Well, this week’s post comes a little late, which is the result of a rather crazy week wherein my energies were necessarily directed elsewhere… So…here is a blast from my past poetic adventures. I promise to write more new stuff soon, but I thought this might be appropriate as a lot of my younger friends are currently just finishing and/or still writing their exams. Also, it’s one of my favourite nonsense poems I have ever written. Context: This was written while I was supposed to be studying for my exams in the third year of my nursing degree (note the medical terminology – lots of fun for rhyming for sure…) 🙂
A Conversation Between My Neck and My Brain
My dearest brain, oh CNS,
A small complaint I must confess…
So weary is it looking down,
In constant focus on the ground.
For when the eyes are stationed low,
There also must the neck then go.
And we the C’s from 1 through 7,
Do swift demand this trend to lessen.
To the neck:
A quandary yes, you may confess,
If quandary could be called this mess.
A most peculiar trend of late,
Indeed a source of great debate.
For even while your message came,
The eyes had sent one most the same.
They say, long hours most absurd
Wherein they’re forced to stare at words
Are making for a dismal week,
How white and black can be so bleak!
From the neck:
The eyes may spout their teary tales,
But this, I say, is cause to wail:
Our cartilage is near worn thin,
From holding up that spiteful chin.
And ever the trapezius
Is throwing fiery darts at us.
And in return:
My dearest neck, such woes you have,
Would really make me duly sad,
If not for one small fact of life,
I, too, have had some cause for strife.
In constant flow for quite some time,
Such info., terms, and facts have I
Been forced to process, know, and store.
The files are falling out the door.
The neurons’ union quite enraged,
Demanded an increase in wage.
We cannot fire this fast, they said,
In such a drab and cluttered head.
So as the signals pile in heaps,
I’m forced to give up hours of sleep,
It really is a mighty jam,
I have no use for all this cram.
We sort all night till 2 AM
Until the signal comes: EXAM
And then at once the fingers ring,
Demanding for the very thing
We’ve worked so hard all night to store,
And then we see it nevermore.
Forgive me if I sound rebuffed,
But you, my friend, are out of luck.
While weary bones and muscles may
Cause sorrows in their own fine way,
No other cells have higher stress,
Than those that send, perceive, process.
So hold on strong, my friend, the neck,
We may get through this quandary yet.
And when’s it’s done, I’ve heard there may
Be some vacation on the way.
In which event, I’m sure the skin,
Will make demands for melanin.
So let us wait till this is done
And hope she doesn’t read for fun!
Real World Hollow 