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sari_bear's journal
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It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...  On more than one occasion in my childhood, I recall having sudden bursts of "creativity" and feeling compelled to draw, sing, write, or construct something amazing. Rarely did these projects turn out the way I envisioned them - and more often than not, I became so full of rage that they did not end up being completed. It should be noted that this cycle of behaviour often caused me to have Excessive Amounts of Concern...and I'm sure/I hope it may have caused those around me to feel the same way. Aaaaanyway, on one such occasion I was inspired to become a poet. My neighbour gave me a special green spiral-bound notebook labelled as "Sarah's Poetry Book", and emblazoned with neon orange "IMPORTANT!" stickers...and off I went. I do remember this part. What I do NOT remember (or have perhaps blocked out) is actually writing the series of 26 Letter Poems. Unfortunately, they are clearly in my 9-year-old hand-writing...and some are even illustrated (again, poorly yet unmistakably by me). As with the wildly popular "What Is Green?", written approximately 2 years prior, I seemed to have some difficulty with the concept of rhyming, as well as the small matter of style/uniformity/dignity/etc.. There is little else one can say to prepare oneself for reading this sort of rare literary treasure, so without further ado, I present Sarah's Terrifyingly Random Alphabet Poetry - and I use that last term (Poetry) very loosely. I would also like to point out that these were all written for my own enjoyment, and not for any sort of school assignment (I was SUCH a KEENER!!). I'm not sure if that makes it better, or worse...but, there it is. Red, yellow, green. You must be kind And never be mean. Up on the wall. There is the mercury - Don’t let it fall. With a very long tail, And if you pull it You’ll go to jail. Tiny or large. They won’t fit in a baggie; They’re not allowed on a barge. Tusks, trunk and all. They’ll fit in a jungle, But not in your hall. Parents and kids. All families argue: Didn’ts and dids. Sometimes they yell. Sometimes they talk. They’ll help if you fell. With a tail and a mane. Babies are ponies - Kind of like a Great Dane. All slippery wet. If you fall, you will cry; So will your pet. Jump high and jump low. You can jump in the sun, But not in the snow. With little slit eyes. They’ve got little eveverything. They don’t eat pies. A cousin of cats. They’re a little bit bigger. Their manes look like hats. I drove Mrs. Malenfant batty. Now I think I’ll go home, And bother my Daddy. They’re things that you eat. You may hurt yourself cracking one. They don’t go near your feet. Skinny and small. He looks like a rhino Scrunched up in a ball. Chocolate and plain. They come in a can You can eat on a train. It’s got a moose. If you flip it over, You won’t find a goose. Mine’s name is Op. Nobody likes her; She really hates soap. All slimy and scaly. They don’t have any legs. They don’t bite, well barely. They’re very slow. They swim or they walk. If you fall, please make sure there’s no turtle below. Undershirt too. They go under your clothes - That’s what they do. Sometimes it screeches. It’s got lots of strings, But don’t play it on beaches. With tusks that stick out. It goes in the water; It’s really quite stout. It’s done very fast. It’s a big, big machine - You might need a cast. I got soap in my eye! It hurts very much, But I’ll try not to cry. Black and white stripes. It looks like a horse, But it doesn’t get mites. Quite impressive, really - and some very astute observations for a 9-year-old, I must say. It is tragically unfortunate that no one ever discovered my inner gift for poetry - but perhaps it's just as well. The fame may well have marred my otherwise neurotic, well-adjusted childhood. Be kind to each other ("rhymes" with cover). Over and out ("rhymes" with boat)". Current mood:  tired.
I was going through some boxes of...stuff. Among other crazy/random/nostalgia-inducing "treasures", I came upon a piece of writing I did in grade 2. I don't actually remember writing it, but I know it's mine 'cuz it says so on top. It says "by Sarah Wms" in fancy swirly writing. *cough* I should take this opportunity to mention that I used to abbreviate my last name. Evidently, I had better things to do with my neurotic 7-year-old self than to take the time to write the extra 5 letters of Williams. Clearly one of those things was not writing fine poetry... I can only think that perhaps the reason for the...shift towards the end of the "poem" has to do with my propensity/compulsion to "go that extra (friggin'!) mile" on schoolwork/everything...*ahem*. Aaaaanyway, it seems that I started out writing in rhyming couplets (even though the instructions could very well have been along the lines of "write a sentence about your favourite colour") and a) got super-stressed out about it or b) was not finished by the end of the class...the probable result of which was that someone (perhaps Miss Blades!) reminded me that it was okay if the poem a) did not rhyme or b) kind of sucked. I must also mention that I have never even really liked the colour green... By Sarah Wms Green is a strawberry that's not yet ripe. Green is a sweater with a big green stripe. Green is an apple that my Daddy likes. Green is a dinosaur with lots of spikes. Green is a book that I took to take a look. Green is eyes, but only sometimes... Green is porridge when we dye it green. Green is an alligator swimming in the lake. Green is grass that my Daddy mows. Green is the floor when you smush a crayon. Be kind to each other. Over and out. Current mood:  moody.
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