Poets, Poetry, and Bob.

Howdy Gang,

I've been thinking today about Poetry, which I absolutely love, but everytime I mention to somebody, they seen to file me away as some kind of "weirdo"

So here's my challenge, anybody got another word for "poem" ...and I've already tried "verse," nobody knows what I'm talking about.

So here's my annoyance written in the cause of my annoyance for those with as warped a sense of humor:

-
Bob


"Poem" is an ugly word,
though not its meaning by any accord,

It tumbles so clumsily from the tongue,
too corny, too crude to adore.

And "poet," corrupted by stereotype,
has me loath to share my craft,

"Why, look at that weird "poet" kid,"
the fear that my peers will laugh.

I strive to find another word,
to descibe a paragraph in verse,

But not a single syllable I've heard,
that can prove my search of worth.

I can't say I don't like "poems,"
i've written my share, 'tis true

But I'm no "poet" clad in black,
no stereotype, thankyou.

How is it such freedom named ugly?
this plight how its made my head throb,

That's it! I'm sick of this stupid quest!
i'll name my poems Bob!



© Leah Petts. 9th August ‘08
-
-

Okay, so not that funny.
But I'm bored of Poems, so my question is,
does anybody like my Bob?

Cheers,
Leah Mae.

Tanith's Escapades- War on Tofu.

Last week a stranger with unruly orange curls and a surprised expression wandered into Tanith's Classroom during form assembly.
Shannon giggled and elbowed Tanith in the ribs. Yup, no doubt about it now, Thought Tanith grimly, New Guy.
The New Guy's name was Tomas. Tomas Cooper.

He had a locker above Tanith's, and was forever standing on her stuff.
Not that he meant to of course, but the fact still remained that Tanith was eating a slightly flatter lunch than ususal. (with the exception, perhaps, of last Thusrday)

Under the trees behind the Music Rooms, Tanith and Erin (who'd declared war on her mother's tofu) were relishing the last of the accidently-molested stras-and-sauce sandwich, and mulling over one of their old arguments about the school's mobile-phone policy; when the hairs on the back of Tanith's neck prickled.

She turned around to find herself nose-to-nose with none other than the sandwich-molester himself, Tomas Cooper.
Damn, thought Tanith immediatley.
Erin feined interest in some recent tree graffiti, and Tanith forced a smile,
"Hi, Tom what brings you here?" and how the hell did you find out where I hang? her brain hummed with impatience;

Tomas shifted his weight uncomfortably, and dropped a crumpled peice of paper into Tanith's open lunchbox.
"This got mixed up in my stuff"

Tanith unfolded the paper, it'd been torn out of an exercise book, and was the note Shannon had passed to Tanith in math today, the one about Shannon's crush.
Uh oh. Had he read it?

"You Didn't read this did you?"
"Huh?" -mental headslap! was this guy dumb? best talk slowly...
"I said, Tomas, Did. You. Read This. Note?"

the sandwich-squasher shook his fuzzy neon head vigorously
"Well... only to find out whose it was, I didn't know if it was important"

Tanith's brain twanged angrily, Nagh! wrong answer!
Tanith opened her mouth to say something indelicate, and Erin, having recognized the alarm bells, interjected quickly,

"Thanks for finding it Tomas, We'll make sure it gets back to Shannon safely"
"No big" came the distracted reply, "later Erin, see ya, Tanith"
Go away
Erin made one of those descreet "WELL?" motions at Tanith, and a grudging "see ya" grated out, as the note-reading-sandwich-squisher rounded the corner with a vague wave, and dissapeared out of sight.

Erin regarded Tanith curiously,
"he's really not that bad you know"
"humph. . ."

"he did mean well you know, bringing back the note"
"humph. . ."

"you're sulking again, aren't you?" Erin seemed genuinley concerned,
Hmmmmm. "Yup. . ."

"did you want me to leave you alone for a while?"
You guessed 'er Chester, Tanith thought loudly.

Erin made a face, "who you callin' Chester?"
Oops
"Uh Huh, and?"
Friends, eugh! . . .Double Oops.

-
-


© Leah Petts. 3rd May ‘08

Mangling the Language with Tanith...

Howdy there Y'all!

Y'know, you people can be awfully stingy with the comments sometimes!
Why, I've been on here since March and absolutley nobody bothered to let me know what they thought about my drivel. (and I'd brought out my special drivel just for the occasion too!)

A thought occurs... is it just me or have words become cheap these days?
What? an example? well, if you insist.
E.g in the time when calligraphy stood in for normal handwriting, letters would be agonised over -polished 'til they shone-
Toady, all you need to do is learn how to type and you can spew out any kind of garbled nonsense!

" Iffin' yeh tried 't read this 'ere awl the time, ye'd be a-windin' up wif the frightfuwl-est o' head-akes don't ya know there dorlin'! "

Certainly is easy to mangle the language eh? ...I'll tell you what, I'll ask Tanith.

-Whaddya you think-ish abou' this 'ere mess eh, Tanith?

- Did you really have to drag me into this? I mean it's peculiar enough being a figment of someones imagination but REALLY! this is only one step from talking to yourself!
You really want my opinion? I think you're crazy, THATS what I think!

-Why Tanith, what a thing to say!

**indelicate sound** go away, I'm brooding.

-Right you! If thats the way you want it fine!
Shall I grant you an indulgence too while I'm at it?- In case you should think of any more curse words?

I'm not going to dignify that with an answer Leah!

... all right everyone, Missy Mae's having a grouching moment, now let's all back away slowly
-no sudden movements, if you take my meaning-

I'll get you for this Tanith! you'll be eating snails in my next entry, Mark my words.

(insert dry chuckle here) Consider them marked, oh glorious leader.

Tanith!!!

Enjoy your day Houston,
This is Tanith, signing off!

-
-

*Humph*

Tanith's Escapades- Only Tea, a Disaster Indeed.

Winter, Tanith decided, was a time for contemplation- not action.
Mainly because so many people tended to sleep-in during winter.
People like Tanith.

Which, of course, begs the reason for why she's up so early on a Sunday.
Simple, it was all Erin's idea; and Erin was one of those people who didn't sleep-in.
In Tanith's opinion this made her an anomaly in the deepest sense of the word, not that she'd tell Erin this.

So here she was, with Erin the early-bird, at nine o'clock on a Sunday, visiting Erin's batty old Aunt Margaret.
Without coffee. only Tea. Disaster.

And here, at Erin's request, was Aunt Magaret, shuffling a deck of dog-eared TAROT cards.
Aunt Margaret was a dumpy little lady with a bright round face, frizzy brown hair and luminous red lipstick, most of which had been transferred to the tea-cup.

Margaret laid out the cards in a pattern that escaped Tanith; then turned them over and leaned forward over the cards, clicking her tongue.
five minutes passed without a sound save the clicking.

Tanith looked over at Erin, and made a cross-eyed face.
crazy old bat.
Erin shrugged
whatever.

Tanith turned her attention to Margaret, who was muttering to herself.
A moment or two later the "TAROT master's" eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, Dear" Margaret rasped, gathering up the cards "I think you girls should go now."
Erin thanked her Aunt and they left.

"So what was that about?" Tanith asked Erin after they were out of the earshot of Aunt Margaret.
Erin shrugged, "Either she stuffed up when she laid the cards out, or she read something she didn't want to tell you"
"Oh"

Silence.

After a moment Erin looked over at Tanith, and twirled a finger next to her ear.
Don't worry, she's a crazy old bat.
Tanith rolled her eyes skywards
Whatever.

-
© Leah Petts. 3rd May ‘08

A Poem that I even hate myself.

I don't feel like writing with Tanith today, she's still asleep and frankly I can't be bothered trying to wake up a fictional character.

So I think a poem may be in order, I'll apologise in advance for it.

-
The Faerie Market.

Take your woeful Faerie-blues to market, quick,
If they're stagnant they won't sell at all.
Gather them up in your pockets,
and sit, cross-legged amongst the stalls.

Lay out your wicked Faerie-blues,
they'll need no tag or price.
For no folk will bargain for your blues,
they have their own Faerie-strife.

Wear your patience as a shield,
while your Faeries struggle and scream.
Wait for Nanna Grimm,
To pluck you from your Faerie-dream.

Blindfold your eyes; lest you see her so,
the breeze of memory brushes your face.
With thin fingers she silenced your Faeries,
then, left nothing, not a trace.

The market is gone, like Nanna Grimm,
simply no longer there.
And you are numb without the Faerie-woes,
you so willingly gave her to snare.

From your woeless shell comes and anguished cry,
and Lo, Nanna Grimm appear!
Your Faeries struggle in her grasp,
your Faeries are grey with fear.

But without fear by your side,
the world is icy calm.
You turn your eyes to Nanna Grimm,
you grasp her by the arm.

Nanna Grimm looks down on you,
but without your fear, you cannot quail.
Wordlessly, you open your palm,
with a nod, She returns your Faeries-Frail.

As Nanna Grim begins to fade,
you embrace your dear Faerie-blues.
Never again to be tricked as you have,
Nanna Grimm is now wary of you.

With your woes riding light on your shoulders,
you head from the empty square.
Your blues as they have ever been,
held in check by your Faeries-Fair.

© Leah Petts, 30th March ‘08
-

that was quite an outpouring! (drivel more like)
I'm terribly sorry to anyone who gives a damn, but I'm morally obligated to wrap up this post.
You see, I've let my coffee go cold... (Nnnnnooooooooooooooo!)

Enjoy your day Houston,
this is Little Miss Scribble, signing off!