The Manifesto of Thrample

The Manifesto of Thrample

Why should “Un” and “Re” be gatekeepers of wordly decree?
prefixes so judged when heard, valid or invalid when paired with words—
They splice and slice, they bind and bend, deciding where a word may end.

If “uncivilized” can turn, then “recivilized” must return.
Undeveloped, developed, then undeveloped, redeveloped.
But why stop there? I dare to say—re-un-civilized may play.

A word is mine when I declare, I coin, I csrown, I make it fair.
If I renew, redo or undo, and make word entirely new—
Thrice ample? Then it shall be: thrample, three times abundantly.

And should I want more than enough, I’ll summon gloribuff—a puff of stuff,
As long as I, my words define, then the words I create are mine.
and for delight beyond the norm, I’ll craft spindlewhim, to swarm.

Who tells me “No, that word is not”? The tongue is free, the page is hot.
I have then declared right to do, in creating a word or two
Language lives when rules are bent, each syllable a testament.

So let us make, unmake, remake, re-un-create for language’s sake.
As long as I define, if I inscribe, the word is mine—
and yours, if you should choose to use, gloribuff, and spindlewhim amuse.

Spindlewhim and gloribuff one winds, unwinds while the other’s overstuffed—
For what is speech if not to play, to stitch the night, unseam the day?
The right to word-invent is clear: new worlds are waiting, written here.

Thrample (adj./n./v.)
adj. Three times abundant; overflowing beyond the ordinary measure.
n. A state of abundance so complete it spills into excess.
v. To multiply plenty until it is an over-abundance.
Example: “Her joy was not simple—it was thrample, spilling over every cup.”

Gloribuff (n./adj.)
n. A puffed-up swell of glory, radiant yet ridiculous, and showy.
adj. Glorious to the point of fluff, splendidly overdone.
Example: “The parade was a gloribuff of colors and trumpets, magnificent and absurd.”

Spindlewhim (n.)
A fine thread of whimsy that winds and unwinds itself without warning; an airy thought spun into being for no reason but delight.
Example: “A spindlewhim caught me at dusk, and suddenly the ordinary trees were ballerinas in green.”

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About the Author: Sarah B. Royal

Sarah B. Royal’s writing defies convention. Her poetry and prose traverse the boundaries between structure and spontaneity, often weaving together philosophical inquiry, cultural reflection, and personal narrative. With a background in experimental literature, she is known for crafting works that challenge readers to engage intellectually and emotionally.

Her acclaimed palindrome performance play, 777 – A Story of Idol Worship and Murder, showcases her fascination with mirrored storytelling and thematic symmetry. In o x ∞ = ♥: The Poet and The Mathematician, Royal explores the intersection of poetic intuition and mathematical logic, revealing a unique voice that is both analytical and lyrical.

Royal’s collections—such as Lost in the Lost and Found, Haiku For You, Lantern and Tanka Too, and the WoPoLi Chapbook Series—highlight her commitment to neurodivergent expression and poetic experimentation. Whether through childhood verse or contemporary fusion poetry, her work invites readers into a world where language is both a tool and a playground.

Sarah B. Royal continues to expand the possibilities of poetic form, offering readers a deeply personal yet universally resonant experience. Her writing is a testament to the power of creative risk, intellectual depth, and emotional authenticity.

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