Christmas Elf and Her Poems

I was looking at my earlier posts and I found a poem that I wrote that I'm so proud of I thought I'd post it again!

Hee, hee, hee!!!

I glide, I skate,
stretching my sore muscles.
I spin and push
the wind is in my face,
the sun on my back.
My hair springs lose
it has a mind of its own.
I turn around and go backwards...
I spin again.
right
left
right
left
I push and stretch
I spin. I miss.
I fall and the sidewalk
rises
to catch me
I land roughly.
my hands sting,
my knees ache.
I stand again.
I reach, I jump,
I soar, I fly.


Now, a poem Katie and I wrote. Some of you my recognize it. *smiles slyly*

Battle! Hear the weapons clash
hear the sound of axes smash
To strike down a brother.

Battle! Hear the blood curling cry
Hear the dying soldiers sigh
the boys who left their mothers.

Battle! They fight for right or wrong
Then they shout the battle song
Killing the one who left his lover.

Battle! Each fight for power of their own,
but then they die, and then it's gone,
and they've already killed the other.

Battle! The tear that hits the ground,
The groan, the breath and nothing found,
all so they can kill another.

Battle! Raging night and day,
It will never end, they say,
always trying to hurt each other.


HA HA! Now I've had my bragging session... time to sign off!

If

Here's a poem I thought was interesting.




If - - Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

Cookie Tins

Once upon a time there was a little cookie tin. His name was Freddie. Freddie was sad, because he was just a small cookie tin with no cookies in it, and he want to have cookies in him...


Sorry, peoples, Lindy's suggestion. You can blame her. And, I maybe could be more creative but I really don't feel like it right now. So that's the story of the day.

Cookie tins come in ceramic, porcelian, metal, cookie, asphalt, adobe, brick, clay, and (my person favorite) clouds. They come in all shapes and sizes. Like the one that was blue and shaped like a cow, or the one that was sort of like a safe, and Dad kept it locked up and the next day it was empty, or the one that was made of wood and shaped like a tree, or I've even seen one that was shaped like a bee hive. A little too dangerous to get cookies out of that one.

Okay, okay, enough randomness. Bye, peoples. New post coming later.