The Animal Metaphor Poem
Think of an animal that best represents what poetry means to you. What are its various traits and activities? Let that animal serve as your metaphor. I’m setting my little Porcupine Poem free so that he might prick your muse into action!
Sometimes the best part of a poem comes after we are finished reading it, that extra moment or two later when its poetic impact is fully realized.
The Porcupine Poem
(Porcupines can raise their quills, turn around, and run backwards into their prey.)
Just when you think
you are done with it,
the poem turns on you,
charges back for more,
pricks you with its
finer points,
reminds you
things are not
what they seem,
that the past is not past
until it turns and shows
its sharp, uncompromising side.
Oooh…love that, Charles! I adore beautiful poems, but ones that are sharp and uncompromising are the ones that I tend to remember more:>)
Thanks, Laura! I’m looking forward to seeing your new uncompromising sharp ones this new year!
I really like the last stanza, “the past is not the past”…very thought provoking images and words…thanks for sharing
Hee. I skipped some of the intro and went straight to the poem; I read it understanding that just when you think you are done with it, the poem YOU ARE WRITING turns on you, charges back for more. That happens too!
This is an interesting challenge….
Yes, Heidi, that’s true too! The poem you are writing often turns on you and charges back for more. My editors often do that too.
Dear PACYA Poets,
Thanks for all your comments and poetic contributions to our weekly Poems About Poetry feature these past few weeks. I just received word that PACYA has decided to discontinue this feature. So before old Father Goose graciously bows out, I’d like to leave you with this one last Animal Metaphor Poem, this one about a goose, well, actually about goose liver, aka “Poetry Pâté.”
Metaphors be with you!
Charles
Poetry Pâté
Poems are truffles
uprooted by the sow
who squeals at you
before she devours her find.
It is your job
to rescue each truffle
before it is eaten.
Let no one conceit
this idea into
soils of soul
or gardens of the mind.
There is no dewy bouquet
in poem-making.
It is all shovel
and pick and fingernail dirt.
The goose liver, too, is a poem,
found and fattened by force,
handfuls of barely corn
pushed past her perfect beak
before the bulk rate rubber band
is stretched into place
around her swollen throat,
a ritual without song
as the swan would have it.
The wafer now waits
with its foreign spread.
Do not grimace
when you taste
what you have done.
You will only ask for more.
You will reach again to rescue
the bloated bird,
the baited sow
before they swallow
what they cannot eat.
©Charles Ghigna
Ouch and Yum (except, truth be told, I am grimacing just thinking about what’s on that cracker…)
Thanks, Mary Lee. Happy New Year!
May your crackers be filled with olives and cheese.
I’m sorry to hear your feature is being discontinued, Charles – but thank you for your inspiraional contributions!
I love poems about poetry! Thank you!
Thanks Cynthia and Matt!
We’ll continue this feature over at
The BALD EGO Blog