1. Poetry
By Nathan Mooney

2. Personification
Hey diddle, Diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Mother Goose

3. Analogy
The white mares of the moon rush along the sky Beating their golden hoofs upon the glass Heavens; The white mares of the moon are all standing on their hind legs Pawing at the green porcelain doors of the remote Heaves. Fly, Mares! Strain your utmost. Scatter the milky dust of stars, Or the tiger sun will leap upon you and destroy you With one lick of his vermillion tongue.
Amy Lowell

4. Metaphor
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;         5   Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,         10   And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.         15   I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Robert frost

5. Simile
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode? Langston hughes

6. Alliteration
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?
Rudyard Kipling

7. Hyperbole
The flower snakes from the cold ground. Something once beautiful: Disguised by the unmerciful forces of nature. Its petals red as blood- Smeared across each vein. Its leaves are frail and dying. The night sky, a dark background, Hiding the creatures that lurk, Suspiciously within the trees. Its image: Scratched, as if human kind had tried to erase it from memory. But the image still lives, Still breathes, Still thrives, Chilling me and my thoughts.

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