Squealer

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

Squealer the Pig,

Was friends with Napoleon the Pig,

He was a good dancer,

And an excellent prancer,

Everyone listened to Squealer the Pig.

Napoleon the Pig

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

Napoleon the pig,

Wanted to wear the big white wig,

So he threw Snowball,

Over the big brown wall,

How very devious was Napoleon the pig.

Snowball the Pig

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

Snowball was a pig,

Who wore a big white wig,

Over the farm he presided,

All the choices, he decided,

How very smart was Snowball the pig.

MoMo

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

A girl who lived in Toronto

Had a brown dog named MoMo

His bite was worse than his bark,

His teeth left a mark,

The ferocious dog called MoMo.

Bunny the Frog

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

Bunny the Frog,

Got stuck in a bog,

He twisted and wriggled,

The mean things giggled,

How very angry was the Frog!

Dan the Pan-Man

Posted in Funny-Stuff, Limericks on January 26, 2009 by Shilpa

The Man got his head stuck in a pan,

Fast as a hare, away he ran,

People screamed at the sight of this weird Pan-Man,

Some realized, “Oh! It’s Dan!”

How very stupid was the Man in the Pan.

LOL, BRB, OMG

Posted in Poems on December 24, 2008 by Shilpa

I’ve never understood these short forms,

They were used left, right and center,

By my friends when they passed notes.

Until the day I started using Facebook,

It isn’t a book,

It’s a place for people to meet,

Socialize and greet.

Short forms everywhere,

Here and there.

They became the Language,

Of Teens everywhere.

LOL, OMG and BRB,

Teens became used to these,

They made mistakes in essays,

Teachers despaired; but what could they say?

Even now, despite warnings,

Teens are attached to that dreaded place,

Ruining their language and wasting their time.

But how can I blame anyone?

For I am a teen too.

Ms. Honey’s Aunt

Posted in Poems, Uncategorized on December 18, 2008 by Shilpa

Dedicated to Ms. Trunchbull, Ms Honey’s aunt from Matilda by Roald Dahl

I hate Her,

For her fat figure,

For her stupid comments,

And for her idiotic bonnets.

I hate her,

Because she’s made it clear,

That she hates me too.

I’m sick of all her do’s and don’ts

She makes me want to stamp,

And say “I won’t!”

She tries her best to make me cry,

There hasn’t been a day since August,

That my cheeks have been dry.

I go to sleep at when the world does,

With a sick feeling in my heart.

It’s me she beats,

I’m the one who weeps,

I’m powerless against her,

Somebody, kill her!

I know she killed dad,

She denys it because

It proves that she’s bad.

I found a house then,

I moved in, proudly and thankfully,

And now, she has no one to clean her den.

Then Matilda helped me,

She helped me scare Aunt,

Now she’s gone, and I’m free!

I Want To Run

Posted in Poems, School on September 25, 2008 by Shilpa

I want a holiday,

I don’t care if it isn’t May.

I’m sick of school,

All I do during classes

Is sit and drool.

I have a headache,

I can’t concentrate,

I want to run,

Run out of school;

Run into fresh air,

Out of the stuffy, classroom, that’s bare.

I want to kick back, relax,

Feel the sun on my face,

I’m sick of air-conditioning,

I’m tired of the fans turning,

I want some real, sweet-smelling wind.

I’m sick of Geography,

And Maths, History and Biology,

My head is full with English and Chemistry,

I want to empty my mind,

Empty it of knowledge that grinds.

I want to run,

Run towards freedom,

Run till I can’t anymore,

Run to the end of the world

Where it isn’t a bore,

Far, far away,

As far as possible,

From the dreaded building we call School!

Get Me Away!

Posted in Poems, School on September 8, 2008 by Shilpa

I hate my school,

It’s stinky and rotten,

I don’t fit in,

That’s the bottom truth.

I thought this school would be great,

The day came; I could hardly wait.

Then disappointment fell,

After three months,

I still had only one friend.

They don’t talk my language,

All they do is gossip and boys,

They’re “girly-girls”,

Not like me; not at all.

In my old school we’d toss a ball,

During break, in the hall.

Here if I mention it,

They stare at me and giggle,

And say “Dude! We’ll get sweaty!”

I hate all who brought me here,

I feel like a bound and trapped deer;

I have no escape route,

This madness is enough to make one shout,

And scream and tear, at their hair,

“Get me away from this stinking place!”