So, er....
I'm a lazy mofo who couldn't be bothered to post pictures, but in other news, I read a poem tonight and went to a meeting of the Harry Potter club, so I feel absurdly accomplished there.
Plus I looked pretty for the lovely sunshiney day, so yay me. :-D
...most pointless entry EVAR! No longer entirely pointless -- here's the poem I read to people at the Coffee House Cafe that I wrote while listening to other people read poems. w00t!
I take the bus downtown
Only thirteen, that's me.
The grey stone buildings
so austere make
me feel old.
Responsible.
I do this thing
all by myself.
Morning air is cold and clear
No smog yet today.
Another bus, plastic seats
and a crumpled transfer.
Step off and here it is, the zoo.
No grubby-handed
kid
could ask for more
than working here.
I come to the lower gate,
enter in the code.
Grownup, that's me.
Walking down past the tiger --
the tiger.
Czar.
Paws vast and soft
and hiding steel bone.
He roars
in the morning.
...never knew tigers roared.
But there he is,
Czar,
roaring and stalking and
pacing and somehow
knowing me.
Walk past him and
his great tawny eyes
blink at me,
slowly.
Slowly.
And the peacock's
loud cry --
more a shriek --
rips through the
quiet cool air,
brassy and so very
look-at-me-now.
What do you expect from
a peacock?
Nothing more,
nothing less.
Here,
in this hour,
the zoo is mine.
Mine to walk
and watch
and listen to,
and in this hour
I know
the apes
and wolves
and elephants,
the birds
and fish
and otters,
the bears
and little penguins
in their little sea,
I know that in this hour
in this hour
they hear me too.
Yay for happy poetry!
Plus I looked pretty for the lovely sunshiney day, so yay me. :-D
...most pointless entry EVAR! No longer entirely pointless -- here's the poem I read to people at the Coffee House Cafe that I wrote while listening to other people read poems. w00t!
I take the bus downtown
Only thirteen, that's me.
The grey stone buildings
so austere make
me feel old.
Responsible.
I do this thing
all by myself.
Morning air is cold and clear
No smog yet today.
Another bus, plastic seats
and a crumpled transfer.
Step off and here it is, the zoo.
No grubby-handed
kid
could ask for more
than working here.
I come to the lower gate,
enter in the code.
Grownup, that's me.
Walking down past the tiger --
the tiger.
Czar.
Paws vast and soft
and hiding steel bone.
He roars
in the morning.
...never knew tigers roared.
But there he is,
Czar,
roaring and stalking and
pacing and somehow
knowing me.
Walk past him and
his great tawny eyes
blink at me,
slowly.
Slowly.
And the peacock's
loud cry --
more a shriek --
rips through the
quiet cool air,
brassy and so very
look-at-me-now.
What do you expect from
a peacock?
Nothing more,
nothing less.
Here,
in this hour,
the zoo is mine.
Mine to walk
and watch
and listen to,
and in this hour
I know
the apes
and wolves
and elephants,
the birds
and fish
and otters,
the bears
and little penguins
in their little sea,
I know that in this hour
in this hour
they hear me too.
Yay for happy poetry!