My brother is a rat. He crawls in the walls keeping me awake at night.
Turn off the lamp if you want to see clearly. Dreams float like feathers,
tickling my brain: the monkey on the rug eats my grapes,
a funeral procession sings flowery spring dirges while
the tempest hollers my name. Mary, Mary, quite contrary—
put your books away before the elephant hits the wall!
My brother is a water boy. The answer is hydrogen-bonding.
The question is: Why does he like me? He has many issues to deal with.
The morning sun blinds me like a spore in my nostril, so I toss myself in
with the brights to add color to my cheeks. Let rise until doubled.
The vase yawns, tired of being the monkey’s spittoon, and covets
its neighbor’s arrangement, while the pachyderm lumbers on.
Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net was to write a 10-line poem in which each line is a lie. While I considered a couple other prompt options (elegy, death, blah blah blah), the “lie” poem really intrigued me. But every time I considered it during the day, I couldn’t think of anything to write.
Then I remembered a poem I’d started years ago (close to 20–aack!). I cut some pieces and relined it to get it down to size (OK, I got to 12 lines)–and, voila! I might have figured it out! Well, at least it is an improvement on the prior umpteen versions. Yay!