Revival!

Hello blog, I'm back! I'm down at my parents house, which is where I had the original inspiration to blog my old 7th grade poems, and naturally I spent a good part of last night looking through old boxes of school stuff and notes and whatnot. I found, literally, a treasure trove of poems. As in, apparently in junior high, I participated in a poetry unit in English class in which I created a treasure box and wrote poems on "gold coins" to put in the treasure box. It's good stuff.



I also found some stories I wrote in 3rd grade, many of which are hilarious, so I'll probably do a little sub-feature on this blog soon, "Stories I wrote when I was 8." Stay tuned.

In the meantime, from the Poetry Treasure Box itself:

The Visitor

A visitor from Orbitville came and talked to me
He said, "I saw a funny sight, and I'm not sure what it might be

I parked above a field of green, posts reached into the air
Beings wearing matching shirts, ran from here to there

These beings, they were quite a sight, their heads looked really odd
With cages across their dirty faces, and their shoulders so very broad

They threw a weird shaped object, and they ran and jumped about
And these other beings around them, would start to scream and shout

I don't understand this planet, it makes no sense at all
A bunch of giants running around, throwing a funny shaped ball!"

I laughed and told the visitor, "What you saw's not to be feared!
That event was called the 'Superbowl,'" and with that he disappeared.

I actually am rather fond of this poem...I think it's quite good! My favorite part is how the Orbitville alien was so put off (seemingly) by the Superbowl that he vanished from Earth, perhaps never to return. I guess I was never a huge fan of football.

The inside of the poem treasure box, showing the gold coin surrounded by other treasure-like accouterments:

This is the story of frog named Ed

Oh, hi blog. Sorry to neglect you, but I had better things to do for a while, like have a social life and watch season one of Mad Men. But I haven't forgotten about you completely, blog. Here is one of the first poems I wrote - it was always one of my favorites:

Ed the Frog

This is the story of a frog named Ed
He had a really ugly head
The other frogs made fun of him
But Ed didn’t care about any of them

Then one day a little bee
Came up to Ed and said you see
The other frogs don’t have a clue
As to what’s inside the real you

Well Ed was dumb, a real big dolt
And so he took off like a bolt
He dove beneath the water blue
Where he discovered something new

The other frogs weren’t really frogs
Who sat upon a bunch of logs
They were fakes and frauds, but really keen!
And obviously, very very mean

The fakes had captured the other frogs
Who sat upon a bunch of logs
They tied them up and gagged them too
And took them in the water blue

Those awful frogs were really mean
As Ed the frog had just now seen
So Ed untied his fellow frogs
Who sat upon a bunch of logs

And so despite his ugly head
This brave young frog that we call Ed
Has now become the forest hero
And the mean old frogs are worth less than zero

I told you things would turn out right
Exclaimed the bee with all his might
So even if your looks could shatter
It’s what’s inside that really matters

This is my 27th post on this blog! And while I'm nowhere close to out of material yet, I've probably already posted the majority of my best work from my 7th grade poem books. There are a few real gems left, but I can't promise that everything I post henceforth will be quite as brilliant as Billy Fuzz, The BSC, or Follow Your Heart. Some of the remaining poems are just cute little ditties, like this: (sung to the tune of "Oh My Darling, Clementine.")

Dirty Clothes

In my room, by my closet
There's a pile of dirty clothes
It gets bigger every day
And the end nobody knows

Dirty clothes, dirty clothes
Pick them off the dirty floor
Put them down the laundry shoot
Dirty clothes are no more

C'est fin.

Guest Blogger: The Cold Sheet Blues

Here's another favorite from guest blogger Isaac. If you want, read it as I do, and picture a young Isaac, curled up under his cold, cold sheets until the wee hours of the morning, desperately trying to get warm and penning this song.

Cold Sheet Blues

Stumbled into bed at a quarter to three
I’d come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee
Tired to the bone well here’s the news
I got a bad case of the cold sheet blues

Doing the refrigerator roll from left to right
No sleep in sight for me tonight
Counting sheep by ones and twos
Cause I got a bad case of the cold sheet blues

My covers are quite ample
For such a little runt
But how good can a comforter be
With Garfield on the front?

Teeth are chattering like gossiping geese
Why can’t my blanket be made of fleece?
Banged my knee now I’ll have a bruise
Oh, I got a bad case of the cold sheet blues

Numbers on the wall read a quarter to five
I need at least three hours to survive
What’s a man got to do to get a snooze?
Stop thinking ‘bout his cold sheet blues

Dayquil or Nyquil, which one to choose?
‘Cause I got a bad case of the cold sheet blues
Those low down (yeah low down) downtown (yeah downtown)
Cold feet cold nose cold fingers cold toes
Cold sheet blues… yeah

Isaac promises that there is an actual recording of this song, and as soon as we can get it converted from cassette tape to digital format, I guarantee an audio blog of the "Cold Sheet Blues."

Hank the Heroic

Have I been negligent in updating this blog in recent weeks? Yes! Do I feel bad about that? No, I was on vacation and had better things to do for once. Will I return with another epic tale that pits greed against heroism? Of course!

Heroic Hank and the Missing Eggroll

Heroic Hank was quite a fellow
Although he was far from mellow

He cracked cases far and wide
He dusted prints and even spied!

But nothing, nothing, beats the case
Of what Hank calls the "eggroll race"

Now Chung's Chinese was quite the spot
Their food was fresh and spicy hot

But theft occurred one dreary night
A thief broke in with all his might

He broke into this place of food
(at least he wasn't in the nude!)

He looked around and then he saw
An eggroll, and he was in awe

He put it in a burlap sack
And then he snuck out through the back

Heroic Hank was called to the job
And he was followed by an angry mob

How someone could commit such a vicious crime
Was unimaginable to the average mind!

But Heroic Hank was used to this
And so he set out to find the eggroll that was so missed

Hank searched high and Hank searched low
In the sewer, Hank did go

But he finally caught on to a clue
A bit of cabbage stuck to his shoe!

Ah-ha! he said, I'm on to you!
For this bit of cabbage stuck to my shoe

Tell's me where this thief could be
He's hiding in a hemlock tree!

Hank was right and so he caught
That mean old thief who hadn't thought

About how important the eggroll was
And how the city had acquired an ugly buzz

I'm sorry, said the thief, in spite
Of the crime he'd committed that dreary night

It's okay, Hank said with glee
Everyone makes mistakes you see!

But do not fret and do not frown
Just apologize to the entire town!

And so he did and the eggroll was okay
And Heroic Hank saved the day

Heroic Hank must have impeccable deductive skills...I don't know how he figured that cabbage on his shoe would led him to finding the thief in a Hemlock Tree! If that's detective work, I'd make one crappy sleuth. I guess that's why he's called Heroic Hank and why I'm not called Heroic Julia.

A poem about a guy named Reuban

Reuban was a kid in one of my classes in 7th grade. He was pretty non-descript, wasn't particularly cute or interesting, but I was really intrigued by a guy who was named after a sandwich. So I wrote a poem in his honor!

Reuban

Reuban oh Reuban, what did you do?
Your poured guacamole into my shoe!
You kicked a chicken nugget into the tub
You gave a giraffe a belly rub

You pickeled asparagus, carrots, and cheese
You opened your mouth and out came a sneeze
You bought a ferrari, it was maroon
But then you drove it through the wall of my room

Reuban oh Reuban, why, tell me why?
Did you throw some baloney into the sky?
It bounced off a cloud and fell in a pit
I'm beginning to think you are a nit wit

You stepped on an ostrich that fell on the ground
You had a gold fish and named it Sir Zound
Reuban oh Reuban, where did you go?
Was it Berlin or New Mexico?

Reuban oh Reuban, you puzzle me so.

Not actually the subject of this poem.

If I had actually been friends with Reuban, I might have showed him this and he might have liked it. Or he might have been creeped out. It's a moot point, because I don't think I had ever actually talked to the kid. I don't even know what his last name was! And I think he disappeared sometime after middle school, probably to Berlin or New Mexico. But it's a cute tribute, and it's a shame he will never see it!

"Darkness is like a dark shadow"

In what was obviously a particularly profound moment in my youth, I wrote this poem:

Darkness

What is darkness?
Darkness is no light.
Darkness is like a dark shadow being cast over you.
It is not knowing what to do.
That is darkness.
Darkness is cruelty.
It is a strange creatures taking away your freedom.
That is darkness.

I wonder what was going on in my life to inspire this poem? As I've previously stated, I don't recall my early adolescence being that tortured. But I suppose this is a reminder that we all experience....the darkness!