The sorry fact is that you are you,
And I am me.
In this experiment we call life,
Your own world is free.
It’s a gift you can’t exchange.
You were born this way.
Every detail of your script
Makes a unique play,
But this is occhiolism,
You can’t extrapolate.
Your mistakes and regrets
Remain a heavy weight,
Keeping you from change,
Obstructing your perceptions.
We are all insignificant,
With no exceptions.
In response to the twenty-seventh “obscure sorrows” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I eventually settled on the word “occhiolism” from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
To paraphrase, occhiolism is the knowledge that your own perceptions are insignificant, as they are inferred from only one experience, and as a result, you will never understand the world.
Image credit: pixabay.com
How doth the portly parakeet
Sing that little high note,
And tap his spindly legs and feet,
Beneath his feathered coat!
How humbly they seem to chirp,
How swiftly they click their beaks,
In water he will splash and slurp,
To wash his chubby cheeks!
In response to the twenty-sixth “parody” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose to write in the same style as Lewis Carroll’s parody “The Crocodile” of Isaac Watts’ “How Doth the Busy Little Bee”.
Image: one of my very own chubby budgies, Finn.
On Christmas Day we rise early,
Before the frost resembles dew.
We wrap up in our dressing gowns,
And rush downstairs to view
Golden ribbons wrapped around
The gifts to be exchanged.
We open them with caution,
And hope not to be upstaged.
We roast the turkey shortly after,
Filling the house with a rich aroma.
We carve the turkey at least thrice,
Before the day is over.
Then we gather with the family,
And talk about the year.
That’s what makes Christmas special:
Sharing love; and laughter; and cheer.
In response to the twenty-fifth “occasion” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
You may wonder why you’ve never come across a superhero.
Perhaps you have, in the form of a kid, a nanny or a man named Billy.
They can be identified by a pair of horns,
Their ability to balance on steep cliff faces,
Or feeding on cardboard boxes,
Which they have mistaken for plants.
They make good pets too.
In response to the twenty-fourth “animal replacement” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose a Wikipedia article on goats and replaced them with superheroes.
… And Froglet
True, Earth’s poetry has no end.
Even by the water’s edge
Where moss clings to banks, and tadpoles wedge
For shelter, on the river bend
Beneath a shimmer, as the ripples blend.
When summer halts spring’s final sledge
The tadpoles, they make their pledge,
Huddling until their legs extend.
The resplendence of earth shall never deplete.
Even at night, when darkness creeps,
When chilling winds surf broken soil,
Brilliance is not lost, for the moon’s fleet
Skates on reeds and grass which sweeps.
The froglets find no sign of spoil.
In response to the twenty-third “response” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose to respond to John Keats’ “On the Grasshopper and Cricket”, a beautiful poem exploring the never-ending “poetry” of nature.
Image credit: pixabay.com
An Heir is a Son
But you still have toenails to paint,
Magazines to read,
Hair to style,
And a girl’s life to lead.
“He’s only despondent as he wanted an heir”.
An excuse for neglect, forgetting she’s there.
Treading on her life with metonymy.
Stunting her growth, the person she wants to be.
An heir is a son,
Would he add to your life?
Not like your daughter.
For her, you lack strife,
As she is no heir.
In response to the twenty-second “metonymy” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
A perfect excuse to rant. Whatever “saying” you use to belittle someone, their life still exists, and they have to deal with the pain.
With inspiration from Uvri Kumbhat’s essay about mangoes.
The Fire Alarm
There was a man with no charm,
Who bought himself a fire alarm,
And with that fire alarm he chose,
He bought himself a fire hose.
And with that fire hose he took,
He bought himself a fire truck.
And with that fire truck he got,
He devised himself a clever plot.
And with his clever plot, his charm
Could be restored with a fire alarm.
And with the fire alarm, he rose,
And grabbed hold of his fire hose.
And with that fire hose he snuck,
Into the back of his fire truck.
And when that truck arrived on site,
His little face oozed with delight.
And with that gleam upon his face,
He made the whole crowds’ hearts race.
In response to the twenty-first “There was a Man of Double Deed” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Inspired by the anonymous nursery rhyme entitled “There was a Man of Double Deed”.
For years I asked him to sing, to serenade with melodies.
To take my hand and speak truth, through the medium of music.
Only to catch him candidly, singing to his showerhead.
In response to the twentieth “sijo” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Little Pot of Courage
Nothing more than a self-pitying agoraphobe.
Lazing upon a little pot of courage
With a lid I claim is too tight to probe.
I can be fierce- I have seen it before.
If only I could loosen this thieving blighter.
Perhaps it is the fault of my own sweaty palms,
But I’m certain this fearful kitten is a fighter.
In response to the nineteenth “humourous rant” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Removing Love’s Mask
“Please stay, I love you”
Tossing rose blossom before your eyes,
Filling your stomach with fluttering flies,
Echoing whispered tunes in your ears,
And causing your skin to absorb all the tears.
Pounding your heart at a marathon rate,
Rattling your joints, wavering your gait.
Drying your mouth, clouding your brain.
Tickling your nerves, interrupting the pain.
Place a finger over the verbal attack
And tell them “I don’t love you back”.
Don’t give love power to enshroud the blue.
Lie to remove love’s mask,
Starve the cycle, and relieve you.
In response to the eighteenth “poemcrazy” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose the chapter title: “Lying to tell the truth” from Susan G. Wooldridge’s “Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words” as inspiration.