“the wild rumpus will now begin” … reader-poets respond to last Wednesday’s writing prompt

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT, June 7, 2017 Remember “Let the wild rumpus start!” in Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are? Such a wonderful book and that exclamation has stayed with me – probably you as well – and I always wanted to do something with it. This poem is what came from that inspiration. So, my challenge to you this week, is to use “wild rumpus” in a poem.

Thanks to Paul Brookes, Gary Bowers, Sonja Bensken Mesher and Renee Espriu for coming out to play.  Poem on…

He Was Pandemonium

He caused such a noise, such outcry, such a racket
from the time he crawled, had words & was walking
& with every sibling that arrived within our midst
there was discord between them and between us
from a knock on the door with unfortunate news
of the fact that a boy was perched upon the roof
to his sisters upset as they walked into a bedroom
to see the scurry of a frog causing a commotion
to the neighbor stating your son is in the alley
ought not to be experimenting with matches ought he
to the surprise knock of the police at the door
with a number of hood ornaments in his possession
to the night of upheaval he came home quite sodden
that as I thought in dismay of all the pandemonium
of the day he was born with strawberry blond hair
never I thought ‘the wild rumpus will now begin’ and it did

© June 2017, Renee Espriu (Renee Just Turtle Flight)

‘the shelter’

I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time,
a make shift band, a straggled procession
down the lane, chanting, scaring the neighbours.

it is often quiet here, though Kenny’s voice

there will be four of us, costumes and laughing,
happy knowing who we are, comfort in skin.

we used to push you in the toy pram, your legs
spilling out, our selves the show.

it is often quiet here now, you have grown, this
is not your area.

we walk the district quietly.
wait in the shelter.

I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time.

© 2017, Sonja Benskin Mesher (Sonjia Benskin Mesher, RCA)


my child a sump is
the coming of plumbing
and mycroft a plump whiz
and speeches undumbing.

but times lately jump us
we show unpreparedness
and fate may then trump us
unto our assbaredness,

so let us don jumpers
to join the wild rumpus
our rumps warm as dumpsters
our bumpers full bumptious.

© 2017, Gary Bowers (One With Clay)

This Psychonaturalist Notes

reedflare flamereed flickerflicker emberkernels lap air, conflagration without heat

in the lap of the grain as it breaks against gust
wild rumpus
amongst reedsway, cootcall, waveruffle, barkgangsign, trunksundials

amongst Geese and Seagull echoes perfect reflections under a halfmoon and quiet blue

evensong of last bell before eyeshorizon darkens and thought
sinks into eyes well to fetch waters reverie into light.

winter colours layered weather bittercoldflares inside skin, cloudsputter sharpcinder ice crackles faces.

© 2017, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)