Wordsmithing: I might be 2,940 to him but he is first to me

Sunday, 24 January 2010

I might be 2,940 to him but he is first to me

Slightly side tracked from my work, I accidently logged into my Twitter account.
OMG!
I found my ninety-first follower.
I clicked to see who was selling me something I didn't want
and guess what?
You never will, so I'll tell you -
it was like this -
(oops - I've already done that part) -
my ninety-one is number one...
my first ever Poet Laureate!
No?
Yes!
No, friggin' way!
Yes, friggin' way!
I've got my very own Poet Laureate on the line,
well, page.
See, I'm not greedy, other people might want a brace
of Poets Laureate to chase
And now I've thought of it
stalking Poets with the monicer Laureate is apppealing
but that will have to wait
'cos I'm a bit psyched:
I might be 2,900 and-what-ever to him
but, he's number one to me!
Drop by any time you like
I'm cool
No gushing here.
Just me
and little poetry.

LARRY JAFFE - POET LAUREATE
YOUTH FOR HUMAN RIGHTS
International Reader for the UNs Dialogue between Citizens etc
can pop by for poetry, or tea, any time he likes!

3 comments:

Jemi Fraser24 January 2010 at 21:15
LOL! I bet he'd get a kick out of this blog post :)

Congrats!!
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Unknown25 January 2010 at 01:35
Thanks Jemi
I've had a lot of fun out of finding him there I can tell you!
Free-form poetry and me... like that ><
:)
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Jaffe Jamz3 February 2010 at 02:13
Hello Elaine, it is a pleasure to meet you... I will take a glass of poetry and a side order of verse.
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RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

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Sunday, 24 January 2010

I might be 2,940 to him but he is first to me

3 comments: