Oprihory Form~
The Oprihory form was created by Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory. It is a free-verse poem combined with the idea of prose. It is written with both personal feelings and observations, thus being written with at least five (5) "Note To"s and ten (10) "Dear"s.
Example:
Note to Self
after Jon Sands
You haven’t earned the right to break. Get yourself together.
Note to the man who broke me: get the fuck out of my poems.
Note to my poems as of late: you smell too much like sunrise to be a rude awakening.
Note to awakenings: you look better on Virginia Woolf.
Note to Virginia Woolf: scientists have officially proven the existence of death by heartbreak.
You never needed the water.
Dear water: I sometimes worry that we are an Oedipus Complex waiting to happen.
Dear Oedipus: If 3’s the charm, then why do you die at the end of the trilogy?
Dear Trilogy: 9’s my lucky number. Try that on for size.
Dear Size: stop making molehills out of mountains.
Note to mountains: I’ve concluded that you are only good for 3 things:
hillbillies, hiking, and horror movies.
Dear horror movies: the only reason we keep watching is
that we know the villain is partially composed of our own skeletons.
Dear skeletons, stop being so breakable.
Dear breakable, you are no longer allowed to be an adjective for anything not made of porcelain.
Dear porcelain, stop cracking on white people.
Dear white people, stop teaching your sons that they are God’s gift to mankind.
Dear mankind, stop telling white people that not becoming a murderer is some kind of accomplishment.
Dear Casey Anthony,
Dear Reader, you totally thought I was breaking with form there, didn’t you?
Dear form, you are sexier with the lights on.
Dear light, come back home. I’m not as afraid of the dark as I am of losing my shadow.
Dear home: pick a favorite place. STAY THERE.
Dear favorite: if you are reading this, then you realize I’ve dropped my walls.
Dear walls: it’s going to be lonely without you.
Dear you: I’m sorry this took so long, but I’ve finally finished writing the book.
It’s called “detachment” and it’s written around all of the best parts of you.
If you can’t make out the lines, use lemon juice. Nothing that was ever worth it didn’t burn.
after Jon Sands
You haven’t earned the right to break. Get yourself together.
Note to the man who broke me: get the fuck out of my poems.
Note to my poems as of late: you smell too much like sunrise to be a rude awakening.
Note to awakenings: you look better on Virginia Woolf.
Note to Virginia Woolf: scientists have officially proven the existence of death by heartbreak.
You never needed the water.
Dear water: I sometimes worry that we are an Oedipus Complex waiting to happen.
Dear Oedipus: If 3’s the charm, then why do you die at the end of the trilogy?
Dear Trilogy: 9’s my lucky number. Try that on for size.
Dear Size: stop making molehills out of mountains.
Note to mountains: I’ve concluded that you are only good for 3 things:
hillbillies, hiking, and horror movies.
Dear horror movies: the only reason we keep watching is
that we know the villain is partially composed of our own skeletons.
Dear skeletons, stop being so breakable.
Dear breakable, you are no longer allowed to be an adjective for anything not made of porcelain.
Dear porcelain, stop cracking on white people.
Dear white people, stop teaching your sons that they are God’s gift to mankind.
Dear mankind, stop telling white people that not becoming a murderer is some kind of accomplishment.
Dear Casey Anthony,
Dear Reader, you totally thought I was breaking with form there, didn’t you?
Dear form, you are sexier with the lights on.
Dear light, come back home. I’m not as afraid of the dark as I am of losing my shadow.
Dear home: pick a favorite place. STAY THERE.
Dear favorite: if you are reading this, then you realize I’ve dropped my walls.
Dear walls: it’s going to be lonely without you.
Dear you: I’m sorry this took so long, but I’ve finally finished writing the book.
It’s called “detachment” and it’s written around all of the best parts of you.
If you can’t make out the lines, use lemon juice. Nothing that was ever worth it didn’t burn.
© 2011 Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory
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