O hai, I think this whole poetry thing is working out rather well.
I'm rather stoked in fact.
Huzzah!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
82.
Yesterday I got a hair cut. I think it's rather spiffy now, but yesterday I was really worried about it. I'm not used to having haircuts that are actually good or really hair cuts, if you know what I mean. Either way, I'm trying to bring back the '80s. Today I dyed my hair black again. It's nice. I couldn't handle it being brown for so long. Ugh, shame on natural hair colours.
81.
Well, after reading Captain's blawg, I have decided to be a conformist and create an account on All Poetry. I kind of feel like a douche for doing this, but I hope it's just my lack of self-confidence and not my sense of logic influencing this opinion. If I still feel lame about it after a few days I'll probably admit defeat and delete it.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
79.
Whoo, I'm almost caught up in Biology. I was slacking and let a bunch of things slide and I was up until 4:30am last night working on them and I'm almost done. Whoo.
Monday, December 1, 2008
78.
In English we're supposed to be doing poetry now. Whoo.
Basically we were supposed to read this one peom and then write our own in the style of the other one. Here's how it went down:
Basically we were supposed to read this one peom and then write our own in the style of the other one. Here's how it went down:
Original:
Some Functions of a Leaf
Don McKay
To whisper. To applaud the wind
and hide the Hermit thrush.
To catch the light
and work the humble spell of photosynthesis
(excuse me, sir, if I might have one word)
by which it's changed to wood.
To wait
willing to feed
Some Functions of a Leaf
Don McKay
To whisper. To applaud the wind
and hide the Hermit thrush.
To catch the light
and work the humble spell of photosynthesis
(excuse me, sir, if I might have one word)
by which it's changed to wood.
To wait
willing to feed
and be food
To die with style:
as the tree retreats inside itself,
shutting off the valves at its
extremities
to starve in Technicolor, then
having served two hours in a children's leaf pile, slowly
stir its vitamins into the earth.
To be the artist of mortality.
Sarah's Poem:
Some Functions of a Corpse
To be silent. To applaud its maker
and hide the involuntary movements.
To absorb the cold
and disprove the notion of immortality
(excuse me, miss, may I touch you here?)
and be little more than an object.
To bloat,
willing to decay
and be food.
To be displayed ignominiously
as the creator reaches out of himself
shutting off the morals of
society
to indulge in carnal pleasures, then
having served this short lived purpose, carefully
eviscerated in a basement.
To be the object of desire.
To die with style:
as the tree retreats inside itself,
shutting off the valves at its
extremities
to starve in Technicolor, then
having served two hours in a children's leaf pile, slowly
stir its vitamins into the earth.
To be the artist of mortality.
Sarah's Poem:
Some Functions of a Corpse
To be silent. To applaud its maker
and hide the involuntary movements.
To absorb the cold
and disprove the notion of immortality
(excuse me, miss, may I touch you here?)
and be little more than an object.
To bloat,
willing to decay
and be food.
To be displayed ignominiously
as the creator reaches out of himself
shutting off the morals of
society
to indulge in carnal pleasures, then
having served this short lived purpose, carefully
eviscerated in a basement.
To be the object of desire.
Whoot?
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