Monster in My Head, #Chant Poetry

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

There’s a little monster in my head,

He’s a one-man percussion band,

beating his bongos and grinning —

maliciously.

There’s a little monster in my head,

who doesn’t like to go to bed.

When it’s time to sleep,

the little monster in my head

plays bongos and castanets and

vuvuzelas, jumping up and down inside my

cranium — that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

with a trampoline and a mallet

and — perhaps — a chisel,

and he’s doing unwelcomed and

random refurbishments —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and he likes to play with the lights,

strobe lights and

disco lights

to go with the beat of the bongos,

to go with the beat of his mallet —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

doing the conga with his monster friends,

doing gymnastics with dangerous

objects — far worse than running

with scissors — that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and I have no love for him.

I’d really like to evict him

and make him vacate —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

but I can not make him go —

that nasty wasty monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and you might know his name.

Do you want to know it?

That little monster in my head?

His name is …

Migraine.

© Susan Joy Clark 2021

This was written — a little late again — for dVerse’s chant poetry challenge. I started out with a completely different poetry idea, but the migraine continues (a little bit reduced by medicine maybe) and has been quite distracting. So, I decided to write about it. There was once a commercial for some sort of migraine medication that presented the “migraine” like a cartoonized monster. In an abstract way, it kind of made sense to me (not scientifically,) but in the sense of how it feels. It’s too bad I didn’t make this coincide with Migraine Awareness Month which was in June.

Great-Uncle’s Birthday Bash, #Light Verse

Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

Doves were bathing in the punch bowl,

Flapping up a serious splash,

One of many strange happenings

At my great-uncle’s birthday bash.

Outside, the weather was all fair,

Except for the chaos that reigned.

Guests were flinging pieces of cake

At a crooner that entertained –

With a voice like a tortured cow.

Cake was sinking out in the pool,

Where swans were swimming all around,

Some old, wacky, besotted fool

Belting show tunes at top voice

In a nauseating duet,

With that crooner whose presence

Every guest had come to regret.

A party hat stuck on its face,

The blinded dog was running wild,

All through the mud in the garden,

Then knocking over a small child.

Inside, some of the younger set

Somehow organized a mosh pit

And my great-uncle in his wheelchair

Was riding over top of it.

A week ago, my great-uncle,

Who’s now a centenarian,

Had a discussion with Grandpa,

An old nonagenarian,

They discussed the celebration

Of great-uncle’s hundredth birthday,

But as both are hard of hearing

The discussion went far astray.

“Don’t make a fuss,” Great-uncle said.

“Did you say to rent a party bus?”

Grandpa took very active notes

And relayed all he heard to us.

Great-uncle said all he needed

Was fam’ly, friends and tons of love,

But somehow this translated

To renting party swans and doves.

When it came to hiring singers,

Great-uncle approved of all that,

But with his acute hearing loss,

A smile and a festive top hat

Was impression enough to hire

That talentless, crooner in rhyme,

But in the end, at least, it seems,

Great-uncle had a real good time.

© Susan Joy Clark 2021

This was written for dVerse’s Poetics prompt in which we were asked to pick one of several Ernest Hemingway quotes for inspiration. I chose this one, “It is very hard to write this way, beginning things backward…” from The Torrents of Spring (1926.) I’m pretty sure though that Hemingway wouldn’t appreciate being the muse for this one, but perhaps Shel Silverstein or P.G. Wodehouse would nod their approval. A while ago, I saw a prompt to write a story backwards on Reedsy. I didn’t act on it then, but I had the thought to start out with chaos and then rewind to some explanation of it. Of course, I decided to start out with comical chaos.