Chapter 4

Dear

Nickolas

The

Ridiculous

OH!!! GREAT FOR YOU!!! I’m so happy for you!

Are you saying Homeschooler’s aren’t socialized? How dare you ! - just kidding- Homeschooler’s are socialized when they want to! Jeez! Good grief! The things people think about Homeschooler’s now a days!

YEEEECKKKSS!!! I’M GOING TO BE FOURTEEN IN A MONTH!!! AHHHHHHHHHH

AWWW your so sweet! You’re going to be a good friend too!

Alright, so this is some old stuff I posted, but for some reason, I deleted it.  Don't ask me why; I think that was back when I thought it was ridiculous.  Anyway, I'm posting it again, and here it is.

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Play me a song

On your shy violin

Tuck her in gently

Under your chin

Tickle her softly

With the bows string

Let me hear her laugh

As you help her to sing

Lend her a voice

With your firm fingertips

Let your bow kiss

Her beautiful lips

Oh! The songs she will sing

And the tunes she will spin

Hey APers!

I've just started a blog titled "The Story Club" (inspired by Anne of Green Gables...I'm open to suggestions for a different name, though). It's meant to be a place of encouragement, advice, and inspiration to teen writers. I'll be interviewing people (hopefully incuding a couple of "real" authors!), posting tips, ideas, helpful websites etc. and reviewing/promoting/generally talking about other people's works. It's going to focus on fiction and poetry and guess where I'm hoping to get some material from?

~This could easily slip into my nonsense poems, but I though I'd post it separately.~

I look at me and see
the nonsensibility of complaining.
I remind me of a bird
that scolds spring for damaging winter.
“You break it, you buy it,” I shrill,
ruffling my wings.
“Ridiculous,” spring replies.
“The world looks better my way.”

{written after studying Psalm 81}

We shall all fall.

We are all to die, because of our treason.
I look about me. They are all placid; they do not understand.
I shake one, then another.

“Do you not understand?” I cry. “I am doomed! You are doomed! We shall all die! We must get out, get free, get forgiveness!”

Raindrops in my hair;

Cold stillness in the air.

The bugle notes pierce

Our hearts; beating fierce.

People; faces; words;

Distant; like southern birds.

Smiling to hide the fear;

Not meeting eyes clear.

Raindrops in my hair;

Blue balloons the wind bear.

The string slides though my hand

Rising high above the land.