Ytidrusba
Ytidrusba
Today, I read words backwards for no reason at all: SERUTAN ECLARIM Niats & Rodo Revomer. Today, I pried a dingleberry from my dog’s backside, the reason being a desire to avoid needing Niats revomer— words that are beautiful when read aloud and pried from meaning. Is this the key to loving life’s absurdities? Its indignities? Ro dluohs I tsuj Evahs ym sgod ssa?
The Prompt
Today, dear friends, as a reward for putting up with my truly absurd poem (and reference to dingleberries—eww!), you are invited to choose your own adventure from one of the two following prompts. (Actually, you’re always free to choose your own adventure and I hope that’s what you’re doing!)
Option 1: Backwards words! Pig Latin! That secret language you made up with your best friend in grade school! Walk down memory lane, searching for stories about ways you’ve played with language in the past. Or play with it now! Spend five minutes of your life trying to speak words backwards. Send someone a text message in Pig Latin. Or come up with other ways to play with language and communication. Let whatever experience you have act as the prompt for your next poem.
Option 2: The spray bottle of Niats Revomer sits on top of my dryer—along with an assortment of other cleaning products and dirty clothes. Find a place in your house that collects clutter. A drawer in the kitchen? The corner of your dining room table? That closet you never let guests see? Imagine that every item in this motley collection is in fact a poem waiting to be written. What marvelous news: you’re not hoarding! You’re not disorganized! You’re germinating poems. Feel free to tell your partner or parent or judgy neighbor that I said so. Of if you are the judgy parent/partner/neighbor, consider apologizing to the offended bard, and ask them if you can pretty please sift through the poems piled on the floor of their closet.
Pick something out: a bottle of stain remover, a key to who knows what lock, a crumpled receipt, a ball of lint, a rubber band, that bill you meant to pay. Consider that this single object holds dozens of possible poems. Let one of them out onto the page! If you’d like to share it, post it in the comments so that we can all celebrate your beautiful mess (or proficiency in Pig Latin). I look forward to hearing from you!
Well, I tried an annagram with my name, Laurence Rogers Wood, and a completely foolish poem emerged.
Electrosurgery overencourages
Clearinghouse of resurrection
Unresearched, overreliance
Nuclear power, scare mongers
Arborescent auctioneers,
Carmagnoles casseroling
Cryosurgeon congregates
Encroachers and encouragers
Barbecuers and beachgoers,
Evergreens, ferrocenes,
Escargots escarping
Eurocreeps exchanges,
Generous generals
Sourcing suncream
Scrooges unsecure,
Garlics unclogs
Secular scourges...
A Poem that never ends.
I tried the backward poem, but it did not work and this nagging thought of why Lost and Unidentified keys come to be.
^
Small shapes hanging on small hooks,
wooden board shaped like a house,
holding the keys to everywhere
and nowhere.
^
After all these years, these mystery keys
waiting for that particular door,
the special car or truck,
bike lock, canoe cable,
luggage security,
houses long left behind,
offices no longer a part of this life.
^
The jangle of metal on keychain,
importance measured in sheer numbers,
wisdom and age reflected in how many keys
dangle unidentified like single gloves,
solitary socks or that dish
without a spoon.
^
Until that day arrives
the decree is unfurled,
and these lost and lonely keys must go,
to that quiet care facility,
waiting for the revolutionary recycler,
to resurrect them into new life.