smooth and sultry
swingin' jazz
yeah stevie
swayin' seein' sounds
an' vibrant full soul
melodies
Hey! Next track
Wonder funks
Poppin' brass in
Bright golden bursts
Dancin' kids jump
and bump their hips
Keepin' time with
Groove that's all their own
Stevie showed 'em with his swayin
swingin' funk
an' jazz
Wonder movin' dounds of smooth and timeless pulse.
Sr. Poetry (WN #15)
Monday, October 26, 2009
Boût Rimé
A story I bring from royal lines of palace balls and feasts gourmet
Revealed secrets of cowardly knights and queens much too fond of creme brulee
as famished proles trudge through blizzards, volcanic floods, and hurricanes
The Brother's Grimm were hired, repairing image, for a more fame-friendly
reason Princess Schizo was locked in her tower
Once in bloom, she found her thrown after her perch was knocked gently by a small
passing asteroid
her beauty made the masses fall faint and they subdued to its power
Charming princes who delighted in her evening demeanor, by morning were chained
to a desk
Seeking more pleasurable conversation, she slipped into their tea something that slightly
resembled an Altoid
Far prior to FDA regulations, these mints often left her guests slightly paranoid
But by darkness they enjoyed her playful flirtations and rare talent of twisting her fine body
into a pretzel
And during hide-and-seek the princess found the perfect chance to run off with her secret Mongdoid.
Later, when forced into her monthly bath, it was discovered that in her place was a robot.
At once the courtyard was alerted of scandal and half-priced wiener-schnitzel
and the hermit realized London wasn't really so cloudy, it was merely his breath
on the window pane
(The harsh truth of which resulted in a terrible carpet stain)
Meanwhile, the princess forgets her former life of fame
Of course in these tales a witch or two always thickens the plot
So while the town is all gossip and the view picturesque
And peasant beauties dream of princes and palace acclaim
The hag has joined the hermit
Chasing princess reclining on the lap of her Mongolian lover
whose face exerted signs of unending grotesque.
Sr. Poetry (WN #14)
Definition: Bout- Rimes is French for "rhymed ends." A bouts- rimes poem is created by one person's making up a list of rhymed words and giving it to another person, who in turn writes the lines that end with those rhymes, in the same order in which they were given.
(Ed. note: Not sure where the rhymes went... but I do remember creating the list of words as a class.)
Revealed secrets of cowardly knights and queens much too fond of creme brulee
as famished proles trudge through blizzards, volcanic floods, and hurricanes
The Brother's Grimm were hired, repairing image, for a more fame-friendly
reason Princess Schizo was locked in her tower
Once in bloom, she found her thrown after her perch was knocked gently by a small
passing asteroid
her beauty made the masses fall faint and they subdued to its power
Charming princes who delighted in her evening demeanor, by morning were chained
to a desk
Seeking more pleasurable conversation, she slipped into their tea something that slightly
resembled an Altoid
Far prior to FDA regulations, these mints often left her guests slightly paranoid
But by darkness they enjoyed her playful flirtations and rare talent of twisting her fine body
into a pretzel
And during hide-and-seek the princess found the perfect chance to run off with her secret Mongdoid.
Later, when forced into her monthly bath, it was discovered that in her place was a robot.
At once the courtyard was alerted of scandal and half-priced wiener-schnitzel
and the hermit realized London wasn't really so cloudy, it was merely his breath
on the window pane
(The harsh truth of which resulted in a terrible carpet stain)
Meanwhile, the princess forgets her former life of fame
Of course in these tales a witch or two always thickens the plot
So while the town is all gossip and the view picturesque
And peasant beauties dream of princes and palace acclaim
The hag has joined the hermit
Chasing princess reclining on the lap of her Mongolian lover
whose face exerted signs of unending grotesque.
Sr. Poetry (WN #14)
Definition: Bout- Rimes is French for "rhymed ends." A bouts- rimes poem is created by one person's making up a list of rhymed words and giving it to another person, who in turn writes the lines that end with those rhymes, in the same order in which they were given.
(Ed. note: Not sure where the rhymes went... but I do remember creating the list of words as a class.)
My wings blow chasing after
the wings that I have grown.
Unfolded on my own.
Implicating I am willing, now,
to Live
Unafraid.
A breeze has lifted my youthful,
grounded, clumsy soul into the
Twilight Air.
Freely moving,
Unaware of lessons shown to me
This twilight
(A gap between the worlds).
Release my bare and rhythmic feet
from leading
Beating, pounding heart
is choosing Northeast sunrise
Hinting violet hues unknown.
My wings stretch unafraid
to welcome
Day, my soul discovered
To embrace all to be shown.
Sr. Poetry (WN #12) (Ed. note: Wow, lame.)
the wings that I have grown.
Unfolded on my own.
Implicating I am willing, now,
to Live
Unafraid.
A breeze has lifted my youthful,
grounded, clumsy soul into the
Twilight Air.
Freely moving,
Unaware of lessons shown to me
This twilight
(A gap between the worlds).
Release my bare and rhythmic feet
from leading
Beating, pounding heart
is choosing Northeast sunrise
Hinting violet hues unknown.
My wings stretch unafraid
to welcome
Day, my soul discovered
To embrace all to be shown.
Sr. Poetry (WN #12) (Ed. note: Wow, lame.)
Palette of Perfection
rouged cheeks green eyes and sunset hair
fair skin pink pout (they linger there)
light kiss of sun in patches - hidden
by ivory-powdered beauty
batted black-brown lashes full and curled and long
whitened lightning flashes (smiles harpooning hearts)
And all of this perfection
found in bottles from her purse.
Sr. Poetry (WN #11: Color)
fair skin pink pout (they linger there)
light kiss of sun in patches - hidden
by ivory-powdered beauty
batted black-brown lashes full and curled and long
whitened lightning flashes (smiles harpooning hearts)
And all of this perfection
found in bottles from her purse.
Sr. Poetry (WN #11: Color)
belt
belt buckle
muffled chuckle
muff to warm old fashioned hands
alphabet plans
twinkling stars to tunes of
endless dancing O's
average lows
extremely out of ordinary
weather we are having
don't you think?
forgotten Pints and Quarts
mind dear young Johnny out the
door for recess
a break for school and lunch and
countless golden rules to teach
a greed - instill a hunger
for all the things that shine
need not be kind
just please don't break them
in that breathless gap of time
that chose your life.
(Sr. Poetry)
belt buckle
muffled chuckle
muff to warm old fashioned hands
alphabet plans
twinkling stars to tunes of
endless dancing O's
average lows
extremely out of ordinary
weather we are having
don't you think?
forgotten Pints and Quarts
mind dear young Johnny out the
door for recess
a break for school and lunch and
countless golden rules to teach
a greed - instill a hunger
for all the things that shine
need not be kind
just please don't break them
in that breathless gap of time
that chose your life.
(Sr. Poetry)
Brocken Comb
A battle lost
At hygiene's cost
A thickened, auburn forest
For strands remain
A wounded stain
For teeth ripped from
their post
A plastic martyr cast so mercilessly into the bin.
Remember grade school photo primping?
The same black comb you've broken
Time and time and time again.
Defeated bristles never tough enough to win.
Senior Year Poetry Excerpt (WN #10)
At hygiene's cost
A thickened, auburn forest
For strands remain
A wounded stain
For teeth ripped from
their post
A plastic martyr cast so mercilessly into the bin.
Remember grade school photo primping?
The same black comb you've broken
Time and time and time again.
Defeated bristles never tough enough to win.
Senior Year Poetry Excerpt (WN #10)
Friday, January 30, 2009
I just finished telling my sister that "the cool table is wherever she sits". You couldn't pay me to go back to that wicked little trap called middle school... or could you?
I'm taking "Middle School Theory and Practice" this semester, which of course, has me contemplating if I would ever teach that level. I can see so many reasons why I would want to. The opportunity to focus on one subject, to expect higher-order thinking, the ability to form hypothetical outcomes... that sounds great. The extra-curricular activities are certainly more up my alley at that age, particularly service-learning. But could I tolerate and thrive with all of the background noise???
I'm taking "Middle School Theory and Practice" this semester, which of course, has me contemplating if I would ever teach that level. I can see so many reasons why I would want to. The opportunity to focus on one subject, to expect higher-order thinking, the ability to form hypothetical outcomes... that sounds great. The extra-curricular activities are certainly more up my alley at that age, particularly service-learning. But could I tolerate and thrive with all of the background noise???
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