The Ningynong


I hope you are well.

WordPress recently made me aware my 100th post was coming up (this is it). Given how long I’ve had the site, this news really only confirms the leisurely rate at which I post anything, something that in this world we live is generally frowned upon as being slow and unproductive, not an accomplishment to cheer about and celebrate.

Nonetheless, I have decided to honour this ‘landmark’ occasion with not simply a poem, but one of the longer ones normally held back for the planned upcoming book of them.

Appropriately (in a way) about the very essence of poetry—words—in that it is, if the chroniclers of my early history (a.k.a. my mum) are anything to go by, the first word I ever invented, which is also to say the first word I ever spoke.

Yes, even in my early, formative years, I resisted being curtailed by convention, refusing to utter common clichés such as ‘muma’ or ‘dada’ as a first (and somewhat divisive to parents) word, instead bucking trends by jumping straight in with my own vernacular, from which I haven’t looked back on setting the world straight since.

Of course, a word is nothing without meaning. I didn’t just utter Ningynong with no intent: it means dummy/pacifier (at least, I would apparently stop saying it when given one – according to the chroniclers mentioned above).

For the purposes of this poem, however, I have used that licence afforded me and my ilk to transform the Ningynong  into something far greater, but the less said of that here, the better, for it edges precariously close to being a spoiler.

And so, without further ado:

The Ningynong
Lived in a cave
Next to a Wave
That’s right
Just one Wave
The rest of the Sea
Was scared
Of the Ningynong
Said ****!
I ain’t going anywhere near

But this one Wave
Was like
I don’t care

And the Ningynong
Respected that
So let the Wave be
A wave
For that’s all the Wave
Could ever be
Without the Sea
By its side
Wave and Ningynong
Became best of friends
But Wave missed the Sea
Ningynong had always been
So tried real hard to
Decided to cheer Wave up
With a Ningynong song
That went something like
Ahem . . .
Just one moment
Ningynong said clearing
Its throat
(then did a mouthed intro:
one-two-thee )
Before bursting into
Oh . . . 
We do like to be beside
The seaside
We do like to be beside
The sea . . . etc

And the Sea sure heard
A voice
Not absurd
But beautiful in
Every capacity
Never in a million years
Would it believe
The Ningynong
Neither did it
For when it rolled up
The source of the sound
And announced
Who the sweet Jesus?

The Wave wanting back in, said
(The Wave was a bit of a
**** like that)

So off all the water went
Leaving Ningynong
In its cave alone
But in Sea’s awe
It’d put down
Its salt by the entrance
Left it there
Now the fish, sharks, whales, well
Everything living in its water
Complained to Cod
That this so-called ‘Fresh’
Really wasn’t good
Bringing with it fish and what not
Without the right seawater credentials
They demanded the Sea got its salt back
Before some total disaster
But the Sea was scared
So the brave little Wave
Raised its froth and
Owned up
The Sea slid back
To the Ningynong
Ready to apologise
The Wave too
For after all . . .
Will you forgive me, please
The Wave asked

Of course
The Ningynong said

But, ho- started the Wave

Before the Ningynong
You were scared
Like the Sea in the first place

Wave replied
It was the Plaice who
Complained most
About the missing salt
If it wasn’t for that, then . . .

The Ningynong smiled
You’re good at heart, Wave
Not really a ****
You would’ve thought it
Figured it out
I really don’t know why
The author went there at all

Then the Ningynong reached
Back into its cave
To pull out an
And laughed while firing
Da-da da-da da-da da-da
Da-da da-da da-da da-da
(it was an extended clip)
Perhaps you prefer
Drrrrr! Drrrrr! Drrrrr!
Maybe pew-pew-pew
. . . Laughed while firing
Bullets manically into the sea
Which at this point
Included the Wave
I’ll teach you to take the **** out of me!
The Ningynong shouted with glee
Take that, you ***** *******!

And the Sea and Wave did
Every last bit
Laughing just as much
If not more
For sticks and stones
May break your
Or my bones
But when it comes to
Bullets and Sea
They just really tickle

Next in vs. Poetry: The Gome
Last in vs. Poetry: I Love the Taste of Tap Water in the Morning

Other nonsense poetry:

Header image courtesy Devon Janse van Rensburg 

Thanks for reading

N. P. Ryan

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