More Alliteration Fun

I've decide that every other Friday my class will play with words. It's a designated playtime in junior high. Some might argue against my logic, but if you want the proof, come to one of my presentations or ask me for the research.

Anyway, this past week we played with alliteration. Here are the off-the-cuff one-liner examples I did 6th period:

Barney burst the bratty baby’s balloon.

Baby’s big brother brained Barney with a baseball bat.

Bob bought baked bagel bites.

Bitter badgers bothered both Betty and Bubba.

Behave, or Buster the behemoth bulldog will bite your butt.

Bill barfed big bits of black and blue bologna and bacon.

And here is a quick five-minute thrown-together paragraph example:

Hefting his hairy heinie onto a heap of Hostess Ho-Hos, Harvey the humongous hamster hungrily helped himself. Hellbent on hoarding heaps for the hereafter, he hesitated for half a headshake before hurriedly hurling himself heavenward, hoping he’d helicopter higher. However, he high-dived and hit the hearth headfirst. Hungover, he could not halt the hacking and hawking of half the Ho-hos, hairballs and all.

This alliteration has been brought to you by the letter H and by my 20-sided letter die from Scattergories.

I'd like to see what you can do. Post an alliterative one-liner or two...or a whole paragraph if you feel so inclined.

Saving Face

Okay, so I'm really only writing this blog post to save a little face. I haven't posted anything of substance for quite a while. You who question if I have ever posted anything of substance might not be too far off. Just duck when I throw something blunt and heavy at your laughing mug.

Life is passing at warp speed, and I feel like I'm just trying to hold onto the starship by means of a tow cable. Re-entry might cause complete burnout, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Another semester of my Ed.D. has begun, I'm teaching 4 preps, 3 kids are in soccer (and I got suckered into coaching a sport I don't know much about--yes, again), I continue my second job as an independent study grader, I'm trying to wake up early to lose some flab, and list goes on. But I still don't think I'd trade what I have for anything else, even if it included a Baconator or two. For more about my weight-loss battle, check out my other blog: Fatty's Blubber Blog, which is long overdue for a story or two.

Come to think of it, there are about 6.8 bazillion topics that are overdue for me to write about. Anybody wanna give me a prompt or an idea that will kick me off again? Or do I stick with the Dickinson parodies I started (but never went past the second one)?

I do actually have an idea to write about, but I want to save it for NaNoWriMo. I'm going to attempt it with my 9th graders. It scares the pee pee out of me, but I'm plunging in anyway. I'm looking for something quick and easy to keep the rust from building up. Writing papers and student handouts isn't really doing it for me.

Now that I've rambled, and secured a second post for this month, I'll shut up so you can hear the crickets in my mind. (The hamster is on strike.)

I'm NOT Writing about Vacation!

So you’d think that now that I am done with this (endless) summer semester, and now that I am free from grading papers for two weeks, that I’d actually have time to write something exciting or half-way interesting on my blog. Well, looks like we were both wrong.

You get stuck with me not writing about burning my leg on a motorcycle. This is also me not writing in detail about capsizing on a trip down the Provo River with my friend, who I hadn’t caused trouble with for many, many years. My solitary drives up the local canyons will stay trapped foe my five senses only. I’m also not going to chronicle watching RSL destroy San Jose or the road trip to Atlanta with Zac, my father-in-law, and my brother-in-law to sit through a rain delay only to end up losing to the Pirates. Nor am I going to complain about how much the World of Coca-Cola tour cost. And forget about me sharing the several trips to the beach with the family. It’s just not going to happen.

I have to save some material for when I write with my students in less than three weeks. Holy crap. There will not be any adequate pacing or zooming in on details or revision, or anything of the “what good writers do” practices until later. Maybe I’ll do another Dark Emily installation later. Any requests?

This Emily Chick is Sick!

This is a parody of "A Bird Came Down the Walk."

One dead slumped down the Walk—

He grunted so I saw—

He bit a mailman in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank from Lou

Who died within the Grass—

And shuffled sideways to the Street

To let this Slayer pass—

He peered with famished eyes

That wandered all around—

They looked like lifeless Orbs, I thought—

He stirred his Sagging Head

Like one dismembered, dying,

I forced in him a Blade

And he unleashed his entrails

And moaned him softer home—

Than Babes cry out when smothered,

Too gruesome for this scene—

Or Leftovers, left In the Pond

Float, lifeless after drowned.

A Darker Side of Emily

I like that title. Actually, I think I'll use it as a warm-up inspiration. Most who know my opinions of Emily Dickinson, and my "love" of mocking her and her style and her life (mostly those who took AP English with me waaaaaaaay back when Mr. M was diagnosed with cancer and we had that one really witchy sub while he was out for chemo). The aforementioned side-noted substitute worshipped the depressed ground that Dickinson false-hopefully walked on. All I could muster were C- papers that revealed my true interpretations of her poems. She was affronted that anyone could not adore Miss Spinsterly Recluse and her mastery of the language.

Now, before any of you send exploding hate mail, I must say that Emily could write; it just doesn't do anything for me. Then again, I don't think I was her target audience. However, I have now found another use for her.

At the CUWP reunion today, Chris Crowe presented something that I hold dear to my poetic heart--parody. I already have my students write one or two each year, but the exercise today of taking a famous poem and changing it hit home. Yes, this is Bad poetry, but it gets my juices going.
So, for the next while, whenever I need to loosen the joints and get the muse flowing through my veins (after feeding her), I am going to apply my mad zombie parody skills to none other than Emily Dickinson. I think it will be especially helpful (like right now) when I am supposed to be constructing a research paper (Barf!). And when I'm done with Miss Emily, or I get bored with this fad, I'll collect them and publish them under the title "A Darker Side of Emily" and play off the zombie-obsessed culture we live in.

If you have any zombie ideas, or requests as to which poem I parody next, send a shout out, and I'll work on it. I'm also open to other ideas for Bad poetry.

Here is the first installment (inspired by "If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking"):

If I can't keep your heart from breaking,
I shall just eat your brain;
If it means my blood lust slaking,
or easing hunger pains,
or keep my rank-mouth slobberin'
upon your neck again,
You shall not die in vain.

Revision (If Anybody Cares)

Here is a newer version of the latest post. I'd really like more feedback. I can feel a gem here, but I'm still dissatisfied in general.

“Insights Coming from Observations While Focusing on a Pane of Glass at the Bus Stop”

(28 June 2011)

Shadows dance

across the glass,

intertwined

with the sun’s rays.

The panes reflect,

illuminate,

or sometimes distort the

images of passersby,

revealing reflections,

refractions,

interpretations of reality—

the bright

likeness

of a truck cruising

with more paint

and bling

and noise

than substance,

the darker slant of

a pony-tailed blonde,

hustling to class,

her teal shirt

attempting to mask

the worry

and doubt

seen only through the shadowy

reflection.

The breezes shift,

and the enhanced clarity

of the glass

captures her

exuberance

for life.

The shuttle pulls up

and blocks the play

of light

and dark,

freezing the moment,

eliminating

the shifting patterns of

shadow,

capturing a second

where the ever-

changing influences

of the winds

die.

This protected moment

shows the scene

for what it is—

no guesses,

no façade,

no deceit. But

when the respite passes,

when the bus pulls

away from the hard curb

of reality,

the endless possibilities

hidden in the

changing light

come alive.

Sometimes

nobody else notices

the flashes

of potential,

sometimes we try

to hide

in the inconsistent

comings and goings

in the breeze,

insecure

in the truth trapped in the

silence of the reflection;

although the stillness

is what

sets the truth

free.