School's Clutches

- Grace -

(A poem and a parody)

Here is the truth about Humpty Dumpty. Hidden from all until now.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,

Humpty Dumpty wouldn’t have died

If he hadn’t had tests that had his brain fried.

Too much knowledge was stuffed in his brain,

So much that he was in lots of pain,

It only took a hit on his head,

For all of his knowledge to make him dead.

This is a parody of a parody (seriously 😊) of the song What a Friend We Have in Jesus (made by Megan, Hudson and I)

When this school year’s finally over,

No more studying for me.

When I finally have some free time,

Oh, how happy I shall be.

No more studying on the weekends,

No more stressing out for me.

I’ll wave goodbye to all my teachers,

How I’ll miss them, how they’ll grieve.

Comments

The Writing Famine

Colette apologizes, Grace - the original author of this post - has been temporarily removed from this post. Mostly due to the fact that she was not writing anything. Which might have been the point. Since the page is titled "Writing Famine" the page may have been meant to experience a famine of words. In which case it ought to be blank. So Colette will stop writing and allow the page to properly experience a writing famine. There will be no more words. Colette couldn't do it. She has thought of another topic for this page - what if it was supposed to be about the lack of writers, or about writer's block? If so, the page cannot be blank! So she had to write this. She is also aware that Hannah has covered this topic, and she was talking about the lack of creativity. So, as Jo said: we are forgetful people and need to be reminded of things. Therefore Colette will remind you that you never know, if you feel there is a lesson the world can be taught ...

Colors

I watched my daughter's sightless eyes close as I pulled her blanket around her tiny body. Even as she drifted into sleep, her smile tried desperately to rid my face of its scowl. The white men had done this to my Amika. They brought the disease that left her weak and blind. They brought the weapons that killed my father. They brought the culture that destroyed mine. They forced me away from everything I knew, they starved my family, they took away my reason to live, they broke my spirit. They left me in this cursed land in a tiny shack with nothing but my blind daughter. I, Malik, can never forgive them. I, Malik, will pay them back. I pulled the new bracelet off her thin little hand. "It feels just like my Cherokee beads, Papa," her innocent voice had said. The African beads from our slave girl Naira did indeed look similar to the Cherokee beads in Amika's hair. I had tried to take them from her earlier, but the confused and hurt look in her blind eyes stop...

Palaces and Purposes - A Short Story

I wrote this for school when I was almost 16 and I think the fact that I still like it speaks to some degree of quality. I hope you enjoy it, too. It's got a very different feel to my novel, so it was nice to have some variation while writing it. Palaces and Purposes With shallow breaths and bare feet unmoving on the marble floor, I gazed at the dais. What were they? Strange contraptions, some made of wood, with strings running parallel down the middle, across large holes. Others were all of metal and seemed to be twisted into knots. Still others seemed to be nothing more than smooth sticks with evenly placed holes down their lengths. All were relatively small and looked lightweight. What kind of crazy country had I come to that a platform in such a vast, opulent hall, beautiful beyond any of my imaginings, was home to simple wooden chairs and these objects of no conceivable use? All my instincts, trained and honed by months of unnoticed thievery and silent spying, scr...

The Writing Mafia

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