I am not a poet, but I read poems regularly. Their succinct and succulent lines transform the way I see the world around me, fill my head with color and sound and taste and most important of all to me, emotion. And all without lots of words.
One of my current favorites is Jane Hirshfield. Here’s the opening stanza of her poem “The New Silence”:
There are times
when the heart closes down,
the metal grate drawn
and padlocked,
the owner’s footprints covered in snow.
Like all writing, of course, the meaning of Hirshfield’s words will vary with her reader. One person might read “heart” as romantic love, another as representing one’s soul. Regardless of these individual interpretations, this opening brings and rings multiple bells for the reader: visual, tactile, even passage of time.
The key to its success, in my eyes, is that it uses metaphor.
What Is Metaphor?
Metaphor is one component of figurative language. Simile is another type of figurative language; some teachers include image and symbol in this category as well. What's the difference?
Briefly, similes make an explicit comparison between two unlike things using like or as. Metaphors make an implicit comparison, directly equating the two unlike things.
Rather than stating that the heart is like a building that’s been secured, the heart in Hirshfield’s poem is closed down, with grates and padlocks around it. No one’s literal heart has these physical protections, but it’s a rare human who hasn’t felt like they’ve locked away their heart after a stunning hurt.
Metaphor Works on Many Levels
Metaphor serves to clarify, deepen and expand our writing, as Hirshfield’s does. Not only is the heart in her poem heavily protected, it has been abandoned, and abandoned long enough for its owner’s footprints to be covered in snow. This suggests both the coldness of a snowy season, and that the heart’s trusted caretaker has walked away.
Talk about desolation.
Metaphor is as subject to cliché as similes, however. Beware the dead metaphor: he was a bull in a china shop.
But even this cliché, if a reader paused to consider it, is powerful. As James Woods states in How Fiction Works, “[m]etaphor . . . is the entire imaginative process in one move.”
So how do we make that move? Unsurprisingly, as with most writing craft, we make that move by trying, and failing, a lot.
Can we simply eliminate the “like” or “as” of a simile to create a metaphor? Sometimes, yes! “His father was like a bottle rocket” is a simile. “His father was a bottle rocket” is a metaphor.
Certainly this works well, for me. By equating the father with a bottle rocket, I’ve painted a picture of a temperamental, explosive character, one who has a fuse that may be set afire or left alone; one whose explosion might generate temporary beauty, albeit beauty that will ultimately be reduced to ash.
Similes can lack the “punch” of metaphor. They compare disparate things rather than merge them as metaphors do, and in that way they fall short of containing Woods’ “entire imaginative process.”
Simile or Metaphor? Choose Deliberately
It’s part of our work as writers to choose what will serve their story. Sometimes it’s ineffective to merge dislike things. Maybe your character’s laugh is like a rooster’s morning reveille, but to have your character be a rooster would create a distracting image.
Metaphor is particularly useful when we’re dealing with abstractions like love, peace, hatred—things we can’t touch. That’s what Hirshfield did when she placed a grate and padlock around the heart: those are tangible, very real, objects.
But the heart is an object, too, right? Absolutely, but unless the reader is a physician, Hirshfield guesses (correctly, I believe) that most of us will read heart as a one-word metaphor, as noted above, for love, or one’s soul.
Metaphors Aren't Just for Poetry
But what if you’re not a poet? Do you really need metaphors in your writing?
Not all writers need metaphors; not all writing is intended to draw connections between disparate things, nor is that always necessary.
But if you can’t quite say what you’re getting at, playing with metaphor-making may unlock your voice and expand your piece. And even if you don’t think you need metaphors for your writing, metaphor-making may unlock new ideas for you.
How do you use metaphor in your writing? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to practice writing metaphors. Let me break it down into three steps:
First, divide a clean sheet of paper into two columns. Set your timer for five minutes and in one column, brainstorm at least twenty abstract ideas or concept, like love, justice, discipline, narcissism. If you get twenty before the timer goes off, you can stop early and take another sip of coffee! 🙂
Then, reset the timer for another five minutes and in the second column make a list of common objects, things you can touch: table, daisies, coffee mug.
For your last five minutes, close your eyes and pick an object from each list, then write five sentences wherein the object is the abstraction. Pick and write again at least three times.
Here’s mine: Her love for him is a daisy. An oxeye daisy planted above the beagle’s grave. Oxeye daisies are drought-resistant but not drought-proof, and their white heads droop. They need water, and so does she.
When you're done, share your metaphors in the comments below and leave some feedback for your fellow writers!
The light of religion worked like a medicine tp heal the darkness of his sins.medicines are sometimes bitter , they come with lots of precautions and preventions that it becomes harder tp swallow them down your throat but once you do , your disease start to disappear. Religion did the same to her sins.
I don’t know .. i think its just lame. If you could give me honest feedback like about my mistakes , it’ll be Really really awwsome and generous of you. Thanks.
I think you have a good idea, but I’ll mention a few points.
You start out with his sins and end up with her sins.
swallow them down your throat… How else could you swallow something but down your throat? So those three words are unnecessary.
I’d end the sentence with to swallow them. Then start a new one: Once you do, your disease…
thank you so much for your opinion. It really helped.you’re just amazing.
You’re welcome. And thank you. 🙂
Not lame, but not a metaphor. You used “like.” How about:
The wounds of her sin are healed by the medicine of her faith. It can be a bitter prescription.
yess.. totally. Thank you so much for this. You’re awesome.
Awww, shucks. I’m nothing special.
Also, I’ve not been writing consistently for a while due to circumstances beyond my control.
Personally, I love metaphors but also believe that only writing geniuses are capable of creating good metaphors. I hope I would be able to create a great one someday.
However, I decided to take the challenge but it wasn’t easy. I picked “FEAR” and “GUN(PISTOL)” (I Thought it was a good pair but I’m not sure)
here was what I came up with:
The fear I felt right within me was a pistol. A pistol whose presence alone sends a rush of warm blood through my vein, making my heart pop out from its cavity. A silent pistol capable of harming and killing without making a sound. A pistol held in the hand of a suicidal who would pull the trigger even when he doesn’t want to. The thought of such fear takes away my soul quietly and I would feel my heart hitting the wall of my chest, about to explode the next minute.
Hi Michael！
There is no doubt that “FEAR” and “GUN” is a good pair. It’s easy to associate these two words because most people have a fear of guns. Your metaphor vividly describes the intensity and danger of the speaker’s fear. One thing I like about this metaphor is that this metaphor continues with the effect of the pistol-fear, describing it as causing a “rush of warm blood” through the veins, making the heart feel like it’s popping out. This vividly captures the intense physical reaction to fear, akin to an adrenaline surge that one might experience in a life-threatening situation. Finally, the metaphor concludes with the fear metaphorically taking the speaker’s soul and the heart hitting the wall of the chest, “about to explode the next minute.” This culminates the destructive capability of the fear, not just as a threat to physical well-being but also to existential stability.
The writer of this article said she’s not a poet but this one on metaphors is beautifully written. I will definitely read again.
I am a newbie in writing (started some seven months ago). Also, I’ve not been writing consistently for a while due to circumstances beyond my control.
Personally, I love metaphors but also believe that only writing geniuses are capable of creating good metaphors. I hope I would be able to create a great one someday.
However, I decided to take the challenge but it wasn’t easy. I picked “FEAR” and “GUN(PISTOL)” (I Thought it was a good pair but I’m not sure)
here was what I came up with:
The fear I felt right within me was a pistol. A pistol whose presence alone sends a rush of warm blood through my vein, making my heart pop out from its cavity. A silent pistol capable of harming and killing without making a sound. A pistol held in the hand of a suicidal who would pull the trigger even when he doesn’t want to. The presence of such fear takes away my soul quietly and I would feel my heart hitting the wall of my chest, about to explode the next minute.
I’ll be glad to get feedback on this one.
Once again this is a great article on metaphors Lesley. Thanks for sharing.
(i’m sorry I’m posting the same content twice. I am using am extremely poor browser with no Js feature. I posted only to realise my initial post was cut from the top. So I had to repost. I will try to see if I can delete the previous post)
That wasn’t bad at all. I don’t think only geniuses are capable of creating good metaphors. I think it comes down to persistence. If you wrote a thousand metaphors, at least one of them would have to be stellar. Someone who wrote a good metaphor (after writing many lousy ones) might even be mistaken for a genius.
Bravo! I like the “loaded with bullets of my past and future…” Fear is like that; it can come at you from either direction.
I suggest you watch out for the prepositions. I’ll highlight them:
“…creeping in within me…” Choose either “fear creeping in” or “fear within me”… or just plain “fear is a pistol. A pistol whose…”
“…making my heart pop out from its cavity.” Use one or the other. Or one snappy verb, like swells, jolts or expands. and leave out “from its cavity.”
“takes away my soul quietly…” Could you find one verb, like “steals my soul” or “freezes my soul.” (Truth is, nothing but deal can take away a person’s soul.)
Thank you for the explanation of the differences between simile and metaphor and for the ways they can enhance our writing.
I went at this seriously, numbering bits of paper my abstracts and objects, then pulling one of each from a bowl. Here’s what came from the resulting match-up:
My book of Assorted Fears fell open this morning at the chapter titled, “Nobody Loves Me.” Yeah, it’s a depressing read, but I skimmed through the pages, went down the bullet point list of why nobody should. Then I turned to the pages of Convincing Evidence. The ink was dark and damning, many remarks recorded in boldface type. I read half a page before my eyes got blurry, then I slammed the book shut, crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head. Someday I’ll burn that book, I vow.
Reading through another blog I noticed the word “dizzy.” My muse gave me a nudge and popped a picture into my mind, which resulted in this verse. I find haiku so suited to metaphors.
child on a swing
twirling herself dizzy
fallen leaves skipping by
I love “The ink was dark and damning.” The pairing of an image and another abstraction was brilliant. The alliteration is awesome, too!
Thank you. I first had “sharp and clear” but that sounded too repetitive, rather flat and cliche. My trusty thesaurus came to my rescue.
I couldn’t write without a thesaurus.
Loved the progression! The style of being humorous about what is thought of as a serious topic like insecurities is refreshing. The metaphor of your fears being a assorted book made me look at fears as something tangible and finite, less daunting even.
Years ago we (in a ladies’ group) were having a discussion about fear and this thought popped into my head: “Fear is self-centeredness.
This thought has helped me many times when fears wanted to overwhelm me.
I don’t know how to explain it well, but here’s how I see it:
If a problem comes up I look to myself to have the answers or wisdom within myself —and I realize I don’t — I become afraid. “What shall I do? How will this ever turn out well?”
Or when I’m thinking about how others view me — and I fear they disapprove or are hostile — I become afraid.
But if I look to God and ask for his help in facing a problem, I lose my fear of that problem. I trust He will give me some answer to deal with it. And when I try to help others instead of thinking, “What do they think of me?” I lose my fear of people. So the more I can look outside of myself, the less fear I’ll have. Does that make sense?
That’s an interesting approach, using your faith as a source of courage. Looking outside of yourself and shifting your focus away from your fears is a good way to not indulge and expand the irrational fears.
The way I think about a fear is a famous acronym which has stuck with me –“False Evidence Appearing True.” This is also the reason I loved the line in your piece -“Then I turned to the pages of Convincing Evidence.” I found it funny because the evidence backing up our fears can never stand against being confronted by reason and is therefore always false but appears to be true on the surface.
In the words of Bea Arthur, who was the actress in “The Golden Girls” who played as “Dorothy” said in an episode, “Don’t you just love metaphors?”
I love them and try to use them when I can. To me, they seem to be more powerful than similes. I do use both. Thank you!
Compassion is calligraphy, in solid, bold ink, the letters looping and forming benevolent words.
Bigotry is a child’s crayon scrawl on a painted wall in garish, spiteful colors.
Calligraphy gives me a great visual and broadens my idea of compassion. Well done.
Aww, thank you! That’s the first time anyone has said my writing had an impact on them.
I ended up just writing this mixing in some metaphors. Let me know what you think.
I summoned up the courage, “Doo you come here often?” I fumbled. “Often enough” she cooed. I looked down at my drink and sipped uncertainty. Her eyes were light green lasers, mine a pair of small black and blue targets. She was an ace and I was bubbly baby bottle. The TV above the bar shouted politics at us and and threw light within the dim dank bar. “Are you voting?” I tried “I’m with her, are you?” She responded. “Am I with her or am I voting?….wait, oh hah yeah i’m right there with you…aand her” I returned. “Trump is for the loonys.” she crushed her beer “i’m Mike, what is your name?” “xena” I was warm cookie dough. “oh, just lik..” “yeah, the warrior princess” she cut me off. Shit, I’m a stuffed animal.
Awesome, M. Flynn Follen! Each of your metaphors brings a smile to my face and an enlightened image to my mind of who your characters (and the setting) are. I really enjoyed each one. I’ll make an additional comment on the description of their eyes because I love how you not only describe her eyes as “light green lasers”, but so cleverly add in the “targets” of his eyes. That completes the metaphor in a way I haven’t seen before.
Just want to say “Hello”, too. I still have a copy of your “painter and apprentice” piece from April 2015. I value it as such a powerful lesson in honoring our own process. I’ll “replay” my comment to you from that time: “Oh…my…goodness. This needs to be published. It is the type of story which brings genuine inspiration to people. A life lesson so exquisitely portrayed, beautifully developed, thoughtfully worded. Ahhhh… it sank to my inner core. I will return to this for contemplation. Thank you for creating it.”
Thanks for sharing your work.
Thank you for the comment! I am happy you enjoyed reading another bit of my writing. I really appreciate you taking the time to give me feedback.
It makes me very happy you remembered “painter and apprentice” and took something from it. As a aspiring writer, what more could one want than to have a positive lasting impact on someone? I fell off my writing routine for a bit there and your response makes me want to hunker down and churn out some more stories/ideas. 🙂 I hope all is well.
Really enjoyed the dynamic conversation. I can visualize the characters, their traits and the setting. Especially liked the linkage of eyes with lasers and targets! I was wondering, is sipping uncertainty also considered a metaphor of some sort?
Thank you for reading and commenting. I believe sipping uncertainty it is a metaphor?
“Seeing a beautiful person like you is hot cider on a cold day to me.”
“The wha?”
“I don’t make sense much.. I’m a never ending road with no destination.”
“okay..” Her eyes are saying I’m nuts. And her feet are inching away from me, towards the next group. I guess you are probably right, i think back to her.
“So you from this neck of the woods?”
“No,” she says.
“So where are you from? You know they say that where a person is from, will indicate secrets in their heart?”
“Oh they do? Well I am from the West.”
“Oh Okay.” I rub my invisible goutee, contemplating this new information.
“So what are the secrets in my heart?”
“You know if you come with me to dinner I will tell you about them..”
“That sounds tempting.. But I don’t know if your soul is a sweet melody through a gentle breeze, or black tarry cigerettes burned into a leather seat.”
“Good point. But if you change your mind, here is my number.” She let out a small laugh and then wandered away from me. I wonder still if she lives now in all day pass carnival, or she’s stuck on the next bus station out that never takes off. Oh well, guess I’ll never know. Too bad. She was really beautiful cup of cider on a cool day.
I’m not a big fan of metaphors or similes, so this was a pretty interesting post. I might even take your suggestion and try practicing writing metaphors for 15 minutes. Either way, thanks for getting me to consider something new 🙂
Their trust was lotion over the skin of past relationships; where
empty promises dried up, and loyalty had went to die. Lotion can mend bad
history, but it only coats on so thickly over and over again.
His negligence was a marker. Staining her with each strike,
her confidence slipped from her, along with his attention. Out the door the two
strayed together; leaving the boy and the girl even further apart.
Her passionate desire was a lighter, birthing flames both left
and right. Just one touch from him, and surely a spark would ignite. Shining
brightly in a candle, or thrashing something wild in the night- only amidst darkness,
would her flicker cast a visible light.
“So, what’re you having?” Dan asked.
They sat down at the table near the counter.
“Water.”
“So, one fried egg for you and snack for me. I’ll have dinner later at home.”
With that sentence, Luna’s jaws were jinxed together-no magic, I assure you.
“Why so quiet?”
She felt her mind turn into an open book for the boy in front of her to read, with him carving out the words from her blue eyes. He smiled. Luna felt herself being backstabbed by all the things she told him about herself. He now knew every little thing there is to know about her. He could easily read her mind.
1. The truth flowed from her pen like a gentle stream. She penned her hidden truths in the notebook’s margins. Her pen unlocked the vault of buried truths. She sculpted the truth with his pen, making it clear. The courtroom was silent as she penned her truthful statement.
2. Her redemption shone like a bright lamp. Turning on the lamp, she felt redemption from her past. The old lamp witnessed her quest for redemption. Under the lamp’s glow, she wrote towards redemption. The flickering lamp became his beacon of redemption.
3. Each daisy sacrificed its comfort, blooming in the sparse field. She picked a daisy, sacrificing its life for a smile. Her sacrifices bloomed like resilient daisies. The daisies in the vase sacrificed their freedom for beauty. Planting daisies was her silent sacrifice, nurturing hope.