Monday, October 13, 2025

OctPoWriMo Day 13. The Wasp That Ate the Sun

OctPoWriMo Day 13. When the Tiny Become Giant

Poets use hyperbole or exaggeration for emphasis and for emotional effect. When speaking, I often exaggerate when talking, and don’t even notice I’m doing it. It’s so easy to say “everyone was doing it” or “there were millions of them” or “it was huge” when none of those statements were factual.

Example Poem: “The Bat” by Theodore Roethke from All Poetry

The Bat

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.

His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.

He loops in crazy figures half the night
Among the trees that face the corner light.

But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:

For something is amiss or out of place
When mice with wings can wear a human face.

~Theodore Roethke

How does this poet use hyperbole? What effect does it have?

Prompt: Think of an insect that you think would be terrifying if it was giant. In your poem describe it in detail. How would it move? What would it do? End with its most terrifying feature. Have you used hyperbole?

Possible form: Lyric poem

~

The Wasp That Ate the Sun

It hums like thunder hiding in a jar,
its wings whip wind into walls of sound.
Each step cracks pavement,
each eye reflects a thousand screams.

It drinks gasoline and calls it nectar,
it builds its nest from melted steel.
Children vanish in its shadow’s buzz.
Windows shatter when it sings.

It gnaws through daylight,
leaves smoke instead of pollen.
Flowers curl in prayer;
birds forget their songs.

The sky bends backward in its path,
cars crumple like fallen leaves.
Whole cities kneel beneath its hum.

And worst of all,
its stinger hums my name.

~ Oizys.

[Some thoughts: Roethke uses hyperbole (exaggeration) to heighten the eerie mystery of the bat. He says the bat’s “pulse beat is so slow we think him dead,” which is an exaggeration meant to make the creature seem ghostly or unnatural. He suggests bats are “mice with wings” that can “wear a human face,” an extreme and impossible image. This exaggeration amplifies the unease we feel: the bat becomes something almost monstrous or human-like, unsettling the familiar boundary between human and animal. The effect is that the poem feels uncanny: the bat is both ordinary and otherworldly, small but deeply strange. The hyperbole makes us feel the poet’s fear and fascination.

In my poem, I have used hyperbole to make the wasp godlike in power: “ate the sun,” “drinks gasoline,” “each step cracks pavement” which are impossible exaggerations showing terror and scale. The exaggeration isn’t meant to be realistic; it creates emotional intensity, turning an ordinary fear (of a wasp) into a mythic nightmare. The tone builds from awe to dread, ending with the creature’s most personal, terrifying feature.]

Sunday, October 12, 2025

On Knives, Pages, and Patience. Writing as Survival.

https://www.tumblr.com/fragmentsof-mysoul/796220482780315648/do-you-know-what-scares-me
Sometimes the page is a room that knows your name before you say it. Sometimes it’s a corridor where every door is ajar and none of them open. I’m not here to fix that architecture. I’m just placing a palm on the wall, listening for pipes, heartbeats, echoes, the soft hydraulics of being. Sometimes a post feels like someone cracked your ribcage just enough to let the page breathe. This one does. I’m not here to diagnose the ache or dress it up. I just want to witness it: how a paragraph can be a pulse, how a sentence can hold the shaking. If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re writing to live or living to write, park here with me for a minute.

kabhi likhne ka matlab sirf itna hota hai:
apni saans ko satr ka waqfa dena.
kabhi matlab hota hai:
ek lafz ko kursi par bithana aur kehna: “ruk jaa, main bhi yahin hoon.”

There are days I want craft, not confession; form, not fever. And then the sentence tilts, and the fever learns meter. What a strange mercy: the way disorder borrows rhythm and the body believes it for a while. No grand thesis. Just a chair pulled up to the edge of the feeling, a light left on.

main apne aap se vaada nahin karti, aakhri taareekhain dhokha deti hain.
main bas itna kehti hoon:
aaj ke liye ek pankti, kal ke liye ek saans.
baaki sab: hawaashi.

kayi baar lagta hai lafz bhi dhadakte hain... jaise kalam ki nok par chhota sa dil.
kabhi woh zinda rehne ka tareeqa ban jata hai, kabhi naqaab.
main sach bolun?
likhna aur jeena mere liye do alag sadken nahin... ek hi raasta hai jahan dhool uthti rehti hai.
kabhi main raakh udate dekh kar sochti hoon, yeh meri hai ya kisi aur ki.
phir bhi, main panna palatti hoon... kyonki kabhi kabhi bachna ka matlab sirf itna hota hai:
ek aur saza, saans ki tarah.

aur jab lafz thak jate hain, hum unhe paani pilate hain:
ek pyali khamoshi, do ghont roshni, aur thodi si meherbani khud par.

If you see stitches showing, good. It means the skin is learning where to hold. If you see gaps, don’t fill them yet. Let the air do what air does.

kayi baar dard ko roshni ki zarurat nahi parti...
sirf aaine ki.
agar tum aaine ban sakte ho, do.
agar nahi, to khamoshi se baithe raho, yeh bhi meherbani hai.

I’m not trying to be brave. I’m trying to be continuous. Continuity doesn’t look heroic; it looks like dishes in the sink and a cursor that refuses to blink off. It looks like coming back to the table even when the chair wobbles.

aur jab lafz toot jate hain, unhe chipkane ki koshish mat karo:
tootna bhi qawa’id-e-zubaan ka hissa hai.
hum sirf itna kar sakte hain:
veeram ki tarah thoda rukna, phir aage badhna.

If you’re reading this at 2 a.m., I’m not going to tell you to sleep. I’m going to tell you to put the kettle on. Warm water is a kind of punctuation. It teaches you that pauses can be warm.

aur haan, agar tumne kabhi apni roznamcha ko maafi maangi ho...
main bhi.
kabhi kabhi lafz hamara bojh utha lete hain,
aur hum unhe “shukriya” likhna bhool jate hain.

I don’t have a map, just a habit: show up, breathe, line-break. Show up, breathe, line-break. Some days that’s a prayer. Some days it’s payroll. Either way, the ledger tallies differently when you count what kept you.

~ Oizys.

If this resonates, drop a line (anonymous is fine!).