Totaling Up:

Days Seventeen, Eighteen, and Nineteen

On Tuesday, a guest slam poet (a lovely lady named Rachel McCrum) gave us circular nicknames, ballad encouragement, and taught us how to properly adjust a microphone. After truly embarrassing myself, I became a bit more comfortable with the idea of slam.

Wednesday and Thursday passed in a blur. Everything was focused on writing and practising for our evening of Slam Poetry (Thursday night) and getting our radio play finished and rehearsed by Friday.

I read twice in the Slam, made it to the second heat, and won a Golden Orb for my efforts (in JF speak, that means a clementine). My friend Joe (unsurprisingly) won the Slam – snaps for Joe!!!!

Yesterday morning was gratifying – our radio play went off without a hitch – and very humourous. My classmates are hysterical! We had a long lunch, accompanied by Buttons and Maltesers (that’s North Point Café speak for a hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows, and either Cadbury Buttons or Maltesers on top) and a quick couple of sandwiches, topped off with some of the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had.

Tutorial on Friday afternoon was a summation and workshop. Eva and I did small shopping and raced the rainy sky home.

 

The tartan hair scrunchies are still a thing.

“Romeo”

I was there when he cut down the tree
and bent over the stump,
telling me to count the rings.
My fingers fumbled over the past century,
and I whispered this is rude.

I was there when he crawled under my mattress,
a giggle catching in his throat.
He liked to play at being a monster,
running his nails across my toes.

I was there when he was heavy,
pushing his weight against my arm.
I heard the snap, watched him grin,
and wondered if I would ever see his eyes.

I was there when he pushed me into the chapel,
my voice sitting in his pocket,
and I realised too late
that I was the tree, and he was the saw.

“November”

I live in a land of no seasons:
our summer sits on the Hollywood sign,
a fat bladder
of pineapple juice and sunscreen.
We tread into June,
careless,
and the bladder explodes.
The liquid spews down the hills,
flooding across July and August.
We flail about with mops,
trying in vain to clean it up,
but the stickiness only spreads,
trickling into
our autumn, our winter.
But by the time we catch up with it,
filthy rags in hand,
it’s June,
and we’re too late.

Raindrops and Cinquains

Day Ten

Breakfast was drenched – literally. We stood in the rain to feed the ducks before sort-of-maybe falling asleep on the bus. Our current guest teacher is John Glenday, a wonderful (famous?) poet who is certainly my favourite guest teacher so far. He ran the clock, but none of us cared…

Lunch was disappointing – the Scottish Studies and Science kids had already swooped in and taken all of the good sandwiches, the vultures. Tomorrow, we’re going to switch it up and grace Cherries with our rain-soaked presences instead.

The afternoon lengthened and so did the amount of time it took for us to finish up our poetry poster project (potential pictures next Monday). Goodness me, what a lot of p’s. I snoozed over dinner and shuffled into a productive hour of radio play-planning.

Oh, and the sun came back. Yay. *hisses at the window*

 

Quote of the day: John Glenday – “That’s what writing is all about. Finding significance in insignificant things.”
Currently Reading: Writing with Style by John Trimble -and- Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
Currently Listening to: Hey Mama by Mat Kearney

 

post-post post: Since when did a 20% chance of rain equal a full morning and half-afternoon of rain and thunder? Are they not telling us something????