Tag Archives: poetry

Proof that Junior High-Level Poetry Contests are Jokes

(I’ve been digging through all my old Word documents, which is why I’m posting about this seemingly random topic today)

When I was in junior high, there was some Moscow-wide teenage poetry contest thing going on. I entered a few poems because why the hell not.

Turns out both poems ended up winning (the poems were judged with the author’s names removed, and both of the winning poems in whatever category I was in happened to be mine).

So as evidence of the nonsensicality that was this contest, here are said winning poems:

I am Gray
I am a cloud.
I am a crowd.
I bring tears.
I shadow fears.
I have been torn.
I am the morn.
I am your heavy load.
I am the wind’s sorry ode.
I am the cold.
I am old.
I bring the night.
I am fright.
I am the way
I am gray.

Insignificant
What is this little black point of ink
that seems so insignificant?
What is this thing…it makes you think?
It
stops.
And lets you start again.
It’s in this sentence.
And this.
Maybe you’ve discovered its importance?
Maybe not.
But it’s there when you speak and
stop.
And start again.
It stops you.
And keeps you from running into infinity.
And if you’ve learned by the book,
this black point of ink will dance at the end.
Period.

I’m goddamn Walt Whitman.
(Apologies to Walt Whitman.)

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I already miss school, haha

I am BORED OUT OF MY MIND, so I’m going to answer each of these survey questions with a haiku. Turn back now.

If you were to attend a costume party tonight, what or whom would you go as?
A costume party?
Is nudity a costume?
Best costume ever!

What are your choice of toppings on a hamburger?
A lot of mushrooms
And lots of cheese, too (hooray!)
Ignore this last line.

You are chosen to have lunch with the President. The condition is you only get to ask one question. What do you ask?
“Mr. President,
Could you bring Gottfried Leibniz
Back from the dead, please?”

It’s your first day of vacation, what are you doing?
Vacation? Hooray!
I’m doing internet stuff
Or finding music.

What is your concession stand must-have at the movies?
I don’t do movies,
At least not often. No food
But maybe water.

What do you think Captain Hook’s name was before he had a hook for a hand?
“Captain Hand,” maybe?
No, it was “Hook” all along.
Oh, the irony!

Rock, paper, or scissors?
“Rock, paper, scissors”
Is a good haiku first line.
I am great at this.

Let’s say a brick fell on your foot, and your kid is standing right next to you, what is your ‘cleaned up’ swear word?
I have a kid now?
Oh crap, where did he come from?
(Does he enjoy stats?)

Which is worse, being in a place that is too loud, or too quiet?
I don’t like too loud.
Even the ‘net can be loud.
CAPS LOCK IS LOUD, RIGHT?

What is one quality that you really appreciate in a person?
Yes: genuineness.
A person true to themselves
Is very awesome.

At the good old general store, what particular kind of candy would you expect to be in the big jar at the counter?
Candy in big jars?
Not sure I’ve ever seen that.
I want M&M’s.

What is the most distinguishing landmark in your city?
Likely the Tower.
Or that sculpture that burns dudes.
Silly Calgary.

Everyone hears discussions that they consider boring. What topic can put you to sleep quicker than any other?
Money or finance.
I really don’t care that much
About stocks and bonds.

If you had to have the same topping on your vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, what topping would you choose?
Just one? Nuts, I think.
Or awesome rainbow sprinkles.
Rainbows are the best.

What food item would need to be removed from the market altogether in order for you to live a healthier, longer life?
Most likely chocolate.
Specifically, M&Ms.
Though then I’d be sad.

You are offered an envelope that you know contains $50. You are then told that you may either keep it or exchange it for another envelope that may contain $500 or may be empty. Do you keep the first envelope, or do you take your chances with the second?
I’d take my chances.
500 bucks would be sweet,
And quite worth the risk.

If you had to choose, which would you give up: cable TV, or DSL/cable internet?
Goodbye to TV,
Since all I could ever want
Starts “http.”

What kind of lunch box did you have as a kid?
It was hard and square
Mostly purple and some pink
I put worms in it.

What would you rather have, a nanny, a housekeeper, a cook, or a chauffeur?
None of the above.
I can clean and cook just fine
And do not want kids.

In This Blog: Claudia Drinks 16 oz of Red Bull and Tries to Write Shit

I…I don’t really remember writing this. I just remember Red Bull coursing through my soul and then passing out in my chair around 8 AM.

I, the Strawberry
Bold and Red
In silken sun, in garden bed
Firm and ripe with seeded tread
No darkness do I see

I, the Strawberry
Bold and Red
Human hands tear off my head
Now I lay bitten, frayed, and dead
No sunlight left in me

Um.

This Title is a Poem

So I had this thing on my MySpace (REMEMBER THAT NONSENSE?) and for whatever reason I lost it. So here it is again.

Untitled

 

What poetry form are YOU?

 

Poetry is not my strong suit

Have you ever had a dream about a poem? Like, intense enough where you remembered the poem the next morning?

I fell away from you softly
And as I did a hole opened up and I was swallowed
Then time ceased and I began to become the hole
My fingers lengthening, webbing outwards
Until I was touching the edges of the universe.
My legs were gone and my body was gone and I was a planet
And space bent beneath me like foam beneath a weight
Until a larger body beckoned me towards and two became one
In beautiful violence.
And remember that time we split from the star?
That time we flew as particles dispersing through the darkness
Not a thought beyond acknowledging the distance between us?
We were happy then.

Odd news.

I’M A’ IRONIN’ MAH BLAZER!!

I’ll treat you like a number, but not to your face,
‘Cause when push comes to shove, you’re no more than a case;
A number, a letter, a five-digit code,
You may be an outlier, you may be a mode.
But regardless your leverage, you’re part of a trend,
And although your uniqueness you try to defend,
You’re a subject, a datum, a point on the line.
You’re a deviant measure whose error defines
The strength of my model, statistically speaking,
The possibly viable explanation I’m seeking,
For the pattern I see in the points on the plane,
Of which you’re a part, to which you pertain.
So apologies if you’re just a number to me,
A value I enter to calculate p.
But if my study is sound and the data are true,
It might give some insight as to why you are you.

 

WHY AM I WRITING STATISTICS POETRY

This started from an Omegle conversation, I swear to god.

I was having a super crappy night.

And then I found this.

Better than Lethargic Bieber? You decide!

I also went digging through all my old saved files and found all my angsty poetry latherings of yore. They’re hilarious.

I am dark.
I am a spark.
I am the turn.
I am the burn.
I am the fork in the road.
I am the wind’s sorry ode.
I am hell in a shrouded form.
I am the thing that howls in the morn.
I am philosophy.
I am prophecy.
I am tomorrow.
I am today.
I am sorrow.
I am Gray.

SO DEEP, MAN. I also just realized I haven’t written a poem since “Seuss on the Loose.” That’s probably a good thing.

Tweet and the world tweets with you. Blog and you blog alone.

Alternate title: Kilmer, please don’t haunt me

I think that I shall never glance
a tweet of any relevance
to life, to love, to truth, to function,
but serving only as an unction
to soothe the egos of the masses.
No inkling more than phatic passes
‘twixed the mind and lighted page:
the musings of the pithy sage.
No crux beneath these thoughts exist,
but is this lack of vigor missed?
Nay, but rarely do we an intelligent glitter
expect from a twit that tweets on Twitter!

Die in a fire, Twitter.

TWSB: Do the Hustle! Er, Shuffle. Do The Shuffle. iPods. This post is about iPods.

So I found this NPR transcript this afternoon discussing a listener’s question about the “shuffle” feature of iPods. Specifically, what the mathematics behind the shuffle feature are. After all, the listener notes, it sometimes seems like the same songs keep coming up while many others are never played.

Keith Devlin, executive director of the Center for the Study of Language and Information at Stanford, answers the question. The shuffle, he says, is meant to be random and in fact actually behaves as a random event. Mr. Devlin explains that people have difficulty recognizing randomness because of the simple fact that one of the features of truly random selection is the repetition of patterns. He uses the example of coin tossing. If you toss a coin twenty or so times, you’re very likely, he says, to get streaks of the same side coming up, like a streak of five heads or something. We tend to see such streaks as non-randomness, though, because such patterns surprise us (after all, it does seem intuitively weird to see five heads in a row when you’re tossing a coin when you know that both sides of the coin have an equal probability of occurring. The magic of independent probability!).

Mr. Devlin concludes, “so, assuming that Apple have designed a really good randomizer in the iPod, then you are going to start getting repeats of songs and you are going to find that some songs don’t come up seemingly for a long time. That’s the way random behavior is.”

Cool, huh?

30-Day Meme – Day 15: A poem you wrote.
I wrote this poem for my grandpa the night before he died of a rare cancer. I remember reading it to him and watching him slowly fade in and out of consciousness. Everything in this poem is totally true of him. You rocked, grandpa!

A Grandpa is someone you can count on in a mess
Though with woodworking and painting he is easily obsessed
Not a job too tough
Not a place too rough
For this daring man of a ripe old age
Who has lived in the past and seen the future.
Can re-fix a shoe with a single suture.
No need to ask for directions
Full of funny imperfections
This daring man of a ripe old age.
Whether zooming to the store for his lottery ticket
Or checking the numbers—did he win it?
Doesn’t complain
Need I explain?
The daring man of a ripe old age.
The daring man of a ripe old age.

BAH

This guy just rocked my world.

Dear god, I suck at poetry. And Flash. And life.

Haha, best YouTube video description ever: “Steve… in drag… dancing to Journey and eating Oreo’s. But hey, it’s okay… we’re Catholic!!”

I’ve officially realized that I suck incredibly at Flash. The evidence for this claim is really very simple.
Total Flash endeavors that are still saved on my computer: 19
Total Flash endeavors carried out until completion: 3
Success rate: 15%.
It’s a sad, sad, world.

I’ve also officially realized that I suck at poetry. I don’t do poetry by choice much anymore (mainly because—hey—I suck), but the poetry I’ve done in the past is so horribly horrible that it’s worth a good laugh. Though I’ve been published a few times, I think this work of genius that got me in considerable trouble in 4th grade (conservative catholic school, people) is my best piece of poetry ever:

There once was a tart
Who learned how to fart
And stunk up the whole neighborhood.
Then there was a time
When he learned to rhyme
And farted as loud as he could.
He shook all the buildings, structures, and towers
He wilted the weeds, grasses, and flowers.
He made the fish die, salmon and basses
He made people faint with his powerful gasses.
Some army men died
And most their wives cried
And buried them under dead grasses.

Pretty good for fourth grade shenanigans, eh? I’m proud of this piece of poetic contraband that caused a great fuss once it got outside the fourth grade classroom.

I suck at life, too. Really. It’s because I’m so silly and enjoy using phrases such as “poetic contraband” though they don’t really make all that much sense.

Further realizations: Futurama is the best animated series ever. And Mystery Science Theatre 3000 is a great place to go for silly quotes. And general overall humor.

‘Ta!

Protected: If you’re ever going to worry about my mental state, I think now would be the time to start!

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Take it off! Take it all off!

I’m crying. “Why?” you ask. Because tonight was our last football game.
No more being perverted in the stands (at least until next year). But it was fun while it lasted. I even wrote a Haiku:

Sex is like the sea
You go in in intervals

But watch out for crabs.

What the crap is this??

Another just-written poem. This gives you an idea why I don’t submit my writing to anything.

Love is a Cow
Love is a cow when leaping and bounding
Through marshes and Marches
Scratches and ditches.
A cow is the female of cattle fields
Through rains in April
And technology glitches.
A cow set ablaze the great town of Chicago
Accomplished in June
She completed her mission.
Yes, love is a cow when it comes down to the end
After thunder in July
And nuclear fission.
Cows set their watches to atomic time
They do every August
To the best of perfection.
For love is a cow after every species falls
Around ponds in September
To admire their reflection.
A cow takes pride in her regurgitation
It changes in October
From green to brown.
Cows are most definitely advanced creatures
Crop circles in November
Symmetrically round.
Love is a cow during holiday bliss
Tinsel in December
Hooves wrapped in bells.
A cow made of metal will rust in the morn
After storms in January
They chip into shells.
Cows change the world with frightening speed
Surviving February
Living off starch.
Alas, love is a cow through the entire year
All through April
And back into March.

I’m Emily Dickenson!

Waiter! They’re a Pythagorean Theorem in my Pi!

I like my titles. They’re the best parts of my blogs, in most cases.

HUTTAH! POETRY!
There once was a man named Jonas
Who was lacking with both his cojonas
Then he met a genie,
“I need help, they’re so teeny!”
And he gave him two–plus a bonus!

 

I said Chips Ahoy were banned. I lied.

It’s crappy poetry time!

Hooray!
I’m no good at poetry, but I’m posting some here anyways cause I’m bored and I want you all to suffer!  BWA-HA-HA!

So here ya go. Serious one first:

I Sat Alone (no, it’s not about depression and feeling sorry for yourself. I hate those kind of poems.)
I sat alone, the mansion lights grew dim,
Thought heard the childish laughter from the hall.
As I crept close the laughter turned to hymn,
Were six or seven voices I recall.
“Unless”, thought I, while slinking to the door,
“My lonely state of mind plays tricks on me,
There’s someone here that wasn’t here before,
And soon alone no longer I will be.”
My breath grows quick as I expect the worst.
Perhaps the haunting visions of my youth,
Whose sickly body I refused to nurse,
So now flung wide the door to see the truth.
But standing on my step these children here,
Were carolers to wish me Christmas cheer.

Onward! Here’s a poem about me! A limerick! Wee!

Claudia
Now here is an interesting dame
Whose name, in Latin, means lame.
Obsessive-compulsive,
Slightly repulsive,
Still interested? Gee, that’s a shame!

And again! One from 7th grade:

Jellyfish
Jelly, jelly, jelly…fish!
Looming through the deep

Glowing as it creeps.
Has no brain, no heart, no lungs
Last low tide on a rock it clung
Hung there for 2 minutes or 3
Released its suction, now it’s free.
Jelly, jelly, jelly…fish!
He will sting you if you wish.

Here’s another from 7th grade. I kinda had a sea-life theme going on:

Octopus
An octopus, barnacle thief,
Looming in a coral reef.
Tentacles snatching all in its path,
Beware, octopus! The butchers wrath.
Catch your fish-not mine, not mine,
But don’t jig about-remember: you’re blind.

 

Okay, I’m done. Critique nicely, people!

Two poems about Aneel!

Okay. I was bored tonight and decided to take two poems that I wrote about Aneel (one in 7th grade and one last year) and put them up here to see what people think of them. Here they are:

Aneel (written in 7th grade)
Aneel shall die at twilight
You can almost hear him shake
He is overrun by evil
Never again to wake.
As chimes sound the hour
Fate tightens its noose
Aneel thinks with every breath
That he will not get loose.
He drinks his tea with caution
Eats his crumpet with care
For he knows, fortunately
That poison could be there.
The sky is getting darker
Light sinks beyond the hills
Aneel is schizophrenic
He needs to take some pills.
The ground is white as cotton
In a blizzard thick as snow
Aneel is mighty frightened
Not sure which way to go.
As twilight comes ever closer
It scares him evermore
Waiting in the dusk there
Is no major bore.
The demons are approaching
Crawling on the floor
The seep in through the keyhole
They creep beneath the door.
Aneel sits in his chair now
Waiting for his doom
For at the door this hour
Spirits creep and loom.
The sun sets and its twilight
Aneel is soon to die
But something gleams and glimmers
And catches Aneels eye.
He sits straight up in wonder
Of the sight that he beheld
Something that possessed him
Could not let him repel.
The creature was an angel
A guardian one, at that
Aneel know in his heart that
He had not come to chat.
The angel touched his head, then
And sucked out all his fear
And bent down to his level
And whispered in his ear,
What are you waiting for, son?
You know your time has come.
I have come to spare you
So take this chance and run!
The spirit left Aneel there
Sitting in a shock
Trembling from his hair
Way down into his socks.
Freed from this predicament
He slowly went to bed
And still his good head tingled
From that hand upon his head.

And this one…

Goodnight Aneel (apologies to whoever wrote Goodnight Moon)
Goodnight room
Goodnight moon.
Goodnight cars
Goodnight Mars.
Goodnight overstuffed backpack
Goodnight personalized spice rack.
Goodnight fancy new viola
Goodnight Special K granola.
Goodnight photo of German chick
And goodnight assignment for when Shannyn was sick.
Goodnight super strength sculpting gel
And Goodnight Algebra book from hell.
Goodnight torn and sewn up pants
What’s the capital of France?
Goodnight Co-Op fabrication
And Goodnight to The Sims Vacation.
And finally, for the best Karma
Goodnight to the Aneel Sharma!

 

There ya go. Have fun! And sorry, Aneel!

My Butt’s on Fire!

I wrote a cool poem…

There once was a man with two egos
Who both enjoyed wearing Speedos.
With one a nice man,
And the other’s huge glands,
They made girls who liked threesomes yell “neat-o!”

See? I am the master. I should win the Pulitzer Prize. However, this isn’t too different in style and substance than one I wrote when I was in 4th grade:

There once was a tart
Who learned how to fart
And stunk up the whole neighborhood.
Then there was a time
When he learned to rhyme
And farted as loud as he could.
He shook all the buildings, structures and towers
He wilted the trees, grasses and flowers.
He made the fish die–salmon and basses
He made people faint with his powerful gasses.
Some army men died
And most their wives cried
And buried them under dead grasses.

 

Odd, isn’t it? Still…