International Baccalaureate, affectionately know as IB, is sort of like a world-wide AP program. It entails a lot of work. Feeling inspired by the warm feeling IB gives me, I wrote some poetry. Please pardon the double spacing, but I'm still trying to get the hang of all this.
Ignorance is bliss
The Masses have said
for, oh, uncountable years.
But Plato reckons
that pleasure belongs
to the knowledge knowers and seers.
Either way I'm screwed
And well I know
for I'm neither here nor there
Which is why, dear friends
I've a bump on my head,
And I may be missing some hair.
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O' Bury Me On The Wide IB
said at the door to Ab. Spanish)
Dedicated to Sr. Householder
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O' bury me, folks, on the wide IB,
That lonesome, wind-torn plain,
Where the jackals and wolves howl in gay melee,
And fruit goes against the grain.
O' bury me when I've breathed my last
And whispered a final, desperate prayer.
For I've let the Spanish project slip on past
And Heaven knows I'm not going in there!
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O' The Lamentable Folly Of Youth
Dedicated to my classmates
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O ye children, gather fruits in May,
Wait not for December to do your picking
For only hollies will you find and they're poisonous)
Ah! Don't you hear the clock ticking?
It ticks to the cracking of these old bones
So it does, and what is more,
Procrastinating leaves you hungry in winter,
With no memories to feast upon in store.
Ay, yet doth youth like a dial hand steal cross the face
and suddenly you're missing your teeth.
So climp up and up and ever up,
And children, don't look at what's beneath.
I may be poor, with a rotten pension
And great grandkids up to no good,
But atleast I can say with some amount of pride
I was infamous 'round this 'hood!
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To Those Who Would Copy My Brilliance
Dear Reader, if you are pinched for time
To badsky for you, go away!!
Poems are children, to the root of the word
And Mama don't 'llow that kind of play!
I don't really care if your English or Lit
Has you spinning around in a tiz,
This poetry's mine, for you to enjoy!
But to profit? No! Leave it as is!
