One last Marian post:

Two poems too exhilarating to not share:

And what eye hath e'er seen such a sweet Maiden Queen,
As Marian, the pride of the forester's green?
A sweet garden-flower, she blooms in the bower,
Where alone to this hour the wild rose has been:
We hail her in duty the queen of all beauty:
We will live, we will die, by our sweet Maiden queen. Thomas Love Peacock

"A bonny fine maid of noble degree,
Maid Marian called by name,
Did live in the north, of excellent worth,
For she was a gallant dame.

For favour, and face, and beauty most rare,
Queen Helen she did excel;
For Marian then was praised of all men
That did in the country dwell." ~I actually don't know who wrote that. Sorry...

Found:

One Ophelia. Yup, I am back. Well, back online. I wasn't really gone, but Audrey was here and we were busy. In honor of her:

And I was suddenly, tragically struck with the thought that it is August, and I have less than a month before school starts. Maybe it was the rain that reminded me. Or perhaps it was starting my Writing about Books course I took this morning. Anyway, here's how I feel about the subject: Sick, by Shel Silverstein

'I cannot go to school today,

'Said little Peggy Ann McKay.'

I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more-that's seventeen,

And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,

I'm sure that my left leg is broke-

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button's caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,

My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say today is...Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

For your Information:

#1. I am done with Algebra 1 forever! Ha!
#2. I really hate hair.
#3. I am going to install a playlist on this blog, but it will not start automatically.

I know that those three important facts will help you move through your day uplifted and encouraged.

TTFN!

Post Script:

I never saw a purple cow
I hope I never see one
But I can tell you here and now
I'd rather see than be one.
Gelett Burgess

Update: The aforementioned Playlist now resides at the bottom of my blog.

Ode to Speech and Debate

Sing to the tune of "Favorite things" from The Sound of Music with some friends in front of several hundred people for the best effect.

Red clicker pens on a bright yellow flow pad,

Evidence twisted so it won't sound too bad,

I find my sanity's only so-so,

Community judges: Oh won't you please flow?

When the snow blows,

When the neg. pwns,

When my nylons run

I simply remember the rest of these things,

Thank goodness the round is done!

My Extemp. speech,

Didn't say much,

Judges thought it dull

The left one kept snoring-he thought it too boring,

To stay awake through the whole.

I must admit that my throat's raw from screaming,

But to be honest my D.I. is creaming,

I scare the judges each time I go in,

And while they're crying they give me the win!

7 speeches,

And debate too,

How will I get through?

Will someone please tell me what pernicious means?

I'm up in Impromptu!

FYI for non-NCFCA-ers:

Flow: Following the debate on paper

Neg: Negative =D

Pwn: Complete domination in a debate round

Extemp: Extemporaneous

DI: Dramatic Interpretation

Quick question:

Alrighty, I seriously need some advice here: what is every one's favorite, hysterical book/short story?
P.S. I know this isn't a real blog post. I merely avoiding the fact that I haven't posted hardly at all in the commendable month of February.
Wait, is February a commendable month? Actually, I don't think that fine adjective applies to the situation at all. February is the tricky month because every year, about the third week, we get 3-4 days of mild temperatures, and glorious sunshine, and then BAM! Rain falls from the sky like bullets and clouds "hang ominously" in the sky.
(Note: I am sure that "hang ominously" is a famous phrase from something, even if I am not exactly sure what.)
I don't mind it; I love the rain, and once I wrote a poem about how after the "dry, wicked summer," rain fell again in the Autumn and the whole world was alive again. Poor Mom had the task of breaking to me that my views on the seasons were almost directly contrary to the rest of the world's, who thought that in Autumn everything went to sleep.
Come to think of it, maybe there is a reason why I am not a famous poet. I also think that fear is like a quick rush of heat rather than a cold feeling.
P.P.S. Anyway, please be sure to answer the question!

Poetic Attempts

Some people; they play hard to get.
I'm playing hard to want,
And ain't nobody got me yet,
That is my challenge taunt.

I'll grow myself a uni-brow,
And pack some extra pounds.
I'll never cut my toenails now.
I'll always make disgusting sounds.

Perhaps I'll never brush my teeth,
Or use deodorant.
My hair will poof; a fuzzy wreath.
Yes, I'm playing hard to want.

Mr. Leif B. Gonn

Bracie and my job of Alpaca Pasture Maintenance has its ups and downs. As she and I performed our task today, we were painfully reminded of one of the job's disadvantages; that of the leaf blowin' man. Next door and across the street from the pastures lives a man with a passion for ordered lawns and a strong affection for his leaf blower. For now we will call him Leif B. Gonn.
Anyway, it seems as if every time Bracie and I drive in to do our job, he maliciously gets out that noisy contraption, meticulously blowing his leaves into everybody else's yard. If not that, then the mower or rake or what-have-you.
(Note: the following paragraph is fiction.)
Leif's beloved leaf blower kicked the bucket, and being unable to sustain the thought of life without it, Mr.Gonn keeled over and died with the machine. Because I have a heart for the community, to help him out I have written him an original epitaph.
As follows:
Here lies a leaf-blowin man
In life the motor started,
Our ears his blower bombarded,
Now dearly departed,
Champion of mowers,
Greenest grass grower,
best of all leaf Blowers,
Mr. Leif B. Gonn