Lullaby
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Lullaby
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Desert
On the wild open plain, Wind blows. Wind blows. On the wild open plain, Sun shines. Sun shines. And on the wild open plain, Horses thunder. Horses thunder. Galloping footfalls Tear through the empty silence, Creating a noise That can shake the high and lonely hills. Yee-ai-ai-ai-ee The calls of cowboys Galloping on their horses, Echo through the canyon, A chorus of the desert. The desert. | ||
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Pitter-patter
.........
Pitter-patter Pitter-patter Little feet go tink-wink Tink-wink Hush hush hush! Look! There goes a shadow There goes a flicker Pitter-patter Pitter-patter Feet pad flap-flap Flap-flap In the dark. Who’s that? Who goes there? Nobody knows, But the goblins, Swish-wish Swish-wish Oh yes, they know. Swish-wish Swish-wish Oh yes, they know. ! |
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Questions
Mommy, why is the grass green? Why are the roses red? Why is the sky blue? Why does the world go ‘round And not in a square? Momma, why do the kids tease? Why do they laugh at me? Why can’t I get good grades? Why can’t I play sports like Everyone else can do? Mom, why am I so ugly? Why can’t I wear better clothes? Why doesn’t that boy like me? Why am I the person who I am And not someone else? Mother, why can’t I have a model house? Why is it so hard to run a home? Why can’t I get along with my husband? Why can’t I be a good mom Like all the other moms? Mommy, why am I growing old? Why won’t my body behave the way it should? Why can’t I look pretty anymore? Why does my life look so pointless Just when it should look so good? Mommy, why is the grass green? |
Cat and Mouse
Cat and Mouse Meow… Meow… Meow… Green curious eyes In a little black face Pointy ears And whiskers that go twitch-twitch-twitch. Squeak… Squeak… Squeak… Black beady eyes In a little grey face Round ears And a tail that goes whisk-whisk-whisk. A scurry of paws, And a squeak-squeak-squeak, Hurry hurry hurry To the mousehole. A flurry of claws And a yowl-yowl-yowl Hurry hurry hurry To the mouse-tail. A whirlwind of fur And one last squeak. Purr… Purr… Purr… |
Shhh!
Who? Who? Who? Hush, and listen. Who? Who? Who? There. See? There goes he goes again. Who? Who? Who? Ghosting along in the moonlight His feathers changed to silver, His talons bronze, Who? Who? Who? Softly in the night Quietly as light Who? Who? Who? Goes the owl. | ||
Saturday, March 17, 2007
On the Matter of Cats
........CATS One thing I do not understand is this whole thing about cats being sassy, dumb, or feral. There is a huge controversy about cats. Some people claim that they are feral and never truly trained. Well, I beg to differ. Some cats, I’m sure, are feral, uncontrollable, and have behavior problems. So, I may add, do some people. I mean, when’s the last time you’ve ever heard of a cat being a serial killer? Well, unless you count mice. Some people claim that cats are dumb. That also depends on the cat. I’m sure that somewhere in the world there is a cat who is really, incontrovertibly stupid. However, nine cases out of ten, the cat in question doesn’t not understand whatever it is the owner is trying to get it to do. It understands quite well; it simply doesn’t feel like doing it and thus refuses. To my way of thinking, this is quite smarter than a dog, who will do just about anything for its owner without thinking its way through. I’m sure that somewhere in the world there is a dog who isn’t an abject slave. Just because I’ve never seen or even heard of one doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Some people claim that cats are sassy. Just one question—since when is sassy bad? I’d rather have a funny cat with an attitude than a blindly obedient dog with no sense of humor. I admit I’m rather stereotyping dogs here. Still, right now, I’m addressing the stereo-typers, so when in Rome… Some people claim that cats are willful, disobedient, and independent. Yes, I suppose they are at times. And I also suppose that those claimants are angelic, obedient, and dependant to their parents as well. Of course I’m sure that they wouldn’t dream of saying no to someone who wanted them to sit up and beg for their supper. Let he without sin cast the first stone… Personally, I love cats. I also love dogs for their demonstrative nature and their innate loyalty, but whoever says that cats are not loyal are either lying through their teeth, misinformed, or ignorant. True, there are millions of cases where dogs have saved their owners. It is much harder for a cat to create a loving and close bond with its owner, but when it does, cats are known to have traveled for hundreds of miles to rejoin their owners, and to have rescued them from burning houses. So. Dogs are all nice and good. I have nothing against them, and in fact would love to have them as a pet. However, in terms of character and basic stereotypes, I must say that I would prefer to have a cat. Wait…no offense to dogs! *tries again, desperately * I mean no offense to dogs or dog-love… *is chased and torn apart by angry mob of dog-lovers* | ||
Five Ways to Drive Your Parents Mad
Hello! I’m back!!!!!!!!!! I’m feeling really hyper today… Let’s see…what should I do? I know! Five Ways to Drive Your Parents Mad, coming up! 1. Squash your little sister in the trash can and tell your angry parents that all you did was ‘throw away the trash.’ 2. When you’re in time out, make a loud racket, banging off the walls and everything, and when your parents come up to find out what’s going on, tell them you’re just ‘thinking, and this helps me to think.’ 3. When you’re mom is slapping you, hum a little ditty that you know your mother can’t stand, like ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears and laugh uncontrollably. 4. When he grounds you, claim you have to use the computer for your homework and then blast music throughout the house at full volume, preferably something your father can’t stand, like, ‘Tipsy’ by J-Kwon. 5. When you’re thrown out into the cold, paint your house a brilliant rainbow, then report your parents to the police station for abandoning a minor. There you go! By now your parents have got to be frothing at the mouth. Wait...*angry mob chasing after you* I... take... no... responsibility... for... any... children... damaged... in... the... making... of... this... scientific... experiment... help.... *angry mob reaches me* | ||
Good Books
Good books are like jewels—hard to come by, and harder still to find one that is truly great instead of pretty good. When I do find one, I sit down for a while to muse about it. The feeling that comes over me at these times is hard to describe—a source of warmth, or light, or maybe satisfaction simply welling up in me, filling my whole being with a sense of fullness, of the joy of simple being. There is something exquisite about reading, some sense of being yourself. You are caught up in the book so wholly, so completely that in a sense you are that girl, that boy. You lose the self-interest, the self-absorption that is common nature to all humans and thus paradoxically become more yourself than you can ever be otherwise. At the moment when you are the most engrossed in the story is when you are most yourself. Perhaps it is because your self is a never-ending resource. Everytime you read a good book, it gives you something of itself to carry with you wherever you go. Memories, certainly—I often dwell on one particular page, recreating its texture, color, even its font with loving detail, and listen to its words in my head—but something more, something of its innermost self that humans are unwilling to relinquish. And everytime you read a good book, some part of yourself goes into it. Though people say that new books are so much better than old books, I prefer old books, copies that I have pored over a million times. Because each time I did so, something of myself went into those pages, and everytime I open it again, I see that myself years earlier, even as I put in something of myself now. |
Friday, March 16, 2007
Secret Journal of Aragorn Elessar during the Fellowship of the Ring
Secret Journal of Aragorn Elessar during the Fellowship of the Ring Dear Journal, Gandalf has asked me to go help the hobbits—a certain Mr. Underhill and his companions. I’ve never cared much for the name Underhill myself, but we can’t all have names like Aragorn. I don’t mind much because he asked me to wait at the Prancing Pony. That inn rocks! I love its ale, and it’s a wonderful place to blow smoke rings. Gandalf says I don’t pay enough attention to serious matters when I’m there. Who’s he to talk? I know for a fact that the reason he let Gollum escape that first time was because he was busy blowing smoke rings! Dear Journal, So I found the hobbits. They weren’t too bad, I forget their names. Yikes, I’ll have to try to remember before they find out I failed my history class because I mixed up the name Sauron with Elrond. Hey, it was a perfectly excusable mistake. Anyone could have made it. Elrond, however, overreacted beyond all reason. I wonder why. Meh, anyway, we made it to Rivendell. It wasn’t so bad, except for that one tricky bit where what was his name again—Fraudo?—slipped on the One Ring. He got hit by a knife, and for some reason he isn’t getting better. The little one, the one who keeps messing things up, I think his name is pipsqueak, asked me why. I can’t let them know I failed my medicine class too! I looked wise and muttered some nonsense about magic and weird blades, and he swallowed it. Sucker. Now I’m so tired, I could…zzz… Dear Journal, Guess what? Turns out I was right about that blade business! Yeah, go me! Elrond was really surprised and impressed. It’s a little insulting how he was so shocked I’d gotten it right for once… Anyway, there was this council business. They all wanted to know what to do, and for some reason they all looked at me! Why me, for cripes’ sake? So I just looked wise and mysterious and blurted out something about destroying the One Ring, and they all immediately congratulated me on my genius and began making plans! Sometimes I fear for the fate of Middle-earth… Dear Journal, That’s it. We’re on this journey, and there’s absolutely no way I can back out now. Great, just great… The weather sucks; it’s absolutely freezing, and the snow! Gandalf came up with some half-brained notion about trying Moria. Gak! He knows I’m afraid of the dark! I immediately said to try Mount Caradhros instead. Now I’m up to my waist in snow and wondering why I didn’t take up a nice peaceful occupation like lawyering or something. Wait, I failed English too, didn’t I? The cooking stinks. I’d complain, but I can’t for fear that they’ll ask me to do the cooking. Of the party, only Gandalf knows that I failed home ec too, and I intend to keep it that way. Yikes, the number of Elrond’s classes I failed is rather embarrassing. I’ll have to see if I can get him to erase the record; they might be a little inconvenient to my plans to take over Middle-earth…must remember to erase that last line. Dear Journal, Caradhros didn’t work, and now Gandalf is taking us to Moria. I can’t say a word, since he let me try my way and it didn’t work. It usually doesn’t…sigh… It’s really dark, and Frodo—I finally got his name right, go me!—almost got taken by the Watcher. Not only that, I’m at the way back! Gak…. I think I hear something behind us. Must remember to take medicine or something, I’m obviously hallucinating. Wonder if I can ask Gandalf to fix me something…on second thought, the last time I drank one of his concoctions, I turned into a snail. Never mind. Dear Journal, Gandalf is dead! He fell off a bridge into Moria! I knew there was something wrong with it! Now we’re at Lorien. The queen Galadriel is really pretty, and really very nice. Plus she’s the grandmother of Arwen! So I tread rather carefully around her—I mean, hey, she could be my future grandmother-in-law! Boromir was really annoying, making rude remarks about her and so on. He’s really getting in my hair, the way he acts. You’d think Minas Tirith belongs to him! It may be stuffy and people there may be overly melodramatic, but it is mine! Plus he keeps making jokes about the way I forgot about Frodo and Sam back there. Okay, so maybe it slipped my mind that they were wounded. So what? Anyone could forget that, they’re so small! It’s no excuse to call me Aragorn the mentally challenged! Dear Journal, Someone slipped a bunch of spiders into Boromir’s bedroll. ( No, I will not admit that it was me, not even to you, O Journal of mine.) He screamed like a girl—not that you need to tell Arwen that. She’s really strong. We left Lorien, and now we’re at some kind of weird river called the Anduin. How embarrassing! Frodo discovered that Gollum has been trailing us all the way from Moria, the nasty sneak! I’m supposed to be the high and mighty tracker, so I murmured something about having known all along. He took it hook, line, and sinker. Go me! Dear Journal, Boromir tried to make off with the Ring! I knew there was something fishy about him! He’s dead now, the orcs finished him off. Now Frodo and Sam have gone and taken a boat and supplies and are off to Mordor, and Merry and that annoying pipsqueak have gotten themselves captured! I opted to follow Merry. For one thing, they’re going to Rohan, and I absolutely love their horses! For another, I can’t stand Mordor. It’s creepy and so dark! Thanks to nimras23 for story idea. |
Just Another Normal Day for the Only Sane Member of an Insane Family
Just Another Normal Day for the Only Sane Member of an Insane Familiy It was a quiet day. My mother and I were lounging on the porch, my mother with an Agatha Christie novel, her latest in a long series,which she is totally obsessed with, and I with a David Eddings. Across from our comfortable positions on the porch swing seat shone the sun, its blazing yellow rays shining directly in our eyes with all the strength of the sun at its zenith. The light made my eyes sting, but I felt too relaxed to care; it was a typically lazy summer day, with all the goodwill and agreeableness that comes with it. Near us came the somnolent droning of the bees as they busily gathered pollen from our flowers, heedless of the heat that beat down on us humans and drained us of the energy to act. My long hair fell across my face as a result of my slumped position, but, just at an exciting part where the hero was in a perilous fight with a far older and skilled man that he was, I ignored it. Naturally it was just at that instant that an ear-splitting yowl echoed through our house, shattering the soporific silence that had previously pervaded the air. My book dropped from my fingers to land face-down on the porch at the sheer volume of it; I am still firmly convinced that the penguins on Antarctica looked up and asked one another, ‘What was that?’ Irritated in a languid sort of way, I looked up slowly. My sleepiness was broken at once as out from our door hurtled a wild-eyed, panic-stricken creature. Its fur stood up on end all around it, creating the impression of a hedgehog in the middle of a thunderstorm, or perhaps something that washed up in the tide. Large green eyes were slitted with fear and surprise, and its face was frozen in a hideous expression of anger. Hissing and spitting in the truly vicious manner that only a righteously indignant cat can achieve, it clawed its way up a tree in a record two seconds. It took two whole minutes for this scenario to register in my mind, my foggy mind reacting more slowly than usual. By the time I had worked my brain to coherence and it occurred to me to wonder what our usually demure cat Mmrr was doing in such a feral state, my sister was at the door, laughing quietly. “I wonder whatever got into her?” she murmured, then collapsed on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. My eyes narrowed. Her voice had been studiedly innocent, but there was a certain intonation in her voice, a peculiar inflection in her tone that I had learned to recognize and beware of. “Okay, Ce’Nedra,” I said sternly. “What did you do?” “Me?” she asked innocently, her eyes overflowing with hurt that I had suspected her, which I knew perfectly well was mostly feigned. Despite myself, however, I felt my heart melting and my knees go weak in the wake of that wide-eyed gaze that had defeated many far more hard-hearted than I. Years of exposure to it, however, had given me some degree of immunity. With an effort I pulled my eyes away and said, “Yes, you,” though it didn’t come out as harshly as I would have liked. “Nothing,” she protested. “Oh, really?” “Well…” she hesitated. “Let’s just say, for the sake of hypothesis, that I was really bored, and I opened the fridge. Now, if I did that, I might have found some hypothetical jalapeno peppers—if I hypothetically opened the fridge—and I might have wondered what Mmrr would do if I fed her the hypothetically found jalapeno peppers. This is all purely speculation, you understand. All hypothesis. No basis in real fact.” “Of course,” I said, my voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. “Of course,” she said, happy now that everything had been settled her way. Don’t get me wrong, my sister is very bright, and very devious indeed, but sometimes sarcasm can go right over her head. This does not mean she is stupid, just insane. If anybody doubts that, I invite him or her to try to bargain with little Ce’Nedra. What could I do? I just sighed, shook my head, and went to look for and soothe my shivering pet, giving up all hope of finishing my book before lunchtime. Just another normal day for the only sane member of an insane family. P.S. This is all entirely fake! My sister, who resembles Ce’Nedra a little bit, fortunately has a great sense of humor, so she will not try to kill me. What? You don’t? Well, that’s just too bad, because I say you do, and you’re not going to embarrass me by contradicting me after I’ve just posted it on the Internet! | ||
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Thoughts
Thoughts |
Whassup?!
Whassup?
|
Pirates of the Caribbean
Hi! This is my Pirates of the Caribbean post. I'll never forget the first time I watched it. I was hooked. |
Lord of the Rings
This is my Lord of the Rings post. It shows my great regard for both the book and the movie. |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
