Where it all began

Wow, there are just so many great poems I could be posting now, I really mean it. But most of them are going to have to wait for another day, because it wouldn't be appropriate to continue posting without first paying homage to the one that started it all. G and I wrote this poem together the very first time we hung out at my house in 7th grade (we knew we'd be soul mates from the moment we realized we were the only ones left at school wearing patterned leggings.)When we finished, we were so in love with ourselves over it that we had the poem framed. We also took folded up copies of the poem and slipped it into the lockers of all the popular kids at school, hoping to cause some sort of uproar in the locker bay over what we'd done (sadly, this never happened). It was also after this experience that I decided to make poem writing a habit. Anyway, without further ado, I present:

The Duck with Bad Luck

This is the story of a duck with bad luck:

This duck had bad luck. He was under the tire of a big red truck. What a schmuck.

Therefore, the duck who was a schmuck, was under the truck; obviously he had bad luck.

This proves that the schmucky ducky had bad lucky under the tire of a big red trucky.

Thus, the dumb duck, under the big red truck, must be a schmuck, with very bad luck.

This means that the duck with bad luck is a schmuck and is under the truck.

This concludes that the duckaly under the truckaly was a schmuckaly; he had very bad luckaly. Then the motor of the truck started, and smashed the duck with very bad luck. Boy what a schmuck!

Results: This duck had VERY bad luck.

Ok, so that was 10 times more weird and 20 times less cool that I remember it being, but whatever. It would be weird to hold back and pretend like The Duck with Bad Luck never happened, because it did. It's also a bit tragic that the duck had to die in the end. I wonder what those popular kids thought when they found it in their lockers...

The Ballad of Billy Fuzz

This is the first entry in "Volume II, Part II" of my poem books. It's a sobering tale, really. A dark story of greed and its consequences. And it goes a little somethin' like this:

Billy Fuzz

Once upon a time there was
A little boy named Billy Fuzz
Billy was in the 2nd grade,
and every week he would get paid
a dollar for him to get his chores done
And then he could have lots of fun

One day Billy decided to buy
a yummy looking apple pie
It only cost $1.10
But he only had a dollar to spend
Billy needed another dime
But a nickel was all that he could find

He roamed the streets and scavenged stores
For it was a dime that he adored
He roamed the streets with a copper pan
And begged until a nice old man
Walked up to him and gave him a penny
"Gee!" said Billy. "That's not that many!"

The man gave him an ugly scowl
And threw his penny at a spotted owl
The owl dropped dead on the cold city street
And soon there was nothing left to eat
The city had acquired an ugly buzz
All because of Billy Fuzz

Wow, I must have been having a particularly angsty-teenager week. Or maybe I was mad that my parents would not raise my allowance. Either way, the results are disturbing.

Here's a classic one

My favorite genre of poetry writing when I was 12 was the "animal with a kooky name has a crazy experience" poem. You know the kind. Anyway, this old favorite was rather archetypal of my middle school days:

Octopus Egor and his Encounters with Homer
the Psychic Smelt and a Fish Named Sven

This story I'm about to tell you
May not sound like it is true
But yes indeed, I do not lie
About Octopus Egor, who did not try

Octopus Egor wasn't that bright
He did not know wrong from right
He lived down in the water blue
Where he was happy, it is true

Now Egor, he was full of might
Although he wasn't very bright
There was one thing he had to know
That's what his future had to show

He went to see a psychic smelt
Named Homer and the future he telt
He asked him what he saw ahead
Would he wind up beached and dead?

Would he meet a lady oct?
Would they have a lovely talk?
"What's in store for me?" he cried
And this is what the smelt replied:

"Go down to the water blue
There is a fish that once I knew
Tell this fish you are my friend
This little fish, his name is Sven.

He knows all, more than me
He'll tell you what your future will be
Hurry now before it's dawn,"
And with that, the smelt was gone

Egor hurried along his way
To make it before dawn next day
Sven lived in the water blue
Which to Egor, was really nothing new

When Egor arrived at the fish's lair
He noticed an aroma in the air
It reeked of cheese and tuna cans
Of asparagus and pickled spam

"Come in," said Sven. "And take a seat.
I have for you a tasty treat
A complimentary can of spam
But first, tell me who I am."

"You are Sven," Egor said
"Homer sent me here instead
Cause I need your advice to know
What my future has to show."

"Ah," said Sven. "I'll tell you now.
As I see it, you'll buy a cow
You'll grow corn and barley too
A farm is what's in store for you."

"Thanks," said Egor and he was on his way
Tomorrow was another day
This poem is over, now I'll end
This story of Egor, Homer and Sven.

I guess it didn't occur to me that an octopus is going to have quite a hard time starting up a farm. Especially the kind of farm that has a cow.

I found my old poem books from 7th grade and decided to start a blog

Background: When I was in 7th grade, I thought I was a poet. My BFF of the day, G, and I spent much of our time together (whether in person or over the phone) writing poems. We trusted our poetry-writing skills to a delusional degree, believing ourselves to be capable of publishing our work. Well, that never panned out, but maybe it's not too late to share my work with the world!

My first entry is appropros to today, being that it is Thanksgiving. In fact, this gem is titled, simply, "Thanksgiving Day":

Thanksgiving Day

We give our thanks

To those we love

And those who save our lives

We eat the turkey by the pound

And gorge on pumpkin pies

The Pilgrims and the Indians started long ago

This feast we call Thanksgiving

That everybody knows

Cranberry sauce and candied yams

Rosemary bread and roasted hams

Daddy carves the turkey

Mother cleans the plates

I will eat the food

I'll tell ya, it was great!

Wow. That was embarassing to go back and read. I remember trying so hard to sound sincere and reflective. Did I succeed?