Old News is Also Some News

Hello Readers

Happy silent days, only because my campus is so quiet. I have to make sure I get to my dorm by 8:30pm so that I do not become a witness to a bunny being ripped apart by a deer or a wild goose. That will not be the topic for discussion.

Did you know I had another blog on wordpress? Well I left it, like, we broke up because I created it in my junior year and I feel like that's the best excuse I can come up with right now. I have some really corny poems over there, how embarrassing. But I also have some great quotes from authors and other lovely things I want to share:


"The original oppression of Woman was based on crude denigration. She caused Man to fall, so she became a scapegoat. No, not a scapegoat which might be blameless but a culprit richly deserving of whatever suffering Man chose thereafter to heap on her. That is Woman in the Book of Genesis. Out here, our ancestors, without the benefit of hearing about the Old Testament, made the very same story differing only in local color. At first the Sky was very close to the Earth. But every evening Woman cut off a piece of the Sky to put in her soup pot, or in another version, she repeatedly banged the top end of her pestle carelessly against the Sky whenever she pounded millet or, as in yet another rendering – so prodigious is Man’s inventiveness, she wiped her kitchen hands in the Sky’s face. Whatever the detail of Woman’s provocation, the Sky moved away in anger, and God with it." Chinua Achebe


I remember liking this poem because of the word tintinnabulation!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

-By Edgar Allen Poe



I can't stop laughing at this one. I wrote it when I was 12. Fresh of the airplane. I blame my librarian for sparking the muse of poetry. 

These books are crying for you,
As you cry for food.
They are of many kinds of mysteries
Than you can think of its history

While you search for a book to take
The others yell ” have me for thy sake”
For if they are really what are wanted
Then that is what you have decided

A kingdom full of wonderful stories
Makes you feel peaceful and takes you out of your worries
Having to let these books enlighten you
One must have the title that says “I’ll do”