META-phor-MOSIS POEM CHALLENGE
(1) METAMORPHOSIS: a biological process of change (eg: caterpillar to butterfly)
(2) THE METAMORPHOSIS: a novel by FRANZ KAFKA in which the protagonist GREGORY SAMSA wakes up and transforms into a COCKROACH : see the following site for great graphic illustration of the book-
http://www.randomhouse.com/crown/metamorphosis/(
3) METAPHOR: a literary device used to link two DIFFERENT ideas together (eg; FAMILY= MEDICINE CHEST)
(4) meta-phor-mosis: a PUN (a play on words) on the word METAPHOR & METAMORPHOSIS
HAHA: HERE WE GO!!!!!------It's the 'CROSSES', 'SWITCHES' and 'OUT OF THE BOX' leaps we are gonna make:
POETS & WORDSMITHS: let the challenge begin------drop your poems HERE. please write your name too. We want to know who you are.
Labels: META-phor-MOSIS poem CHALLENGE
posted by 3F @ 10:01 AM
17 Comments:
My Family is a wooden door.
Father is the wood, strong and reliable sometimes...
My mother is the hinge, supporting us. Sister is the lock, Locking herself from us.
My brother is the handle, turning himself away from his problems though not always.
I am the paint, covering them with my concern.
My family is a tree.
My father seems to be the trunk which support the whole tree,
like what my father does too.
My mother is the branches which lift the leaves up and reach out for the sunlight.
My mother similarly did the same things to my sister and I no matter how hard it is.
My sister is the fruit produced by the tree and and brings colour to the family.
She always bring joy and laughter to our family.
Last but not least, me the leaves of the tree, provides food for the tree.
I usually help my family in ways.
MY FAMILY TREE
when a man dies, it is not about the money that he leaves, but it is the stripes that he leaves on society--- for his own sisters and brothers, father was a sheltering tree, for us he gave us the genetic stripes of barks: of the need to be of use to ourselves and others
stones don't make her cry, she hates when people cry--- i notice she doesn't take the meat at meals, slowly i understood: o she passed it for us--- she is the lion that guards, runs, prowls, loses sleep: the strength that sacrifices, holds and feeds the tree
sukor is born in november, he understands wires, networks, C++, puts together parts of a computer like turning on a tap, works mutely underground: the epitome of roots and undegrowth that connects and perform miracles for its family
if mum was the lion that guards the tree, then this one's the predecessor: she is the branch that reaches for the sun: REACH OUT, REACH OUT and takes no known height as a limit-----she longs for light, sunlight, her disposition so efferverscent---- is it a wonder they named her "Seri" ? * (malay for shining light)
Saw no need for school, learns how to do things with an instance----Salleh: the kind and streetwise traveller who comes back and forth with fertilizers to keep the tree
Sometimes an owl who the bark only listens to, the faraway bird that that takes long journeys to discovery, the mysterious bird who drops secret notes and leaves: they have all accepted: i can never be held down to a tree- i wear different colours, they understand my needs for migration--my soul a chameleon
MOHAMAD
My family is like a office-chair.
My Father is like the legs of the office-chair, always there to support us,without him is just not right,we cant do a thing without him.
My Mother is just like the back-rest, always there to give us a rest which will let us release our stress upon lying on it.
Both my Brothers are the arm-rest, giving people a rest needed after doing much hand-work, when one of them is not there, we will not feel comfortable when there is only 1 arm-rest.
And I, the seat, give people comfort and putting my family in place, trying to give everyone support with everything i can give.Without me, it isn't a chair anymore, no more a complete family.
My family is a pencil box. My smaller brother is a blue pen. he will not stop even when he is wrong. My mom is the correction tape, correcting all the pens mistakes. My dad is the red pen. Crossing out every single mistakes he spots. My big brother is the green pen, not commonly used. My cousin is a pencil, everything it does is only a small significant to my family, my aunt is a eraser which only erases the pencil's mistakes. Me? I am not in the pencil box. I am the one who makes this pencil box tight together. I am the leathers/cloth surrounding the pens and pencils. I bring them together and keeps them in perfect condition for use.
This piece of cloth may not be anything, but it always holds the pen together till it is tore.
My family is like a car.
My father is like the engine, which keeps us running.
My mother is like the steering wheel, which keeps us moving to the right direction.
My sister is like the radio, which keeps us entertained.
And i am like the parts which hold the car cause i always try to help the family and hold it together.
Muhd Amirul
My family is like a rubic cube .
Difficult but possible to get the colours right .
My father is the colour red .
He is like a wooden block , always obstinate to get things done in his way .
My mother is like the colour blue .
She is like the clear sky and the deep blue oceans which gives serenity .
She is also like a kettlepot which keeps screaming for the red alarm .
My eldest sister is the colour orange .
Like a maze of instant noodles , unable to understand us .
My second sister is the colour of yellow .
She is like a candle that burns on it's own in the cold winter night .
And I ,
I am the colour white .
The addition of all the colours of the family .
Hoping to understand every single one of them one day .
My family is just like a bed.
My father is the wooden plank, strong and steady.
My mother is just like the matress, letting people rest on her if they are tired.
My two sisters are just like the legs of the bed,the bed would not be complete if they are not around.
And i'm the glue, which stick them all together.
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My family is like a bowl of plain porridge...
Simple but full of flavours...
My mum is like the bowl,containing the family,supporting it without fail...
Without a bowl, a bowl of porridge cannot be serve up...
Without the bowl,porridge have nothing to rely on...
And me?
the plain porridge that needs the bowl to support...
although its plain,but it fills the family with joy and flavours of life...
it gives the bowl will to support and carry on her job bringing up me...
although a bowl of porridge may be bland...
but it can be as simple and as flavourful a life can have...
plain such as bowl of porridge...SERVE UP!!
My family is an open sewing kit,
with scraps of cloth and other remnant bits.
My father is a piece of cloth,
linked to none and free to float.
My mother is the sewing needle,
poking a way through all stubborn cloths.
My stepfather is the scissors,
the intrusion that snipped a fragile thread.
My stepbrother is a spare button:
where should it actually be?
And I am the roll of thread,
important only to the needle,
untouched unless needed.
My family is like a football team.
My father is the goalkeeper who protects us from any harm from other people's team.
My mother is the defender who assists my father and helps him at his job.
I am the striker who creates opportunity for my family
My brother and my sister is the midfielder who assists me at my job in being a striker.
My family is like a file,
All documents together neatly.
Father is the cover,
protecting the documents in the file from other factors.
Mother is the seperator,
keeping the documents in a nice and neat order.
Brother is the documents,
understanding it is always confusing and giving me a headache
I am the ring.
always ensuring the documents woulld not be droped off from the file.
My family is like an aeroplane
Flying in the sky
My father is the pilot
keeps the plane flying high
My mother is the steering wheel
keeps the plane on track
My brother is the flight attendant
always trying to help
And I am the wings
Always causing problem but keeps us in the air
My family is like an electric guitar.
My father is the lead strings which keeps the family on the right rhythem.
My mother is the tuner which corrects us when we are wrong.
My sister is the pick which keeps the family moving.
My brother is the gadgets which changes the mood of the family.
And I am the one which keeps yhe family together by playing the guitar....
My family is the weather of Singapore,
Dad is the sun,
always so big and shining and hot,
but sometimes very bright and burning.
Mum is the clouds,
always changing,
sometimes so dark,
while sometime moving so fast.
I am the night sky,
always so cool,
but still warm some days.
Umar's poem :
My Family is as if a Crayon Coloured Room.
Colour is everywhere,
and can be found in anyone.
Just like the colours on my wall change, so does everyones attitude.
Dad was as if the wall of the Room,
Supporting every colours,
Trying his best not to allow the colours fade away.
Supporting the whole family.
Mum is the colour Blue,
and sometimes to Orange,
and Green.
Blue- Mum would always be TIRED upon getting home from work. She sometimes works in the Day, or Night.
Orange - A very HARDWORKING mum.
She cooks & iron for the family.
Green - Her patience has its limits. GRUMPY. She would nag if someone did something wrong.
As the only child in the family,
I am the Crayons that colour the room.
I would colour up my family with love, my jokes, and entertainment.
But all the coulours can be found within me.
I sometimes am the one who make Dad and Mum cry.
I sometimes am the one who make them laugh.
And i sometimes am the one that make my family united as one.
Syazwan's Poem :
My family is the kitchen.
Mum is a boiling kettle that wistle.
The wistle of that kettle is equivelant to a scream.
Sister is as if a fridge,
who cools her down when she boils,
who also freeze everyones mood with attitude.
I am the fire stove,
that always boils the kettle,
but also who cooks food for the family.
Dad is like the air, around us.
essential
Fire needs oxygen to live.
Freezes need it too, to be called freezes.
But when watter boils,
it turns to air.
Unfortunately meaning,
Dad is mum main victim when boiling.
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