carried like debris with the long river exhale that flows up and out to a vast sea. My spine is a pillar made of small smooth bones stacked like a stone sculpture that is pulled by an upward current, lifted and floating in a soft state of consciousness, little veins pulsing a heart’s beat like little bobbling undulations the buzz low and resonating almost inaudibly bass like a pedal note sticky powder rasping dragging across a heavy thick string at the base of my spine. thoughts tumble towards the breath that now feels like a cascading waterfall that magically circles back up to recycle itself. peering towards the soft places of a third eye, two purple dots face each other in an orange light, essences and hues of a thousand sunsets that smolder at my forehead. my skin relaxes until i do not know it anymore, the bones are still and silent, the breath is no longer an issue as i swim emptily into a deeper, calmer space, where nothing lives, where everything counters the nothing, and my spirit celebrates an expansion and dissipation into a light that i become.
Quality 2 Myopic – Target idea 2: Flirting with a boy
it’s not very clear, like a dirty lens light dust like flour fuzzy figures fanning limbs head blobs turning and morphing into thinner than fatter shapes, a crowd of bodies standing sculptures lean in as i step towards them. this boys brown ginger eyes saucers of light linger on my face, i feel my cheeks pull wider, chin and eyes bow bashfully towards him then the ground, i glance up and his gaze is like a beam that transfixes and immobilizes my being. i drink in his long tawny body, my left leg turns towards him, my hips follow and face his grand figure, his lips parting like curtains, shiny white teeth stand dazzling in his smile, warm like a whiskey dizzily dancing in my skin, i surrender my eyes to his gaze, permit him take his mental photographs, my right hip and shoulder swirl to the left as though i’ve dropped an anchor and cannot stop the force of my momentum… it is strong currents that flow from behind me towards him, this handsome man who holds my gaze like a swami holds the snake high and attentive, in love, from the basket. his fingers floating towards my bare shoulder the tiny many grooves of his fingertips drifting delightfully descend upon the concave dip in my shoulder, easily sliding across my taut collarbone that bows across my chest holding open the chest as a gush of energy like a fast deep water pours from my heart. durrrrrr
Quality 3——– Sherlock Holmes – Target idea 3: Reading my new lover’s mind.
I spy through the thick cut glass the enlarged colors that flower around his eyes in this direct white sun light, flecks of yellow like grains in wood radiate from the black hole, a deep dark ring of ebony outlines the array like deep colored gems that sparkle from his sockets. Long eyelashes flicker like butterflies, i am caught in this visual gazing, i follow this imaginary beam into his being, like a soaring ninja i fly and soar down into his chest, then circle up into his head, i stop this fantasy and fly back into my self, inviting anything he’s got into my space. i hear my own thoughts like little burrs in a field i brush by them and they hook into my consciousness, as i search for little clues and hints in his mannerisms, movements, body language. words he emphasizes bold in font, i see capital letters somersault towards my ears, reading every little space and line as they blend with the words and his subtle intentions, we teeter on the thin taut line that is tethered to each of our hearts, carefully we step in a slow dance that ricochets and ripples the long rope with a vibrating desire. i pick up each crumb he drops to examine it closely with my eyes, devouring each one like a morsel of affection.
