Tuesday, November 30, 2004

   Paper Can Wait . . .
I come back home and this I find,
an aching head and pounding mind!
My little bedroom stuffed it be,
As is the nose attached to me,
And don't forget the throat that's sore,
It wills to scratch me more and more,
Egad! This sucks! I was so set,
to all upon my essay get,
And yet, it seems, that will not work,
Since blasted body's blasted jerk!
Suck back the snot and feel it coarse,
While trachea remains all hoarse,
And head continues being pained,
and wants to topple, marked and stained,
and at this point I really don't
care much 'bout rhyming really good,
I'm sick and all, and still, and yet,
the work stabs like a bayonet!
It's good that Johnson's lax with dates,
And cares not if we hand in lates,
(Yeah, that's right, I cheat the rhyme,
it's hard to think too hard this time,)
I hope you're well and fit and sane,
Tonight, the essays be my bane,
So screw tonight, I'm goin' to bed,
I'll see ya tomorrow, I hope, instead . . .
Comments (3) | Permalink

Monday, November 29, 2004

   Farewell, Carefree Weekend . . .
You were a lovely little break,
Allowed me time to breathe and shake,
And now it's time to go,
Another week 'til I may take,
A leave from schoolwork's flooding lake,
And float off in the flow.

Three essays down and one to write,
Which now I must throw all my might,
The Spartans I describe,
With five more passings of sun's light,
I'll try my best to fight the fight,
The prof I cannot bribe.

I may the vow which I'll keep true,
I'll leave not 'til the last to do,
Procrastination's bad,
And now two thousand words get through,
'Til hands go numb and face goes blue,
These habits make me sad.

Now armed with ol' Microsoft Word,
The hive of History I've stirred,
I must keep at the mark,
My sources tell of what they've heard,
Though I choose if they're true or turd,
My social life goes dark.

And frankly I have no free time,
To mess around with silly rhyme,
Especially bad as this,
Heroic romance of . . . . . ah screw it . . .


Let this be a lesson: even Chaucer hated this style of verse.
Comments (11) | Permalink

Sunday, November 28, 2004

   You know who you are . . .
As if I'd write 'bout any other gal
I know except my dearest in the east,
Near Potomac and battlegrounds I shall
One day come visit to her at the least,

Before that fated day that year we met,
I spent many a night with heavy heart,
From others in my life whose minds were set,
Leaving me pained and scorned by cherub's dart,

This dearest to my hollowed self she filled,
And showed me that despite mine own rough times,
That people around to myself they willed
Their love and thoughts like golden, hallowed chimes,

And then by chance as if to pay in kind,
She took to ill and ache against her will,
From then and on my time to her I signed,
And vowed much that I must carry out still,

Despite these pains she moves forward for all,
Defending loved friend until the end,
And taking lashes yet she does not fall,
Though she remains mortal, her friends she'll tend,

From now and then I ask that she do less,
And yet she marches on despite my fears,
And heads the battles, shunting off the stress,
She then returns to me though filled with tears,

That's when I try to comfort best I can,
Though miles between us hinder much I'd do,
I sometimes cried depending how chats ran,
And yet those times have never felt less true,

There was a time I was two steps away,
From leaving home and taking a short leave,
From school and normal life I would not stay,
As long as she was in a mood to grieve,

Indeed the offer still remains at hand,
Where I would drop it all to see her face,
And tell her all'd be well within her land
and heart and mind and soul, her home and base,

And though I'd do all this and more her for,
There's still a line I'd never dare to cross,
And yet she stays on my mind all the more,
As friend, as darling, dearest, lass, and boss,

She may be far from me in many ways,
And I accept this distance fully well,
For with my thoughts forever time she stays,
Quite happily with me as you can tell,


I still feel she deserves all in the sky,
So 'til then may all our hopes with her lie . . .
Comments (4) | Permalink

Friday, November 26, 2004

   5am . . . Three down, One to go . . .
If not for the fact that my alarm clock will go off in about half an hour, I would most likely write something of substance now . . . . .

Stupid Enlightenment English . . . . .

"Prisoner of Azkaban" is a pretty nifty movie though, I must say . . .
Comments (9) | Permalink

Thursday, November 25, 2004

   All Hail the Unfallable Enlightenment!
Rational thinking, such a joy!
Enlightenment values permeate all!
Anyone can see we're better off now,
Since we're no longer beasts,
Oinking at each other
Naughtily . . .

Myself, I cannot think where I might be if
You and your wonderful logic were absent . . .

After all, it's not like I have
Something better to do than write
So much about the glorious 18th century in England . . .
Comments (9) | Permalink

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

   Zzzzzzzzzzz
Head is heavy,
Feels like sinking,
Too much time spent up and thinking,

Are you done?
Not at all,
Two more essays to me call,

This be icky,
Feels like dying,
Brain away from skull is flying,

Up is down,
In is out,
Take my bath with laundry Shout(TM),

Eyes be itchy,
Sight be toying,
Pimple, temple, it's annoying,

Got to rest,
It's a fact,
Mind with scattered thoughts is packed,

Gonna sleep in,
Gonna like it,
Wake up late for work and miss it,

Sounds like fun,
Day in house,
Slink around like little mouse,

Don't write essay,
Want be singing,
'Til my house its ears are ringing,

No more cares,
F*ck it all,
Let grades go to sh*t and fall,

Worry no more,
Time for horsing,
Gonna screw around my blorsing . . . . .


. . . Mind comes back,
World makes sense,
Tired and sleepy am still hence,

No more daydream,
Work tomorrow,
Suck up all the pain and sorrow,


Paper start,
Don't forget,
Fall behind again don't let,

It'll be fine,
Not to worry,
All will end in quite a hurry . . .
Comments (9) | Permalink

Monday, November 22, 2004

   2am, 2 down . . .
The printer sings its rythmic song,
regardless if the words are wrong,
I quit my proofing halfway through,
but I care not, since it's past 2,

I'm tired, I'm hungry, I need to rest,
my work, I swear, might be my best,
for going off an on three days,
(They said this habit'd be a phase!)

I'm sure that Globe he will presume,
I wrote last minute to my doom,
but seriously I care not,
although I should, but meh, I fought,


To tell the truth, I care much more
about a friend whom I adore,
She moves still through a rough, dark time,
and should get more than this damn rhyme,

It's funny how these things work out,
although my schoolwork hangs about,
I still prefer to think of her,
who far from me lives, as it were,

My only wish, and here I claim,
I care little that school won't tame,
The thing I care is that she's well,
she deserves all and more they sell,


I'm tired, yes, I've forgotten not,
and yes, I rave and share my thought,
but school is not priority
for me . . . right now . . . that's what I see.
Comments (5) | Permalink

Sunday, November 21, 2004

   An Ode to English 348
Levity should be dancing 'cross my face,
Considering the date extended back,
And yet another essay gave me chase,
Chasing my time to wage today's attack,

Andronicus, who with me wish to fight,
Whose two and twenty sons to war you lost,
I see now what about you I shall write,
Though day and night my front shall feel the cost,

At present there is great campaign to do,
Yet pressure on the line stretches me thin,
Last time for this class Globe he ran you thru,
A second see-less I want not to win,

The war it poorly goes for words of mine,
Yet thousands more must perish 'fore I'm fine . . .
Comments (5) | Permalink

Saturday, November 20, 2004

   Titus, Titus, Why You Fight Us?
Titus, Titus, why d'yu fight us?
All I want is info for us
twenty-five hundred pages heed us
Tell me something good o Titus

I see lotsa gore within ya
Lopped off heads and right hands from ya
Easy on film than stage I think, huh?
Tell me something good about ya

Taymor filmed a long strange "Titus"
All postmodern tryin' to bug us
What's this mean to violence in us?
Tell the answer, General Titus

Yes my thesis is pretty messy
Making it strong will take work daily
Not much time left might dismay me
Tell me how to write this ess'y

Compare film with the play of "Titus"
Show where blood does not slow down us
SFX make life nice for us
Wrap this up to write 'bout "Titus" . . . . .


. . . . . maybe . . .
Comments (8) | Permalink

Friday, November 19, 2004

   One AM, One Down
TEN tired fingers clacking away,
NINE numb yawns mark the end of my stay,

EIGHT gut growls since I last ate,
SEVEN stapled pages to seal my fate,

SIX spent hours on my essay run,
FIVE f__king tv shows, bro has fun,

FOUR hours working really really sting,
THREE more lines 'til I end this thing,

TWO tired eyes seeing nothing but vapour . . .
ONE AM, I killed a paper!
Comments (10) | Permalink