Prootie
There was once a boy named Chase,
Who had a very peculiar face.
All his friends made fun of him,
And made his life very grim.
Seeing him many would avoid,
So his appearance made him very coy.
Such big ears Chase had,
That made every passer-by hopping mad.
Such long teeth Chase had,
That made mum and dad very sad.
Such small eyes Chase had,
That made everybody avoid this lad.
Nose, ears and face creams,
Nothing would help his self-esteem.
Face packs every Sunday,
Didn’t make a difference the following Monday.
To beauty appointments his parents would send him,
Poor chase thought that he simply could never win.
But one-day Chase saw a man,
Who had a very unusual hat.
Wrinkled skin and very light eyes,
As blue as the very bluest of skies.
He said, “Chase, you have a very nice face.”
Chase knew he didn’t belong to this place.
“Such stunning ears you have”, said he,
Chase was certain that this man could not see.
“Such attractive teeth you have”, said he,
Chase was certain that this could not possibly be.
“Such small and lovely eyes you have”, said he,
Chase was certain this man was beginning to tease.
Chase told the man that he was wrong,
That he’d been speaking nonsense all along.
The man nodded his head,
And with the wave of an arm said:
“Drip, drop, dram, drim,
Let the wonderful journey begin,
To a land far, far away,
Like no other place”
Suddenly, there were people everywhere
Running around without any care
Some big, some small
Some short, some tall
Every type of animal, every type of man
Great big dogs wearing yellow crested hairbands.
“Oh my,” said Chase, “these strange people are nothing but plight!”
The man turned round and gave a big sigh.
“Big ears, small eyes and great big noses,
Are as pretty as the prettiest tulips and roses.
Headscarves, topis and well-done-up turbans,
Look as tasty as the very sweetest of bourbons.
Men and women of all shape and all size,
Are simply sweet candy to our eyes.
Those fair and those dark,
All equal in our hearts.
My dear, dear Chase, this is the town of Prootie,
Where every size, shape and colour is beauty.
No appearance or form defines us,
No belief nor colour confines us.
It doesn’t matter what others say,
We are all beautiful in our own way.
My friend, everything takes its time,
In this land, beauty shan't be hard to find!
All creatures, big and small have their place,
Even that silly little pimple on your face!”
And so, there was once a boy named Chase
Who had a very beautiful face.
Such big ears Chase had,
That made every passer-by feel very glad.
Such small eyes Chase had,
That made everyone want to be his lad.
In the wondrous town of Prootie,
Where no appearance makes one feel gloomy
In the wondrous town of Prootie,
Where every size, shape and colour is beauty.
The Disease Of Lady Macbeth.
I’m confused. Bewildered. Dazed.
This woman has a disease like no other,
A poison that infects the mind, then leisurely drips into the soul.
It yanks boundlessly at the heart and sends waves of horror,
Of black and of sorrow through the bloodstream.
A sickness that torments mercilessly,
before the one unfortunate enough to have seen face to face with it,
gives in to its control.
The candle burns, as does her reality.
The reality that was destroyed,
shattered by the woman’s own perilous desires and malicious thoughts.
Her eyes are open, but little do they see.
Her feet walking, but little do they feel.
They are frozen by the clasp of the inescapable, of the impenetrable.
Of guilt.
All that is left is a dim, hidden stain that is imposed on the cold flesh of the woman.
It has become part of her, inscribed into her skin and carved into her heart.
Even if every second, every minute was spent washing the stain,
it would not remove.
For it drips deep into the mind, and tortures its victim.
That is, until its clasp steals the breath and finally plunges,
until all life has disappeared.
Until this woman’s life will disappear.
I Am Woman.
No, I am not afraid.
I am a woman - I have seen it all.
No, I am not exhausted.
I am a woman - I carry the burden of the world on my shoulders.
No, I am not weak.
I am a woman - every bone in my body, every thought of my mind, every hope of my heart, is the epitomy of strength.
I am a warrior - I carry this power in my blood.
And no, I am not nothing.
I am a woman - I create life itself.
The Abyss.
Shall I open the door?
So far and so wide,
Reaching from the skies to the floor,
Staring with big, black eyes.
The key lies here,
Confined in my soul,
Beneath all the tears,
Inside this black hole.
Shall I turn and run away?
Hide inside my trivial hollow.
Wipe away every single trace,
So no one will ever follow.
The key lies here,
Confined in my soul,
Beneath all the tears,
Inside this black hole.
Shall I break it down?
Conquer all that shakes me,
Feel the water, feel me drown,
See what my fears see.
The key lies here,
Confined in my soul,
Beneath all the tears,
Inside this black hole.
The Feast.
The wide-eyed teacher, although she refused to admit it, had a constitutional weakness - she couldn't help but splurge her spendings during the Great Winter Festival's feast. She collected thousands of coins just so that she could spend away during this exciting time. For why shouldn't she? She had a vision for excellence, and a unique talent for taste.
The age-old festival took place nearby the town's Oak Forest - a dark, damp area haunted by the perilous snakes and their feared poisons.
Obsessed with the happenings of the Festival, the teacher took it on her to become the annual Great Winter Festival's new writer. She claimed the previous writers were far too unjust, and that their opinions were ill-informed. They had not the vision, nor talent, she possessed. She was going to do the job right - it was to be informative, and most importantly, just.
And she decided who was to be the winner, once and for all. The winner of the honourable Great Winter Festival is, the wonderful and talented...
Em Dawson!! :)
WonderStruck!
Let me introduce you to the wondrous Theory Of Everything.
Physicists beware, this is no hoax!
I have come to see the world in a thousand and one ways,
I can see the smallest atom, the forces she radiates!
So let us get started,
It will take time to understand energy and time and space.
I have established a theory, I call it Genius,
And that it sure is!
Oh love!
Do you see how he weeps?
The way he seeps and bends,
The way he shines in the sky.
Oh universe!
You never fail to surprise me!
How I love the way your gravity moves,
So immaculate, a perfect electromagnetic expression!
And all my scientist friends may mock me,
And all the town’s people may laugh hysterically at me,
And all my companions may deem me plain crazy.
But the truth is, I can see what they can’t see!
I can see what they struggle to believe!
I can dream far beyond what they ever could conceive!
Step out of the way, here comes the next Einstein!
Here he comes, with his staggering Theory Of Everything,
To explain what all scientists have always been wondering!
Journeying through the nights,
Those intense hours with the Hydron Collider have finally paid off!
I’ve got! I’ve got it! The Theory Of Everything,
The Theory is alas, but a secret of the universe.
A secret I know multitudes about,
But a secret I must keep…
The Tragedy Of Lady Macbeth
I’m confused. Bewildered. Dazed.
This woman has a disease like no other,
A poison that infects the mind, then leisurely drips into the soul.
It yanks boundlessly at the heart and sends waves of horror,
Of black and of sorrow through the bloodstream.
A sickness that torments mercilessly,
before the one unfortunate enough to have seen face to face with it,
gives in to its control.
The candle burns, as does her reality.
The reality that was destroyed,
shattered by the woman’s own perilous desires and malicious thoughts.
Her eyes are open, but little do they see.
Her feet walking, but little do they feel.
They are frozen by the clasp of the inescapable, of the impenetrable.
Of guilt.
All that is left is a dim, hidden stain that is imposed on the cold flesh of the woman.
It has become part of her, inscribed into her skin and carved into her heart.
Even if every second, every minute was spent washing the stain,
it would not remove.
For it drips deep into the mind, and tortures its victim.
That is, until its clasp steals the breath and finally plunges,
until all life has disappeared.
Until this woman’s life will disappear.
Grief.
The stars collide,
The light subsides,
The sounds run away,
The ground begins to decay.
My ears refuse to hear,
Giving light to all that I fear.
My eyes refuse to perceive,
My waves crash, in my vast, black sea.
I shall never breathe again,
For what is broken, shall never mend.
Shaking my feet, incapable to stand.
Engulfed in tears, drowning in black.
The sun will never shine,
The stars have lost their light,
Nothing will dampen this fire.
This sorrow is an unfathomable mire.
My life underneath,
Vanishing beneath my tactless feet.
Never will I forgive myself, never again,
For loosing you, my dear friend.