Before you read the movie review, I want you to know a little bit more about who I am. My name is not member. That is just my username because I am a member of a this club. But I would like to go by Portia. I picked this name not because It sounded pretty, but because Shakespeareused it to mean clever. Personally, I have never read a Shakespeare book, so this character might by an antagonist, which I would not be in a book. Just wanted to let you know.
So the new movie Hop just came out and I saw it last night. It was good, i really liked it. It was kind of predictable, though. It was about a 30-year-old named Fred O'Hare who is living in his parent house, jobless. His parents kick him out, and he promises his sister, Amanda, that he will get a job by Easter. Now lets jump to E. B. (played by Russell Brand) He is a bunny, and his father is the Easter bunny. In a week or so, he will be crowned easter bunny. But he doesn't want that, so he runs away to Hollywood. There he meet Fred.
Thats where the story starts. If you want to know what happens next go watch it!
Hey guys! This is Lily Bennet. This my first post on our awesome blog. It is a poem I wrote just a few minutes ago about how we really don't know anyone except ourselves. All we see of other people is the outside- the shell. I think that a big part of life is the people you spend it with, but it is hard to find the people you want to spend life with, and the people who can make your life happy, if all you can see is a shell. So, here is the poem-Down the Wishing Well:
What do I know of the world? I know its places well, but when it comes to the world's people, what do we know but a shell?
Life is just us, searching for ourselves, and searching through everyone else- trying to find someone who fits, but who can we find if all we see is a shell?
I know myself. I've spent so much time in my own mind, but what other mind do I really truly know? We don't really know anyone else very well.
In life we build our own path. We lay it down brick by yellow brick with hands raw from work. At some point the work begins to make us fall, we search for someone to catch us, before we destroy it all.
They say you hear a bell, quiet but clear, feel a single tear, as you spiral down the wishing well. No more wishes, just a life of looking at the happy days, reflected in a mirror facing our past.
All this happens when you begin your descent down the wishing well, and all you have to catch you is a shell.
Soooooo, as you all know today was CW day! Woohoo! I have officially reserved Thursdays for this blog and Tuesdays for my other totally awesome blog here. You should read it. RIGHT NOW! Wait, no! Read my fantastical post (which is also on figment here), then read my other blog. Yeah! Then follow it! Well, now I'm going to dampen the mood. ooh.... I realize that both of my posts have been the ones to do that.... I'm taking a risk here and posting something, well, real. raw. pure. Its not fiction, and I hope people will get something out of this somehow. Nothing in this poem is made up, but you'd never know who, because its not the real him, but the fantasy of him. But he is real, he's just not mine.
A night under the moon
I often have imaginary conversations
with you.
I ask you questions in my mind
and answer them in your voice
and imagine your expressions when you reply.
I pretend you are thinking of me,
and pretend these conversations are real.
I pretend you think of me,
and I think of you,
so somehow our minds merge.
I sit on the edge of my bed
the moonlight washing over me
in thick stripes
because I left the blinds open.
I imagine the weight of your arm on my shoulders
and clasp and unclasp my hands
as if one of them is yours.
I play out scenarios
in my mind
about something you would say
to me
and something I would say back
that would make you realize how I
felt about you.
I pretend you whisk me across
the room,
My Body's A Zombie For You
sung by Ryan Gosling,
even though I know
you would never listen to it.
I've seen you in dreams.
You've picked me up
and ran me across
Disney world
and I wore a yellow dress.
You've kissed my cheek.
You've sat down next to me at lunch.
But, really this never happened
past the walls
of my unconsciousness on
a night under the moon.
Then I wake up
and remember reality,
all I do is pretend,
and I know that I am just another girl
that temporarily fell into your eyes.
I know that I was the one that tripped
and waited for you
to help me out
or maybe pull me in deeper
and you could have fallen into mine.
I don't know if you know the poem "Sick" by Shel Silverstein. It was always my favorite poem when I was a little kid. I was always upset because my family owns almost every Shel Silverstein book, except "Where the Sidewalk Ends". This was no doubt the best book and had inside it, my beloved "Sick". It was about a girl named Peggy Ann McKay. She couldn't go to school because she had a whole asssortment of ailments. "She had measles and the mumps, a gash, a rash, and purple bumps." In the end of this poem, Peggy finds out it's Saturday and decides to go outside and play. I am one of the few children in this world who has never faked being sick. I might have over-dramatized my sickness at some points (I'm a naturally dramatic person), but I've never faked. I am indeed sick today. I have some sort of bug that will be gone tomorrow. In fact, I'm already feeling better, but I do not like missing school. I wrote my own little poem in honor of "Sick". If you have not read "Sick" I suggest you do. i've even attached a link for it. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sick-20/ This is a little pastiche of it.
I have to make more of an effort, said little Catherine Christine Leffert. I have two quizzes, and a game, A test, a quest, it's not the same. My project's not done, my paper's due, I have so much to get through. I think I threw my notes away, My school is 20 minutes away. Oh, there's traffic, that's 25. Don't we go on I-35? The sub is gone, my teacher's back. I think I'm having a panic attack! My book, my pen, my key, my phone. I think I left it all at home! My desk broke when I moved my chair, I'm sure my homework has a tear. My pencil snapped, my eraser's gone, I lost my lunch money on the lawn.
My paper's ripped, my tape's not here,
Even my glue has disappeared.
My locker's full, my laptop fell,
My library book is in a well.
My math exam is up next class,
I got in trouble for using sass.
My binder's bent, my shoes aren't tied,
I got a D, if I must confide.
My art is bad, I just might fail,
My picture's a dog, not a whale!
My class is hard, and my speech is- What?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is... Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!
I hope you enjoyed the poem. It took about 30 minutes so I hope you like it.
