The day was a metaphor. Exercise.

8 Dec

(based on the Simon Armitage poem; “Not the Furniture Game.” Read it Here)

Take an average day of your life and separate it into key milestones.

These can be physical actions e.g. getting out of bed, places e.g. work/school/the classroom/the office/Nando’s toilets.

The milestones could also be sounds, sights, smells, places, people etc.

Basically whatever makes up your average day.

Plot these milestones down the side of your page and create a metaphor for each one.

Try to focus on transferring a feeling rather than just replacing it for something that looks similar.

Example – Clouds metaphor.

The clouds are ice-cream/cotton wool/fresh towels is ok but a bit obvious.

It might be more interesting to think about how clouds make you feel and use something that makes you feel the same way as your metaphor.

So if the clouds make you feel worried maybe your metaphor is,

The clouds were an impending exam I’d not managed to revise for.

If they make you feel happy maybe your metaphor is,

The clouds were a smile from an attractive stranger.

Below is an example I wrote for a school day.

The school gates are the Berlin wall,

The other kids parents are soviet navigators,

And their cars are all ballet dancers standing on tiptoes,

The playground is the inside of a wasps’ nest

And the morning bell a sirens call to a pirate ship,

Registration is an orchestra of solos and our tutor is a deaf conductor,

Each classroom is a fish tank full of goldfish forgetting they’ve forgotten they’ve got 3 second memories,

The corridors are a game of Snake on the Nokia 80210, Or original Pac-Man on arcade format,

The teachers are ghosts,

The science labs are the establishing shots in a an episode of Casualty,

And every break-time is New Years Eve,

P.E. is an army camp and the changing rooms are courtyards filled with searchlights,

Lunchtime is the sun breaking through a cloudy sky,

The dinner-ladies are a fleet of galleons on choppy waters and their hands are lifeboats and drift wood,

The smell of the dinner hall is the bin behind a fairground waltzer, 

The lunch cue is a melting iceberg 

All the older girls are Hollywood actresses viewed sunbathing through long-lens cameras,

The Boy’s toilets are a minefield,

The Girl’s toilets are fields of clover,

Our English teacher is a foreign tourist lost translating a thousand dead languages,

And the Drama studio is a cardboard box in the hands of a 5-year-old child,

The corridors in the afternoon are the bull-run at Pamplona,

And the library is a UN sanctioned safe-zone in conflict,

Home time bell is the starters pistol for the Olympic 100m sprint,

And I am a jar,

Neither full nor empty,

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