At napowrimo.net, we have been encouraged to write “rebellious” poetry – that is…poetry that speaks of rebellion, OR…a form that in some way breaks rules. One common rule in English is to write your sentences from left to right. I’ve decided to reverse that. I couldn’t figure out how to make the letters backwards too…so a mirror won’t quite help with reading this. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it!
mrof ruoy eeS .rorrim eht dloheB
mron eht s’ees uoy tahw taht kniht uoY
ees uoy ecaf eht wonk uoy od tuB
?em yb nees sa ecaf ruoy ton sI
esrev siht ekil si ees uoy ecaf ehT
!esrever ni uoy setirw rorrim ehT
A rather large number of Maple Bugs (sometimes called Boxelder bugs) have decided to take up residence in our area. For the most part, I’m not too concerned, but some of these insects have chosen to be, not just in our area, but inside our house. This will not be tolerated, as they do not pay rent.
Today, my wife found one of these critters on our bathroom mirror admiring itself. Something this ugly has no business being narcissistic. It therefore met its demise between two halves of a piece of Scottie’s facial tissue.
little bug of black and red
sitting on reflective glass
now that I have crushed your head
into bug after-life you’ve passed
The view through the mirror is different for each one of us. You see you, and I see me. Beyond that, the view changes from day to day, and even second by second. I glance and see each hair in place one moment, and all disheveled the next…you see youth one day, and seemingly the next, you see wrinkles. The view through the mirror changes constantly, and your experience of the mirror will not…cannot be my experience. Ever. We each see, through the mirror, a bit of who we are…and as who we are changes, so does the view through the mirror. And that is why, when you hear a song, or read a poem, or view a painting, you will hear, and understand, and see something quite different from my own experience with the same; and even your experience will not be the same as it would have been a year ago, or will be a year from now…for art may not be silvered glass, but it is still, in a very real way, a mirror.