skabby poets

So, just one more little post, and then I'm out of here. It's so much nicer playing around with writing for a little bit after school rather than burying myself under piles of papers needing to be graded.

Andrew thinks he's pretty clever, and he is. I love his silly pictures. Of late, he's morphed into a rhyming machine. He sent Nat and me the following poem March 10:

I heard that God gave one sisters,

instead of big blisters,

so that one could grow strong,

knowing you're always wrong.

I know that God gave me sisters,

instead of fat misters,

so I could have angels around,

when I go into the ground.

I received this poem and couldn't believe that he'd written it. I actually googled it to see if he'd snagged it from somewhere. I told him later what I'd done, and he couldn't believe me. I think it added just a few pounds to his big head that I actually entered it into a search engine. Then just yesterday, he sent this one:

My sisters, from a father so frugal,
Get great deals on odds and ends,
knowing the market and its bends

They know how to use google,
just to check my poem's merits,
and to find a great sale on carrots.


I have no clue what carrots he's talking about, but it still made my day happy. I hit "reply all" and sent back the following.

My sibs,
The coolest in the crib,
From the days we sported bibs,
To the day I broke my rib,
Have always been good at ad lib.

I fear I'm not quite their match.
I can cook cookies in batches.
Heck, I can even play catch.
But my tongue is in latches
And in all sorts of rough patches

When put on the spot to rhyme.
Oh blime

y.
See.


And thus ends my story of Skabby poets (at least for today).