Happy O-naugeration Day!

In honor of this momentous, historic day, I share with you this little piece, a strong statement on foreign affairs:

The Attack

Why is it such a cruel world
That we all can't get along?
Nuclear weapons, missles too
Their effects are just so strong

Innocent people are dying
At the expense of one sick man
In the country of Iraq
Which is neighbors with Iran

What's with all the violence
Why the blood and gore?
First the bombing, then what's next?
Perhaps another war?

Maybe it's the only way
To stop Saddam Hussein
A man who won't cooperate
And is perhaps a bit insane

The attacks are for a reason
This I know is true
I just wish there was something else
Then violence we could do

Maybe I should lend this to President Barack Obama to help him figure out how to smooth other the various foreign wars and kersnuffles we're currently dealing with. I'm sure he'd find it pretty useful.

On a lighter note

For those who need a respite from the lovesick poems of late, here's a fun little rhyming one, in honor of my friend Olivia, who lives in New York, and of Ryan, who was just in New York.

The Emu That Went to New York

Did you hear the tale of the emu that went to New York?
Or how 'bout the giraffe that ate salted pork?
Or the zebra the sneezed
And ate glowing cheese
Or the warthog that ate with a fork?

But emus don't travel, so this can't be true.
The giraffe part's a lie, just like the emu
Zebras don't sneeze
Or eat glowing cheese
And warthogs just fart a lot. Pew!

Awww, it's two limericks back to back in what makes for a very cute poem. I approve, 12 year-old-Julia!

Guest Blogger: A Treatise on "The Crush"

Genny is back and better than ever with another guest blog post. For those of you wanting a little more background on just who this guest blogger is, read on:

Genevieve began her poetry career at the wee age of 11 when she was better known as "Baloney." Since then she has obviously escalated to bigger and better things in life, and these days she's pretty classy. She attended Washington State University in Pullman where she learned a few things, among those;
1) how to sled down an icy hill in a rubbermaid bucket
2) how to exploit the disability van for rides around campus
3)Don't EVER drink ANYTHING blue.
In her free time she enjoys finger puppets, Phil Collins, swedish fish, and sledding to the 80's, which is similar to sweating to the 80's, but without the sweat.

So with that in mind, put yourself in the shoes of young Genevieve, who so aptly summarized the wistful pining we all expereinced with our first (or second, or twelth) big middle school crush, and I think you'll be able to relate to where she was coming from.

Crush

Have you ever liked someone and wanted to tell them, but you weren't sure that you could? Have you ever wanted them to know it, but weren't sure if they should?
Have you ever felt like there might be something, but decided otherwise?
Have you ever wondered why it was him, instead of one of the other guys?
Have you ever not really understood what made you feel this way?
You know what you want to tell him, but you're waiting for the right day.
You know it really is what you want, but it's so out of your reach,
Why can't it be someone easier?
But maybe the reason it seems complicated, is because there's a lesson to teach.
One I haven't learned yet, but really should.
And even if it doesn't turn out right,

The lesson I learned was good.
I wish that I knew everything, so it would be this way,
I could make it a lot easier, but I wouldn't know what to say.

Why I am liking him seems complicated in my mind.
Maybe it's because I wish for someone who is one of a kind
Who can understand when I need it a lot
Who doesn't have to be super hot
Who likes me for the person inside
And isn't out to "get a free ride"
Who would always respect me through and through
Someone like that would be really cool.
Also hard to find and imitate, but anyone close would be worth the wait.

And Genny adds that this poem is "dedicated to 'Donovan Mitten' (secret nickname for middle school crush) who I last saw sitting on a random porch with everyone else I used to know in high school, drinking keystone light from a can with a broken car parked in the yard."

Hmm, sounds like he might not have been worth the wait.

Sappy Poems 2: Sappy Meets Angsty

By request of Kim, another "sappy poem," although this one also crosses into "teenage angst" territory. I'm not going to spend a bunch of time analyzing this one, just make of it what you will.

The New Girl

Ever since day one
The girl did not belong
Her shoes were strange, her hair was weird
Her style of dress was wrong

Her jeans were just a bit too tight
Her shirts were big and kinda bright
Although her appearance was rather rough
She seemed nice, but it wasn't enough

Everything she said or did
Was turned into a joke
Everytime a crack was made
She thought that she would choke

The kids just did not realize
How mean they really were
Until the teacher told them
The shocking news about her

She was found in the basement
A bullet in her head
For due to all the teasing
The new girl now was dead.

Sooo...I have no idea where this came from. Some poems I very vividly remember writing, others I do not and am surprised to stumble upon them. This is one of those. I mean, WTF....I promise I was a pretty happy kid, as far as tortured 7th graders go. Probably this was another Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul-influenced poem. Pretty harrowing!

Introducing: Sappy Poems

I have withheld posting my really sappy, angsty, and/or morbid poems so far, because, well, they're embarrassing. But after a great poetry slam with friends in Portland two weeks ago, in which I had the courage to finally share some of these poems with other people, I realized that I'm sitting on a gold mine. I kid you not, these poems are hilarious. I was trying so, SO hard to be a serious poet and break away from my hokey-animal-tales style. But mostly I think I had just been reading way, way too much Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul (omg blatant Christian undertones!) and desperately wanted to relate to the stories of romance, heartbreak, and devastating loss that were so dramatically told in the Chicken Soup books. So I wrote poems like this:

Follow Your Heart*

She wasn't the most popular girl in school
She was nice, but to some she was considered "uncool"
Pretty in her own unique way
She was shy and quiet; had not much to say

He was smart and handsome, kind and tall
Good at sports and liked by all
He took special care of the things he loved
Whether it be a friend, or a baseball glove

She watched him from afar one day
She kept to herself and stood away
She noticed his eyes, a sparkling blue
Hers drawn to his like super glue

"I bet he doesn't even know I exist,"
She sighed, but how she longed to kiss
The thought of his lips upon hers
Made her smile, but she didn't have nerve

To tell him how she really felt
She thought it better left undealt
She went to her locker one week later
To drop off her books and grab some paper

She opened it up and to her surprise
A single rose lay inside
"Funny," she thought. "No tag or name.
I bet it's just a stupid game."

When she turned around, to her surprise
There he was, a look in his eyes
They've been together since that day
Their wedding is just weeks away

True love is found, it goes to show
In places that you'd never know
Follow your heart, stick to your dreams
And finding "the one" isn't as hard as it seems

OMFG I cannot believe I wrote those words!! And I can't believe I just admitted to writing those words, and then put them on the internet. But really, it would be selfish of me to keep that to myself, when I could be making people laugh. Or at least I hope you are laughing as much as I do every time I read that sappy poem, because it is not meant to be taken seriously. I mean, I assume that when I wrote it, it WAS meant to be taken seriously, imagining that I desperately longed for this to foreshadow an autobiographical account of some dreamy guy that would leave me roses in my locker. Although as it turns out, I did date this one guy in 10th grade who would always send me roses in class, and it was really awkward and obnoxious having to carry that crap around school all day. But how could I have known that in 7th grade!

So there you have it. 12-year-old Julia at her most vulnerable and exposed. If you think that was good, just wait. It gets better....

*In the actual poem book, the word "heart" is written as <3

The Poems I Wrote When I Was 12 (belated) Christmas Special

Well friends, another Christmas season has come and gone, and my intentions to post several of my holiday-themed poems failed to come to fruition while I was home. But by popular demand (sort of...), I am going to treat you all to one of my very favorites: a song about naked mole rats sung to the tune of "Oh Holy Night." So remember, don't read this to yourself, sing it to yourself (or preferably, sing it outloud so everyone around you can hear).

Oh NMR (to the tune of Oh Holy Night)

Oh NMR
Your veins are so apparent
But you're transparent
You squiggle and squirm.

Oh NMR
Your buck-teeth chew on cheese
'Till I appeared and I took it away

The thrill of hope as you try to get it back
You run around, not knowing where you're at

Ohhhhhhhh NMRrrrrr
You're duuuumb
And you're ugggggggly
You're stuuuuupid
And bliiiiind
NMRrrrr
You are so dumb

All hail!
The naaaaaaaaaaaaaked mole rat
Oh N-M-R

The best part is that I did not actually have to consult my poem book, as I have this committed entirely to memory. In fact, when Genny and I met for a poetry slam last weekend (more on that later), we sang this song with pride. If you want to hear how it goes, I will be happy to sing it for you. Seriously.

Guest Blogger!!

I haven't been able to update (or rather, I haven't gotten around to updating) for a while because a) my computer's power cord died and hasn't been replaced, so I haven't been surgeically attached to my laptop quite so much, and b) it's Christmas and I've been busy chilling with the family.

So in my absence, I give you the first post from guest blogger Genny (aka my 7th grade poem writing soul mate):

The Hampsters of Room 16B and the Nerf Ball Massacre
(by Genny)

Living merrily in a cage, hampsters frolicked, or so they did...
I'll tell you the story of old time and age, which happened when I was a kid.

To Oak Hills School I did go, my class was room 16B.
A tank full of hampsters, 3 were named Joe, and those 3 belonged to me.

They became weary of their old cage, sometime in May I think.
They escaped and we look everywhere, even the classroom sink.

We cried and blubbed and sobbed and weeped. Our hampsters, they were gone!
All three Joes' I missed them so (but I changed one of their names to Shawn).

We left for gym class to play dodgeball, despite our scurvy luck.
Boy those Joes (and one named Shawn) they really are a schmuck!

A bag of Nerf's lay on the ground, basking in their own glory-
"now stop it you kid! Don't interrupt now! Just let me finish my story!"

Now this part is tragic, PG-13 I must say, or maybe even R.
This was a bad end for those Joe's (and one named Shawn) even worse than a squish by a car!

Now I picked up those Nerfs and I threw 'em real hard, at a weird girl named Delore.
Out fell old Joe (or maybe Shawn?) laying on the floor!

It swigged and stammered here and there and then fell flat on it's back.
We threw more balls and more hampsters fell out, and this is REALLY wack.

They moved into the balls because it was soft and better than bark dust you see,
I took it on myself to save those hampsters, and so did she and he.

All were present and accounted for except Suzanne and Fred.
3 were missing, 5 were hurt and 4 were plan out dead!

We held a funeral for the 4 under the sycamore tree,
(I think it was the day I kicked Louanna and then got stung by a bee).

A 14 nerf gun salute we gave the missing and then stood proud, solemn and tall.
But that got old really quick, so we went off to play wall ball.

Living merrily in a cage, hampsters frolicked, or so they did...
I'll tell you the story of old time and age, which happened when I was a kid.

And the reviews are already in: "A heartwarming, apolopytic tale of the fragility of mammal life and the frivolty and materialism that is taught in society's modern schools" -The Washington Post, Rhymeworm Weekly