Schillers Schädel


Upon returning from Deutsch class,

Where we spoke of Sturm und Drang,

I reminisce about Schiller’s scull in glass

and think it rather wrong.

 

Maybe it’s just komisch

your best friend stealing your noodle

somehow it makes sense, I wish

a really great poem he did doodle

 

Schiller and Goethe, the poets

quite a pair were they!

and even after death we know it,

“Schiller’s” head was on display!

 

The inspiration knew no bound’ries,

words flowed without a hitch,

like blacksmiths in metal foundries

he truly found his niche

 

Know nature, life, and death alike

looking in his hollowed out eyes

you never know! Inspiration may strike

inspired, like lightening, o’re the skies.

 

Lindsey LaBrie

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IF you don’t know:

Schillers Schädel–Schiller’s skull–which Goethe (secretly) had people steal 25 or so years after Schiller died, which he kept and displayed in his quarters…talk about friendship! It turns out it wasn’t even his skull! Was ein Pech!! (How’s that for luck??)

Sturm und Drang–in a very, very brief nutshell: a literary epoch in Germany that emphasised that humanity rivalled the gods; feelings were felt, and actions were taken based upon those feelings; you should break the rules! Goethe and Schiller (as young 20-somethings) were a part of this movement!

komisch–Strange, weird, out of place

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The Blackness


Lungs pushed until even breathing is too hard, my mind reels. But that’s normal.

The blackness swirls in my thoughts and consumes everything, until I give in to the feeling of loss that I’ve earned. I deserve it, I think.

It’s a square room of dread where I can’t see around or under anything, the walls are dark and foreboding.

It’s a black whirlpool, one where swimming is impossible–I’m sucked down, down, down, into its unforgiving depths

It makes my heart fill with a weight so heavy, I think I’ll sink.

Continue reading

Mario Poem!


As promised, I am writing a poem about the Mario games! (On Super Nintendo) 

 

Mario 3, World 3-2

Mario, oh Mario,

why must you die?

I’ve been playing this level for hours,

can you not see that I try?

 

No longer can I suffer,

or I will die myself

if you cannot get through this,

I’ll put you back on the shelf.

 

I realize it’s mostly my fault,

Since I have the control,

but if I were you, my tiny red man

I’d be on a roll.

 

Dashing through the levels,

passing all the goombas too,

the coopas, the ghosts

and bowser, especially you.

 

Finally I’ve passed this level 

with one single life to spare

but what do you know, Mario,

you’ve died and I’ve  pulled out my hair.

 

I’m turning you off,

and going to bed,

so deal with it Mario,

to spare the hair on my head.

 

–Lindsey LaBrie

Dreams… Crushed (Well Sorta)


A long time ago I was searching for a weekly poem. I stumbled upon a site called poem.com and I saw that they were having a poetry contest. “Why not?” I had thought and posted “The Seed”. (See my weekly poems category and look up The Seed) So yesterday, I asked mom if I got any mail. Guess who it was from? Poem.com telling me that I was one of their finalists and that I get my poem published in a real book. A real book that real people would read. I also have a chance to win “one of many prizes”. So I looked this sight up on google to see if it was a reliable and legit competition that I had won. It turns out that practically everyone who enters a poem gets sent a letter like I did. So guess what? I’m pretty sure it’s fake. So thanks for ruining my dreams of getting my poems published in a real book Poem.com. You guys suck. I’m sending in the form anyway, there’s just no money. You guts don’t get my money. I fricken gave you my poem for free! When “Stars of our Hearts” is published, I’m going to march into Barnes and Noble and see for myself if I was scammed or not. So in March, we’ll see. We’ll all see.

From the annoyed constructor of this sight,
LinLaB7 :/

T’was the Day Before Christmas…


T’was the day before Christmas

and all through the store,

all associates were busy

we could find no more.

Tho our patience was lingering,

we waited and stared

and waited and waited until

one was prepared.

An associate looked at us

and said with a frown,

“I’m sorry, but everyone is

busy in town.”

We sat down and smiled,

although we were through

with waiting for someone to say,

“I’ll come help you.”

In Customer Service, it was no better,

for the lines were so long,

you could sing a whole song

before you checked out a sweater.

Onward we trekked

through the cram-packed store,

until finally

the lines were no more.

We got to the checkout,

“At last!” I had said,

but just to our luck,

the Cashier was dead. Continue reading