Madlib Poem

I have been playing on languageisavirus.com . It has many very cool writing prompts and games. I’ve been playing with  the madlib poem generator….

pink man’s pink man

quickly i have never jumped, respectfully beyond
any teapot, your moons have their angry:
in your most round bus are things which shop me,
or which i cannot dance with because they are too effortless

your flat look never will unsoar me
though i have flown myself as screen,
you swim always tissue by tissue myself as victim slips
(cruising simply, tomorrow) her important camera

or if your box be to float me, i and
my lens will talk very foolishly, honestly,
as when the dustbin of this teapot twists
the fish slightly everywhere looking;

nothing which we are to mirror in this ball whistles
the hat of your shy tent: whose typewriter
hums me with the salad of its potato,
scanning zoo and hand with each running

(i do not move what it is about you that cuts
and talks; only something in me sings
the light of your moon is purpler than all victims)
floor, not even the bed, has such bent roads
- Cle & e.e. cummings

Create Your Own Madlib on LanguageIsAVirus.com

Captain Martini returns!

Blistering Barnacles!

 I have finally found another Dirty Martini story.

Huzzah!

You can find it at

http://meetmysister.wordpress.com/

Enjoy!

Sketchbook Project

I got an email today informing me that my sketchbook has been dispatched. I have just completed my first double spread…….

 

Once the book arrives this will be mounted inside….My plan is to try and do two of these a week….and schoolwork….and family….and journal-writing….and performance management….hehehehehe.

Sketchbook Project

 

 

I found this site through a link on Morguefile. Basically you sign up, they send you a sketchbook and a theme, you fill up the sketchbook, send it back and next March it becomes part of an art exhibition. How cool!  Expect updates!

Tactile

Inspired by Soul Food Writing Prompt Delphic Oracle

 

 

Delicate tips graze embossed ridges.

With fingers deft and silent I pick and brush my way into your story.

I know you. Letter by letter I feel you.

Words rich in depth and texture.

Fingers linger over your thoughts

Feeling

I visited the Oracle again.

The word of the day was tactile.

This got me thinking about  things, mainly a bad joke which , at the risking of losing my audience, I’m going to get out of my system.

Did you hear about the blind man who picked up a cheesegrater?

He claimed it was the most violent book he had ever read.

And off to the back of the bus I go…….

 

Word of the Day

I need to see a doctor. Instead I went to the Oracle. And she gave me a word. And the word was my condition.

Inenarrable.

I am suffering from inenarrability. Truly.

I have all these great stories in my head. Fantastic stories. I have four stories in various journals that I have started. Wonderful stories, funny stories, strange stories. Unfinished stories. I get about a third or half way through the story and I get stuck. I can see the story in my head, the whole thing, unfolding, in all its glory. But can I write it? Can I make that leap from imagination to paper? No. I try, I write, I stop, I try again, I stop. It is stuck. My story ia untellable, indescribable, unreachable…inenarrable.

Why I have not written….

So I have a friend, who I don’t write to often enough, who informed me that the 18th of July was “International Make Up A Really Good Reason For Not Writing Day”.

I’m so good at this that it has taken me 3 days to write my reasons…

I was kidnapped by pirates.

 Dr Who has taken me to a parallel universe where pen and paper have never existed.

 I slipped into a rabbit hole, shrank, had a tea party, fought a dragon, played a croquet game, danced with a lobster, baby sat a pig, built a card house and by the time I got home I was so tired I fell asleep.

 My children used up all my writing implements creating their own neo-expressionist art work on their bedroom wall. They fed all my paper to the DVD player. All I have left is my lipstick….you can’t take that away from me!

 My pencils and pens have gone on strike. They staged a walk out early this morning and are currently congregated on my front lawn. They are holding placards that read “Writing stink! Save our ink!” and “Pencils shout! Don’t rub us out!”

After listening to rousing speeches from an aging fountain pen they are breaking into protest songs. There appear to be two factions forming. There is the B Pencil Group who are demanding less sharpening and the Biro Party who want their lids back. The one issue they are in agreement on is no more chewing. Stay tuned for further updates.

Image from http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/Pain%20of%20Pen!_9158

This Week

I’m bringing the weekly dose back. That is the plan anyway.

Books: If nothing else I have maintained my ability to consume several books at one time. The past few weeks has seen all The Dexter books, save the fourth one, devoured and enjoyed. I have also (thanks to my voracious reader son) picked up and read the first 3 Artemis Fowl books. I am currently reading the fourth ( I believe there are 3 more after that!). I also have to finish Tim Winton’s Turning Point and Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors.

That’s about it folks. I’m hoping to make a point of doing some journal work each night  and once a week posting the best bits here….watch this space!!

Fierce Inspiration

I have returned to teaching full-time. I am back at the school I was teaching previously but I have climbed up the food-chain and instead of 5 year olds I now teach 9 and 10 year olds. My afternoons are spent with the ten year old students. This term is easier than last term but I use a lot of energy keeping ahead of the Pack. I am trying to impart this skill to a student teacher but I know it is something you learn only from having a class of your own and making your own mistakes.

The suburb I teach in is rough and the kids don’t see alot of joy. Most of these 10 year olds have been through more than any of us would care to imagine. The one constant in their life is school. Possibly the only safe place they know. The only place they can let off steam and vent their frustration.

It makes me look at my own boys and realise that what I think is a bad day for one of them is truly nothing compared to the home live’s some of my students endure.

This is a snippet that came to me one evening after a particularly exhausting afternoon at school.

The Pack 

Teeth bared, grinning and drooling,
Waiting and watching
Eager for a drop, for one mistake.
Waiting to pounce and tear anyone to shreds.
Tiny assassins. Needle sharp teeth
Razor eyes. Brutal and heartless.
 But inside I know their fear.
I know how fragile they are.
How fleeting and rare their sweetness.