Somethimes the best things are said in the least words...

For example: there is this famous poem, so sorry I can't remember who it is by!!... Anyway it goes like this:

So much depends

upon
the white
chickens
beside a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water

Here is my go at a "Least word poem", It is nowhere near as good as the above, but it was interesting to write:

My park
is full of
tall winding
trees and
magical secret
places.

Maybe you could try writing a a "least word poem" too...

The dragonfly... (Written two years ago.)

A dragonfly is like

a branch of  a
tree,
woken from
its everlasting
sleep, only to find
a rainbow has
attached itself
to the back of
its slender body.
 
A dragonfly softly
swoops in
between
the white daisies
and tiny
poppies,
glowing in the
mid afternoon
sun.
 
A dragonfly carefully
sips the
sweet nectar from
multicoloured
teacups,
humming
its song as it
flies
past.
 
A dragonfly is surly
the most graceful
of any of the
gentlemen
bugs.

He tips his long

head to all
the young ladies
partying
on the
lawn.

A dragonfly twists and

turns in the fresh
moonlit
air.
sparkling in the
stardust and
darkness.
pointing its wings
to
the
sky.
 
A dragonfly silently
rests its tired
body
in a flower,
Its body may
slumber
forever on but
its soul
will fly one last round
through
the garden before
drifting
towards
heaven.
 
A dragonfly is free to live
and free to die
without
any rules
keeping
it
tied
down
 
A dragonfly is not
really a
bug: it is a miniature
angel sent
to watch over our
gardens
and
grant
all
wishes…

ANZAC day...

"Anzac Day is a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand, originally commemorated by both countries on 25 April every year to honour the members of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who fought at Gallipoli in the Ottoman Empire during World War I. It now more broadly commemorates all those who served and died in military operations for their countries. Anzac Day is also observed in the Cook Islands, Niue, Pitcairn, and Tonga. It is no longer observed as a national holiday in Papua New Guinea or Samoa."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anzac_Day
 So basically it is a day were we remember the solders that fought and died in Gallipoli... but also solders everywhere. This is a poem I wrote many many years ago, I won 1st prize for it (intermediate section) I hope you enjoy it and I hope it makes you think... Lest we Forget...

ANZAC DAY:
This A is for the Australians that fought for me,
This N and Z is for the New Zealanders that made us free,
This A is for the anguish as they marched to their death,
This C is for their cry as they took their last breath.

This D is for the danger they did face,
This A is for the anger from our race,
and this Y is a question; why did it have to be?
I hope your ANZAC DAY is stunning,
but remember why we're free.

I hope your ANZAC day is brilliant but as you drink you cup of tea
I ask a little favor: Please remember why we're free.
Remember what happened on those gray and dusty nights
Remember all this solders' dirt and blood stained sights
Remember all the wives at home in bed
Remember all their worries as they sat and read
Remember all the tears that fell like rain
Remember all the wishes that got washed down the drain
Remember all the lives it did cost
Remember all the arms and legs that were lost.
But remember also something happy,
don't just get sad and sappy.
Remember all the survivers with tales to share
Remember all the solders- how they did care
Remember how they fought for you and me
Remember how they fought so we could be free.

So next time you are mad or down in the dumps,
remember these things- It will give you sad and happy goosebumps.

( I haven't changed anything since I first wrote it. Perhapes one day I will write a new, improved version)

Can a stone change the world?

I wrote this poemy thing after a visit to the beach, I didn't have any idea what my poem was going to be about... I just started writing, well here is is...

In my hand,
I am holding,
a stone.
It is round, 
smooth
and small enough to fit
in my palm.
It is speckly brown,
with sandy grey bits.
It shimmers slightly
in the sun,
but apart from that
it is pretty
ordanary- in fact
some might say that my
little stone is
pointless.
If I hold my stone
there is not much I
can do with it-
I could look
at it,
feel
it's smooth textures,
and if I really wanted to
I could turn
it
over.
That's about all the use it would be.
My stone has
no aim
no plan for it's future,
It doesn't know what it
wants
or needs.
My stone goes where it is taken,
not where it chooses to
go.
It started out huge- bigger
than a house
but time and weather
wore it away.
this stone is
older
than me
and it
will be around
long after I die.
My stone is not
unique,
there are thousands of other
stones exactally the same
as it.
Don't you feel sorry for my stone-
small and aimless.
My stone is not going to change the
world.
But
I
can.

Animal poems...

Here are some animal poems I wrote today... they aren't that good but I thought they where sort of cute so I will put them on this blog anyway... maybe reading mine will inspire you to write some animal poems of your own...
Monkey:
                                                   Swinging, Calling, swift creatures creeping under foot.
                                                   Tail curled and eyes shifting.
                                                                            Ears twitching and body tingling.
                                                                                                            Fur Ridged and fingers poised.
                                                   Ready for the J.U.M.P.  
                                                 Death only one mistake away,       
                                                     but danger is tree tops down..
                                              Don't think... just reach.


Lion:
Is a lion really a king at all?
Or is he just famous for his Roar?
All the small animal cower in fear,
whenever  the lion creeps around near.
But I think the lion's true rise to fame
is because of his gleaming, golden mane.                                                          

Mercutio

In English we are studying the famous and tragic play- "Romeo and Juliet". After reading through the play my teacher asked our class to each name of favorite character. Being a quite stereotypical "girly girl" I instantly thought of either Romeo or Juliet. But after a bit of deeper thinking I answered the question as follows:          "My favorite character is Mecutio because of his brilliant name."
And it is true, I mean names don't get much cooler than Mercutio- If I ever get a kitten I will make sure to call him that. But I guess that awesomeness can't be based only on a name, can they? So I did a bit of research and this is what I now think of Mercutio. (Note: The points below may not be true, they are just my interpretation of Mercutio. You May have a different interpretation and that's GREAT. Also it might help if you have a bit of an understanding of  " Romeo and Juliet".):

Mercutio does not care about the arguments between 'the Montagues' and 'the Capulates'. He is not on either 'side' except for his own. The only reason he fights Tybalt  is that he does not want his friend Romeo to be thought of as a "chicken". " Benvolio: By my head, here come the Capulets.
                                                                            Mercutio: By my heel, I care not.

This quote- " A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms meat of me." sort of proves that point. For this reason I believe that Mercutio likes to think of himself as a bit of a 'Loner' but is really too social to be alone for very long. ( This is a contrast to the romantic loneliness of Romeo.)

Mercutio  doesn't like to believe in " True love" or "love at first sight" (" If love be rough with you, be rough with love.") I Think that something broke Mercutio's heart really badly and made him think like this. He also believes in making his own future instead of just doing what " the stars" have picked out for him.

One thing I Love about Mercutio ( apart from his super cool name) he is always joking around he even manages to use a pun as he is dieing.(" Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.) A fight, for Mecutio, is a fight to the death.  "Tybalt: What would you have with me?
                                                                     Mercutio: Good king of cats. only one of your nine lives!"
If you can't be bother reading all of the quote below don't worry. I only put It there because I quite bored:
Mercutio. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider's web,
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams, he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she—

Act happy...

I think one of the best ways to be happy is to act happy, because if you act that way for long enough, you actually begin to believe it. You can look at the world and say "It's too big, too noisy, too crouded, too stuffy or too smokey." But then you can never be truly happy until these things are fixed. If you just take a small bit of time to watch a sunset, listen to the wind or just smile, you'll feel so much better.The world suddenly seem pretty good, Im not saying things are perfect, they can always get better. But right now they seem just right.