On my ass
in writing class,
my seat as soft as stone.
Mister Ball
gives C's to all
and speaks in mono tones.
I clean my pen
and dream of sin
and grimly long for home-
the task assigned
slips passed the mind
as i wrongly write this poem
for rhyme is bad-
or so he said
but i don't give a damn,
i'll rhyme in threes
for extra C's
simply cuz I CAN.
jru
So I turned it in on the loose leaf I wrote it on, and these were his exact notes when he returned the paper:
-the best thing you've written, Jru
-maybe you just needed an enemy- although
*scribble scribble* I certainly don't
give "C's to all"-some do worse
-type this up please
I never did type it up, and went on to fail the class. This may have been partly due to a previous poem I wrote, which goes as follows:
Each Day I approach
Is a boundless new encounter
On March 13th I found a roach
Laid down on the kitchen counter.
It looked at me attractively
And said it came from Philly.
So I tooke this weede all wrapped in leaves,
And smoked with my dogg Chilli.
My lighter hissed and flicked it's flame,
And Chilli wagged his tail.
He said, "Hurry up and hit the thing!"
So I had to inhale.
The so sweet smell of Mary Jane
scratched my throat and made me cough.
Then I passed her to my canine friend
And we carelessly laughed it off.
He took a puff and passed it back,
and we had a conversation.
It wasn't just a happy chat,
But was full of contemplation.
From the occupation of Iraq,
to spiritual elevation.
We laughed and cried and tried to rap,
while sharing the medication.
"What goes around comes dashing back!"
-was his beste quotation.
he cheifed and chiefed as he yapped
and messed up the rotation.
"Puff puff pass you silly mutt-"
Was my lone and single quip.
He ceded the remains of the blunt
And I burnt my fingertips.
Then I layed the roach on down to rest
In an ash-filled tray.
Mannn, do I feel truly blessed,
For there's something new each day.
