The power, the rock
the tribe is lead by the beast
by the fear and the masks
by selfishness and evil
by a harsh hunter named Jack
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
You Cant Have it all Exept The Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, and Lemon Lime
But you can have the fleur delis points of the green garden gate,
And the pink buds and creeper vines and the butterfly flowers,
Like the really flutter at your own touch.
You can have the anonymous love letters and lunch notes at dinnertime,
Though, you always know they’re from grandma because smeared vanilla cake batter
Still sits around the edges.
You can have the one black moor goldfish in the pond of orange ones,
With his budging dragon eyes staring right at you,
And when the time comes,
You’ll leave a ball in the water to stop it from icing over in cold winters.
You can have the bright, juicy, fresh watermelons that grow to the left of the orange brick wall down the garden,
That is eaten on sunny Saturday afternoons by young children.
You can have the happiness that bursts like popcorn,
Pop, pop, pop,
Until the tomato red and electric blue bag overflows.
You can pick one up, but you only have to put it down again because you’re on a diet.
You can apply mummy’s cherry red lipstick shakily onto yourself after she did for a big night out.
But you can’t wash those permanent lines off,
Only wait for them to disappear, so grin and bear those fat red lips.
You can have the toyshops full of screaming kids—“I want this”,”please, please, please.” That always ends in a harsh “no,”
And everyone wonders why we still take them to the heaven of toys and says no, teasing like a crook.
You can have the bitter sweetness of an unripe green apple like the harsh notes of Beethoven playing in the grandpa’s old fashioned living room,
Him asleep to it in his armchair—paper still on lap.
You can have the gentle beat of a hummingbird’s wing as it lands on a beautiful hibiscus flower.
You can have the jelly bean—handpicked by a child’s sticky sweet fingers on a Sunday—
Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, Lemon Lime, everyone as tangy and fresh—
Unique candy, from the very best.
You can have the radio songs—on a loop like they want you to notice,
And the car mirrors with the dim light that you keep on the whole car ride—even though it’s daytime.
You can have the short cherries on the trees that sit by the mocha brown shed,
You notice that they disappear right under your nose—sneaky birds.
You can have February,
And March
And April, maybe May.
And all the other months you can think of because that doesn’t matter to me when you still can’t have it all--but only no more than that.
And the pink buds and creeper vines and the butterfly flowers,
Like the really flutter at your own touch.
You can have the anonymous love letters and lunch notes at dinnertime,
Though, you always know they’re from grandma because smeared vanilla cake batter
Still sits around the edges.
You can have the one black moor goldfish in the pond of orange ones,
With his budging dragon eyes staring right at you,
And when the time comes,
You’ll leave a ball in the water to stop it from icing over in cold winters.
You can have the bright, juicy, fresh watermelons that grow to the left of the orange brick wall down the garden,
That is eaten on sunny Saturday afternoons by young children.
You can have the happiness that bursts like popcorn,
Pop, pop, pop,
Until the tomato red and electric blue bag overflows.
You can pick one up, but you only have to put it down again because you’re on a diet.
You can apply mummy’s cherry red lipstick shakily onto yourself after she did for a big night out.
But you can’t wash those permanent lines off,
Only wait for them to disappear, so grin and bear those fat red lips.
You can have the toyshops full of screaming kids—“I want this”,”please, please, please.” That always ends in a harsh “no,”
And everyone wonders why we still take them to the heaven of toys and says no, teasing like a crook.
You can have the bitter sweetness of an unripe green apple like the harsh notes of Beethoven playing in the grandpa’s old fashioned living room,
Him asleep to it in his armchair—paper still on lap.
You can have the gentle beat of a hummingbird’s wing as it lands on a beautiful hibiscus flower.
You can have the jelly bean—handpicked by a child’s sticky sweet fingers on a Sunday—
Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, Lemon Lime, everyone as tangy and fresh—
Unique candy, from the very best.
You can have the radio songs—on a loop like they want you to notice,
And the car mirrors with the dim light that you keep on the whole car ride—even though it’s daytime.
You can have the short cherries on the trees that sit by the mocha brown shed,
You notice that they disappear right under your nose—sneaky birds.
You can have February,
And March
And April, maybe May.
And all the other months you can think of because that doesn’t matter to me when you still can’t have it all--but only no more than that.
Poetry Notebook: Beginnings and Endings
Description: There are always beginnings and endings for everyone. Weather the beginning of a life or the ending of a day. These poets have made the moments perfectly poetic for us to read and admire; beginnings and endings.
Synopsis: A few poems about beginnings as well as endings.
Beginnings:
Wild Dreams of a New Beginning
New Beginnings by James M.Rainey
New Love, New Life by Johann Wolfgang Goethe
Wake Up, Day Calls You by Pedero Salinas
Endings:
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstien
Night by William Blake
Song of The End of the World
Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending? by A. E, Housman
Friday, April 22, 2011
Chocolate Candy Brown-Benjamin Moore-2107-10
A park
In between the dark
And the light
Side of town,
Full of sings
From 1874.
Sand,
Covered the chocolate candy brown
Girl’s feet.
The sand
Of an hour glass,
Three fourths full.
Laughing,
Playing,
Enjoying,
The time she had
In the park that day.
With a fragile,
Paper white girl.
Not knowing
Why her mother said it wasn’t safe.
Best friends,
Half full.
They weren’t noticed
Until later.
One-fourth full.
Screaming,
Kicking,
Crying,
Last goodbyes
For ever,
As a fragile
Small,
paper white girl
Was being dragged away
“I want to do everything she does!”
By her mother.
Left,
A small
Chocolate candy brown
Child—ashamed.
Sitting
Quietly—wondering
What she’d done wrong,
On the driftwood swing-sets.
Hour glass:
Empty.
Sand:
Wet with tears.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Small Steps: The year I Got Polio By Peg Kehret
Publisher: Alber Whitman & Company Genre: memoir Where I Got It: A friend mentioned it and I got it from the library. One Sentence Summary: One day, twelve-year-old Peg Kehret gets diagnosed with three types of Polio and spends several months in a hospital fighting for her life. First Sentence: My ordeal began on a Friday early in December. First Chapter Review: It all starts out as a normal day when Peg is really excited to go to the Homecoming Parade with friends. Until it all turns upsidown when she feels a twitching in her legs. Her parents just think it’s the flu, but when the doctor comes around, he tells her to go to the hospital…immediately. Verdict: Very interesting and tells you everything about polio and how she handled it. An easy but informing read. Cover Comments: Yellow Background with a black and white picture of the main character. Has big bold blue title as well. I would sum it up as an average backround, not too knowticable on the bookshelf though.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Ghosts or Beasts?
We need an assembly
Not for laughing
And falling.
This meeting must not be fun,
But business.
Those legendary storms
Of the pacific
Have shifted here.
And the shadows were where they ought to be.
If you’re chief,
You had to think,
You had to be wise.
Do all of you see?
You voted me as chief,
Now you do what I say.
The beastie,
The snake,
The fire,
The talk of fear.
Where from?
What does that mean?
Were frightened
We put up with being frightened.
But the beast,
The one that’s as dark as the islands night,
That’s nightmares.
What about ghosts?
The storm broke.
No!
I don’t believe in ghosts?
—ever!
I got the conch
Shut up!
The rules,
You’re breaking the rules.
Sucks to the rules!
Because
The rules are the only thing we got.
Who cares!
Ghosts or Beasts?
The assembly shredded away
As quickly as a storm of angry wasps.
I ought to give up
Being chief.
Oh lord!
Oh no!
I’m scared of him
What’s the use?
Well,
Fat lot of good we are,
Three blind mice,
They stood in darkness,
Lost,
Again,
In deep waters.
Go on being chief.
Try.
Not for laughing
And falling.
This meeting must not be fun,
But business.
Those legendary storms
Of the pacific
Have shifted here.
And the shadows were where they ought to be.
If you’re chief,
You had to think,
You had to be wise.
Do all of you see?
You voted me as chief,
Now you do what I say.
The beastie,
The snake,
The fire,
The talk of fear.
Where from?
What does that mean?
Were frightened
We put up with being frightened.
But the beast,
The one that’s as dark as the islands night,
That’s nightmares.
What about ghosts?
The storm broke.
No!
I don’t believe in ghosts?
—ever!
I got the conch
Shut up!
The rules,
You’re breaking the rules.
Sucks to the rules!
Because
The rules are the only thing we got.
Who cares!
Ghosts or Beasts?
The assembly shredded away
As quickly as a storm of angry wasps.
I ought to give up
Being chief.
Oh lord!
Oh no!
I’m scared of him
What’s the use?
Well,
Fat lot of good we are,
Three blind mice,
They stood in darkness,
Lost,
Again,
In deep waters.
Go on being chief.
Try.
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