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Poem #5. A caterpillar is an upholstered worm. What is a metphor? It is the first cousin to a simile.

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Presentation on theme: "Poem #5. A caterpillar is an upholstered worm. What is a metphor? It is the first cousin to a simile."— Presentation transcript:

1 Poem #5

2 A caterpillar is an upholstered worm. What is a metphor? It is the first cousin to a simile.

3 Metaphor= compares two objects but does not use “like”, “as”, or “than”.

4 A caterpillar is an upholstered worm. SIMILE: Her cheeks are like polished apples. METAPHOR: Her cheeks are polished apples.

5 My legs were _____________ as I raced for the tape.

6 Faced with failure, I felt my heart become a (an) _________________.

7 As the audience listened in shocked silence, my fingers became ____________, stumbling over the ivory.

8 My feet were _______________ as I set out to investigate the peculiar noises coming from the attic.

9 Brainstorm a list of Units Examples: Groceries Dishes Windows Furniture Shoes

10 Poem #5: Metaphor Poem -Write a Metaphor Poem about your own family. -Pick a Unit and write a metaphor for your own family which includes every family member as an element in the unit.

11 Metaphor for a Family My family lives inside a medicine chest: Dad is the super-size band aid, strong and powerful but not always effective in a crisis. Mom is the middle-size tweezer, which picks and pokes and pinches. Halley is the single small aspirin on the third shelf, sometimes ignored. Shelby, the sheep dog, is a round cotton ball, stained and dirty that pops off the shelf and bounces in my way as I open the door. And I am the wood and glue which hold us all together with my love.

12 Fifth of July My family is an expired firecracker set off by the blowtorch of divorce. We lay scattered in many directions. My father is the wick, badly burnt but still glowing softly. My mother is the blackened paper fluttering down, blowing this way and that, unsure where to land. My sister is the fallen, colorful parachute, lying in a tangled knot, unable to see the beauty she holds. My brother is the fresh, untouched powder that was protected from the flame. And I, I am singed, outside papers, curled away from everything, silently cursing the blowtorch.


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