Music and Metaphor - Journal Assignment - Things we've seen in the past week.

The dilapidated exterior of the building belied the beehive of activity taking place inside.
Opening the rusty door, I was immediately hit by both the mildewy smell
and by the sweet harmonies of a children's choir practicing down the hall.

Its eyes looking at nothing,
the deer look so peaceful.
Once you looked past the head, however,
the mangled body and
exposed entrails brought
an overwhelming sense of nausea.

The picture was over 30 years old,
yellowed and there was a
piece torn from the corner.
I was so carefree then; those days are gone,
seemingly forever.

The chainsaw ground its way
through the once mighty oak.
It used to hold my ramshackled tree house,
now it will provide warmth for many a cold winter.

Purring seems to be a cat's way of expressing content.
Why then do I have a bandage covering a gash from where
this contented cat clenched its teeth around my wrist?

I scrubbed the growing moss off
my father's tombstone.
I rubbed my fingers over his name that was
chiseled into the granite.

The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air.
The kitchen was coated in flour and it
seemed that every pot, pan, and bowl was in the sink.
In the middle of all this melee was
a beautiful golden crusted pie.

Instructor Feedback
This exercise is proof, Jim, that writer's block is only an excuse, a lame excuse not to write:) Remember that! For whenever you believe you have nothing to say or write, well, just look around because life and poetry and literature are lenses for us to see with, like prescription glasses w/out the prescription. Gary