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Long time, no write

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Woohoo! First I’d just like to celebrate the end of exams, which were actually last week, with the few remaining followers of mine, I don’t even know if your still out there and going to read this, I may be talking to myself but nevertheless. To celebrate the end of exams and pretty much year 10 all together, I think I’ll post an English assignment I had to do. Here it is, a sonnet to the book; Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card, we actually did a novel study on it last year but the teacher allowed us to write a sonnet for it anyway.

 

Ender’s Game Sonnet

 

A boy of eight, a third surplus child.

With the world’s fate in his murderous hand,

Once guiltless, once mild, but now wild.

Shed of his sins in space, only to brand

 

His strangely innocent but injurious mark.

Loved and hated, friends and enemies made

Ender by name, ruined dreams as his stark

Journey to the top pool left others staid.

 

Petted, fooled, isolated and betrayed

A ruthless abyss opened beneath him

A breach into a nightmare to evade.

With hands mutilated by death and grim,

 

Thousands killed in his wake, forever dead

It seemed.  Yet no-one knew what lay ahead…

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Picture It & Write: Golden Times

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My Contribution for this week’s Picture It & Write, click here to see, is below. Hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome as always.

 

 

 

 

 

They were the good old days, memories from that time are lathered in gold because they are my golden memories from a golden age. Back then when time was irrelevant, we felt like we had all the time in the world to share our special bond. Time didn’t matter to us hence why it spilled between our fingers and represented itself in occasional grey hairs which spouted amongst our normal young dark hair. We pretended it didn’t exist, we shoved it into the back of the closet and left it there, a ghost which sat and waited until the right time to come out and torment us.

By the time we realised it was real and it was there, we were too late, we’d let in stalk us in silence like a lion waiting to pounce. Time had separated us, it had torn the fake immortal chain which linked us, which we thought had been unbreakable. The chain had been broken and used to hold a pendant watch, a reminder he’d given to me before he’d left, that time was there and it was impossible to stop. He’d placed time in a cache of gold, to remind me of the golden days and that time was alway there, always watching your every move and counting down your final moments.

Picture It & Write: Bitter Sorrow

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Bitter sorrow is the taste on my tongue,

Strong southries caress my cheek.

Way up here I can reach the marshmallow clouds,

Far below the sea hurls itself angrily against the steel pillars.

 

Up here I can see everything, feel everything and think everything,

The scarlet spray of his blood splatters across my mind,

A deep shudder reveberates down my spine,

Like the impact I felt from driving the hammer in his skull.

 

Again the wind strokes me, taunts me, welcomes me into it’s open arms,

I can sense the devious flash in it’s movements,

Still I find myself standing on the edge, it’s arms waiting…

Waiting to let me slip into the turmoil beast bellowing below.

Tanka- Burning Breath

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Burning Breath

Deadly red fingers

Licking it’s flammable prey,

Hot tendrils emerge.

Benightedness kindles it’s

Melody of ruination.

A force of nature,

It’s a contagious disease.

It’s unstoppable,

Natures injurious demon.

Fire, Hades of trouble.

 

Lest We Forget

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“Lest we forget”, a line from a poem called, “Recessional”, written by Rudyard Kipling for the Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jublilee 1897. The poem is now, also sung as a hyme on Anzac day, a national remembrance day for New Zealand and Australia, originally to remember those who fought at Gallipoli during World War I. It now commerates a broader range, remembering all those who fought in both World War I and II, those who put their lives on a thin line to support their allied countries. 

The reason why I’m giving this history lesson, is because today is Anzac day and I felt I needed to post a tribute type thing,  to remember my ancestors. So here I have posted the entire poem, “Recessional”, by Rudyard Kipling, if you care to read.

God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle line—
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Amen.

 

Lest We Forget!

Haiku Bombers: Sensitivity

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Taste

 Flavours burst colour

Full of awesome energy.

Sweet, sour, bitter, fresh.

Smell

Curling wisps of scent.

Without this lustre in life

What would life be like?

 Hearing

 Whispers of legends,

harmonies of life itself,

We live to hear these.

Touch

 Talking brings us close,

Contact even closer still.

Emotions felt more.

Sight

History is made,

From what we see around us.

A life will seek sight.

Small But Not Weak

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A miniscule being,

With an excruciating punch.

A demonstration,

That the smallest,

Are not the weakest.

 

What brought the lion down?

A tiny thistle.

Buried in the king’s paw,

Caused so much pain,

and only an inch tall.

 

A small buzzy bee,

Looks as harmless as can be.

When it sights danger,

It rears its behind in protest,

And strikes in defence.

 

Haven’t posted for a few days because I’ve been away from my blog for easter. There’s a reason why I’m posting this poem, it’s because I was stung by a bloody bee today. This poem was written because of that bee, which caused my hand to swell up like a balloon. Mum insisted on taking me to the doctor, (I didn’t think it was necessary) we were there for 2 hours until we left. I left with some anti-inflammation pills and a sling, (which I can’t be bothered wearing.) So that’s my rant for the month, hope you enjoyed my poem.

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