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The Silent Writers Collective | Away With Words January 25, 2011

Posted by Stella☆LunaC in Writers and Poets.
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Tonight at 9 EST and PST, the Silent Writers Collective holds its weekly online writing retreat.  All writers are welcome to join in and be quiet.

You can work on your own project or use the writing exercise provided below.  For those participating in the WordPress.com Post A Day challenge, it’s a great time to stockpile a post or two.  For those who aren’t sure what they want to work on, here is an interesting exercise for fiction writers from Poets & Writers’ new series, “The Time is Now.”

My (first) project tonight:

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.”

1. coffee cup : as large as a water tower, as empty as

2. slipper : as fuzzy as a bear,  as warm as a buffalo robe

3. eye : as dull as a tarnished penny, as dry as sand

4. wool : as scratchy as a brillo pad, warm as toast

5. old farm house : as big as a Big White Elephant, as old as the hills

5. 50’s linoleum : as slippery as Shinola, as ugly as headcheese

6. ceramic heater : as quiet as a mouse, as old as the house

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

“Checklist to Survive a Nuclear Winter”

My coffee cup goes with me, everywhere I go.

big as a water tower, so I won’t run out of Joe.

Slippers warm as a buffalo robe, wrap my toes in a blanket of fur,

fuzzy as a bear,  they protect from the elemental Winter.

My eyes, they are dull as a penny, I cup my face in my hand,

and rub them gently, dry like the desert sand.

A wool scarf around my neck, scratches like a brillo pad,

protect me from blustery winds,  keep me warm as toast.

In this old farm house, big as a white elephant, the wind whistles through the cracks,

exhaling memories old as the hills,  and recollections of winters past.

The linoleum creaks when I tread across it, thin squeaks,

years of faded wax, as slippery as Shinola, speckled and ugly as headcheese.

The ceramic heater in the corner purrs softly, as quiet as a mouse,

pushing forth it’s warm breath, to comfort this old house.

Fin.

* I have no clueage how to go about this, but it felt good to just sit and write something as random as the above “poem”.  I am no poet and don’t aspire to be one, but it was a good exercise in brain function and food for thought.

I will be back again next week, barring any unforeseen schedule changes, work-related or otherwise.

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Comments»

1. Stella☆MHorses - January 28, 2011

LOL! you think I have a chance at writing? That was a fun exercise, so random! 😀

2. Lindy - January 28, 2011

Pretty FANTASTIC how thaat poem came out, brilliant!


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