Songwriting Without Boundaries (24 page)

Seaside, I stand on tiny rocks, microscopic as they shift and shhh me while I shift my weight over bare feet. Sloshing in the distance, the lights of a bulldog-faced cargo ship wince, an explosive collision with another boat, baboom and billowing in the darkness, metal glugging in the seawater like an overthirsty beast.

BONNIE HAYES:
A cargo ship is a wince on the otherwise placid and beautiful face of the ocean.

It shudders on the shoulders of the world and mars the peace, doing its quotidian tasks of making somebody money, while resting upon a world of miracles.

Note Jess’s use of the third form of expressed identity, “cargo ship’s wince.” And Bonnie’s introduction of face’s family, including
shoulders.

Your turn.

A zipper is a Frisbee

BONNIE HAYES:
A zipper is a Frisbee, the traverser between up and down.

A yippee of energy. Up and down, over and over again, tracing its course, then suddenly off into the bushes or onto a busy street—ooops, caught; skin in the teeth!

CHANELLE DAVIS:
Shoppers watched curiously as the tantrum escalated outside the supermarket. The mother and son played a game of Frisbee with his jacket zipper, which he refused to keep done up—stomping his feet in the blackened car park snow.

Metal zipping up and down, blue jacket cold numb fingers, red plastic boots, clanging of shopping trolleys, swishing of plastic grocery bags stretching under the weight of milk bottles, runny nose …

This one is trickier, but once you see that a Frisbee is in motion, back and forth, it’s easier to see “the traverser between up and down” and the “game of Frisbee with his zipper.” It’s a game of looking for Frisbee qualities that are shared with zippers. Lots more on this later.

Write your own.

An evening is a poem

ANDREA STOLPE:
An evening is a poem, strung along the infinite moment, harnessing dark and light, tangible and intangible.

Tufts of long grasses erupt from the fine sand at the edge of the trees, my spot for watching the earth descend into evening, and finally into deep sleep. Stars stud the night sky and I look across the Milky Way. The air thins as it cools, and my bare legs …

SUSAN CATTANEO:
The winter evening is a poem, filled with chilly passages and the delicate cadence of snow flurries on the paper-white ground …

The wind breathing in and out in swirls of white powder, a dog crouches down then leaps into the snow, a four-legged iambic pentameter …

Hot spots: “poem
harnessing
dark and light”; “the delicate cadence of snow flurries.”

Your turn.

The captain is summer

SUSAN CATTANEO:
The army captain is summer, hot and sweaty in his fatigues, white and still while he waits for autumn to make the first move.

Languid trees lounge over his head, the jungle is a forest of green, combat boots squelch in the hazy mud …

KRISTIN CIFELLI:
The captain is summer, with sandy blonde hair, Atlantic ocean-blue eyes, and glowing, carefree skin.

It was hard to take him seriously—the captain looked more like a lifeguard on Laguna Beach than an army captain. He was summer—carefree and all smiles, a friendly ice-cream cone, and a welcoming watermelon. He melted the girls with his sunny skin …

In this one a simile might make the direction clearer: “The captain is
like
summer, he ….”

It feels much easier to slide the other way—summer is a captain. That direction may offer more family members. When you have very few family members stepping into the other living room, simile may work better.

Both Susan and Kristin got it right, creating some pretty summery captains.

Now, you go.

A wineglass is a restaurant

SUSAN CATTANEO:
Her wineglass was a restaurant, crowded with the taste of oak and pear, a transparent window to the wine sitting inside.

A mellow conversation in warm red, speaking of wide aisles of grapes, hanging full and ripe on the green curlicue vines, crushing pulp underfoot like sawdust, the bees are waiters hovering at each plant before moving on.

BONNIE HAYES:
A wineglass is a restaurant full of smells and flavors.

Here is the smoke of the grill, the scent of the lilacs in the centerpieces, the berries in the compote. There is the bitterness of the greens, a slight smell of must from the area behind the bar, the mineral smell of money, and a slight tang of citrus.

This one works well both ways. Lots of family members in common—the mark of a productive metaphor. Clearly, both Susan and Bonnie know their wines.

Your turn.

DAY #9

EXPRESSED IDENTITY:
FINDING NOUNS FROM NOUNS

Okay, today you’ll start with a noun and find an expressed identity of your own.