Cancelation

Ok, write for your life is officially canceled.
It was way too much work and I jus don't have the time right now.  And just in case you're wondering, I'm about to do one of those long posts that, if I was an adult, would be filled with bad words and blame everyone but myself for the things going wrong in mmy life right now.  However, I have this stupid headache that's been bothering me for a while now so I'm just going to say that right now, my life totally does NOT rock and I am not in the mood.  Good bye.

Searching for YOU

From my personal writing journal, pg 4, by my (der)

I looked for u behind the bench
But she was no where to be found.
I looked for o down a vase,
Bu the didn't want to be seen.
I looked for y with my dog where she likes to nap,
But she was as gone as gone can be.
Then I bumped into someone.
And it turned out,
I had found them all;
It was you.

On Turning Ten

From "Poetry Speaks to Children", pg 88-89, by Billy Collins.

The whole idea of it makes me fell
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light-
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell my it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit,
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was soldier, at nin a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window,
watching the late afternoon light.
Back the it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all of the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me open I would shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees.  I bleed.

Halfway Down

From "Poetry Speaks to Children", pg 68, by A. A. Milne.
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up,
And isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!"

Write for your life af bratlife event

This isn't going to be the meatiest of posts because I'm writing on my moms mini iPad and the keyboard is really tiny.  so anyway, I'm starting an event called write for your life, here on af bratlife. It's more for my benefit than yours, because with the movers coming in two days this provides an excuse for pure making eighteen billion posts.

Basically, the idea is that I post a poem or short story every day.  Like a poem a day keeps the boredom  away.   And it starts today. Right now.

I have a list and this is the random pick for today:  from page 37, b, of, "poetry speaks to children", My Sister saw a Dinosaur (by Mary Ann Hoberman)

My sister saw a dinosaur.

At least she said she saw one,

I said that dinosaurs are dead.

She said she saw it in her head.

A dinosaur inside your head?

"Remarkable!" My mother said.