Saturday 3 rd March 2012
Add one teaspoon of fiesty
Three cups of blond hair
And stir.
Add two spoonfuls of green-grey-blue eyes
And red cheeks
And blend.
Sprinkle in some laughter
Grate in some tears
Shake in happiness generously
And add a handful of fears
Add a dash of irony
A bit of bold here and there
And even add some cruelty
But only if you dare.
Crack in some friendship
And add some twigs of a music tree
And then you have
A bowl full of me!
Stir it all together
Until it resembles fairy dust
And then, a well-oiled pan
And a stove, are really a must!
Bake for 30 minutes
Or until brown and crispy
Chop up into 12-year-old pieces
And you got a plateful of me!
Three cups of blond hair
And stir.
Add two spoonfuls of green-grey-blue eyes
And red cheeks
And blend.
Sprinkle in some laughter
Grate in some tears
Shake in happiness generously
And add a handful of fears
Add a dash of irony
A bit of bold here and there
And even add some cruelty
But only if you dare.
Crack in some friendship
And add some twigs of a music tree
And then you have
A bowl full of me!
Stir it all together
Until it resembles fairy dust
And then, a well-oiled pan
And a stove, are really a must!
Bake for 30 minutes
Or until brown and crispy
Chop up into 12-year-old pieces
And you got a plateful of me!
Saturday 3 rd March 2012
Nobody really thinks
Of me.
They take me for granted
They don't see
When I'm trying to say something
But there's no sound
When I want to follow
But I'm stuck to the ground
When they I fade into the background
Like an extra on a set.
When people smile at me
Like I'm some loser they've never met.
It seems like nobody knows my name,
My friends, my family, it's all just the same.
I get a little bold, then
Bam! Smashed down.
Driven back by an insult
Or a frown.
I try to smile,
I try to laugh
But in truth
They only see half
Of the person I'm hiding inside
To hide her I have always tried.
She is small and easily scared
She is quiet and has no teeth bared.
She rubs her hands,
She has nothing to say
She wants to follow,
But she must stay.
She is ordered
And bossed around
Her real side
Is tossed around
On a sea of different feelings
Of broken promises and dealings
A little boldness here and there
But she has always had a flair
Of feeling very out of place
Her curtain of hair hides her face.
This side of me I hide everyday
The side of me, unlike me in anyway.
Of me.
They take me for granted
They don't see
When I'm trying to say something
But there's no sound
When I want to follow
But I'm stuck to the ground
When they I fade into the background
Like an extra on a set.
When people smile at me
Like I'm some loser they've never met.
It seems like nobody knows my name,
My friends, my family, it's all just the same.
I get a little bold, then
Bam! Smashed down.
Driven back by an insult
Or a frown.
I try to smile,
I try to laugh
But in truth
They only see half
Of the person I'm hiding inside
To hide her I have always tried.
She is small and easily scared
She is quiet and has no teeth bared.
She rubs her hands,
She has nothing to say
She wants to follow,
But she must stay.
She is ordered
And bossed around
Her real side
Is tossed around
On a sea of different feelings
Of broken promises and dealings
A little boldness here and there
But she has always had a flair
Of feeling very out of place
Her curtain of hair hides her face.
This side of me I hide everyday
The side of me, unlike me in anyway.
Saturday 25 th February 2012
A coin on a cliff,
a giant on a speck of sand,
two people side to side,
or the different personalities between you and me?
You,
and me,
and everyone in the world,
all adults,
all children,
all plants,
all dogs,
all animals,
all foods (especially potatoes),
all paper,
all material,
all schools,
all buildings,
are different.
May I ask,
What in the world is the same?
A paper, and an other paper?
No, nothing is the same.
Not the present,
nor the past,
not the future,
or time being.
Not the farmers,
nor the potatoes,
nor the iphones,
or the ipods.
Okay,
this poem's getting random.
Saturday 25 th February 2012
Potato,
the word feels nice,
Potato.
The lovely taste of original chips,
Oh my dear potato.
How would the world be without potato, potato?
Am I seriously talking to a potato, potato?
Oh my gosh, potato!
Why am I talking to you, potato?
Why can't I stop saying potato, potato?
Why potato, why are you doing this to me, potato?
Why is this poem getting so random, potato?
Oh, I regret saying all those nice things about you, potato!
Hey stop it, potato!
Seriously!
Hey I didn't say potato there!
Oh yes you caught me, I just said it again.
Thursday 23 rd February 2012
It was a fresh spring Sunday morning, if a little chilly, and Mama woke me up at the crack of dawn to roll the pastry.
"Today is the busiest day of the market, and people will be cold and hungry. Piping hot apple pie will soothe any hunger!"
So I rolled the pastry and shaped it and poured in the filling and put on the top and baked it in the oven and made little slits on the top.
Finally, at 8 o 'clock, Mama told me to get washed and dressed. I brushed my hair into my usual side braid and washed my face and brushed my teeth and slipped on a green silk dress.
Mama was caring for baby Sid and told me to start selling.
I loved caring for the pie stall. We were quite popular in the village and almost everybody would stop and buy a pie, and if not, they would buy a slice.
I stacked the pies on the racks, and switched the signs from 'Closed' to 'Open'.
All of a sudden, there was a mad rush. I thought that they were all for the pies, but instead they were watching a scene unfold in the market square.
I left the pie stall and ran to the crowd of people.
I recongnised Farmer Jenkins, a old stout man of 50+, with a gravelly voice and wrinkly face. He was strong as a bull, and he was holding a boy my age down to the dusty floor.
"You dare pickpocket me! You filthy young man, why I oughta-"
He was stopped when his wife, who worked in the tavern, caught sight of him and pulled him off the boy.
"Leave him be, you monster, leave him be." She cried.
"That young man-" He said, pointing an accusing finger at the boy, "Comes into our home, eats our food, sleeps on our sheets- and he nicks money!" He made one last dash at the boy, who ran out of the way, through the crowd and down the dusty track that led to the woods.
Farmer Jenkins was led to the tavern to calm down by his wife, and the crowd broke up. I was supposed to go back to my stall, but instead I ran down the track that led to the wood.
"Today is the busiest day of the market, and people will be cold and hungry. Piping hot apple pie will soothe any hunger!"
So I rolled the pastry and shaped it and poured in the filling and put on the top and baked it in the oven and made little slits on the top.
Finally, at 8 o 'clock, Mama told me to get washed and dressed. I brushed my hair into my usual side braid and washed my face and brushed my teeth and slipped on a green silk dress.
Mama was caring for baby Sid and told me to start selling.
I loved caring for the pie stall. We were quite popular in the village and almost everybody would stop and buy a pie, and if not, they would buy a slice.
I stacked the pies on the racks, and switched the signs from 'Closed' to 'Open'.
All of a sudden, there was a mad rush. I thought that they were all for the pies, but instead they were watching a scene unfold in the market square.
I left the pie stall and ran to the crowd of people.
I recongnised Farmer Jenkins, a old stout man of 50+, with a gravelly voice and wrinkly face. He was strong as a bull, and he was holding a boy my age down to the dusty floor.
"You dare pickpocket me! You filthy young man, why I oughta-"
He was stopped when his wife, who worked in the tavern, caught sight of him and pulled him off the boy.
"Leave him be, you monster, leave him be." She cried.
"That young man-" He said, pointing an accusing finger at the boy, "Comes into our home, eats our food, sleeps on our sheets- and he nicks money!" He made one last dash at the boy, who ran out of the way, through the crowd and down the dusty track that led to the woods.
Farmer Jenkins was led to the tavern to calm down by his wife, and the crowd broke up. I was supposed to go back to my stall, but instead I ran down the track that led to the wood.
