Good Lady of Mine

I love you so much, good lady of mine,

Come now, join me at our bed,

Pray, come with me, cross that silver line.

 

Oh how it thrills me to watch you dine,

It is my growing lust that you have now fed,

I love you so much, good lady of mine.

 

My love, it wraps my heart like twine,

But ware! You are fast beginning to tread,

The treacherous nature of that dangerous line.

 

I guess, as a woman, you really are fine,

To mere shallow attraction, I am now being led,

I love you so much, good lady of mine.

 

With a closer look, you are losing your shine,

I start to see you in a rich ruby red,

I stand, yet again, at the edge of that final line.

 

This time you will not rest under oak, but pine,

And like all the lovers, all surely dead,

I love you so much, good lady of mine,

But like all the others, you sadly crossed the line.

 

wrote this villanelle for an assignment awhile ago. It’s about serial killers.

Yang Shen-10F

Three Problems Associated With Working at a Fast Food Restaurant

When the summer holidays began at the end of last year, I decided I wouldn’t sit on my ass for six weeks straight as I usually do, and got a job at a KFC restaurant. For almost five months, I was truly one with the chicken, but at some point a few weeks ago I realised I simply couldn’t be bothered working, sent in my two-week notice of resignation, and returned to my lazy ways.  I bade farewell to my co-workers and, with Golden Gaytime Krusher TM and Popcorn Chicken SnackboxTM in hand, I ambled my way out of the store for the last time. For those of you who are considering getting a job at such a place, here’s some cautionary advice, for not everything at KFC is delicious…

The Accents

Here’s an example of a conversation one will experience at least once while working at the front:

Me: Hi! Welcome to KFC. What can I get you?

Fellow of South-Western Asian descent: ultimootbugameelwitcolslowinsteadofpotatoogrovy

Me: Uh… what was that?

Fellow of South-Western Asian descent: ultimootbugameelwitcolslowinsteadofpotatoogrovy

Me: Uh… say again?

Fellow of South-Western Asian descent: Ultimootbugameelwitcolslowinsteadofpotatoogrovy!!

Me: OK… I’ll just get my manager…

Manager: Hi! Welcome to KFC. What can I get you?

Not being racist or anything (I’m totally being racist) but I have had customers that make Apu from The Simpsons seem as eloquent as The Queen of England. Be prepared for some tricky Asian and European accents, or you will be left dumbstruck with a frustrated customer.

The Dumpster

Changing bins isn’t so bad, right? You take out and tie up the plastic bag in use, replace it with a new one and chuck it in the dumpster at the back. However, the seconds spent in the general vicinity of this dumpster are the most putrid  and nose-torturing seconds of one’s life. At the bottom of this dumpster is a formless and hideous sludge, one that cannot be cleaned, for no one dares to try. If you wish to return to the restaurant with your senses intact, you must hold your breath and get rid of that plastic bag in as little time as humanely possible.

The Music

While the dumpster may scar ones sense of smell, nothing can compare to the curse that KFC will wreak upon your eardrums. To keep up a “pleasant” atmosphere, the songs that are ‘super hot on the charts’ are played, and after many repeat-listenings, it can lead one into a state of utter despair. All those hours spent building up a fine taste in music; a repertoire consisting of GOOD musicians such as (INSERT FAVOURITE BANDS HERE), can feel like they are for naught, for the dreadful blight that is mainstream pop pulverises all the Eudaimonia once possessed due to enjoyable music. This playlist of songs is comprised of mostly computerised, sexualised and poorly-grammaticised drivel, with very few exceptions. It is, in this not-very-humble writer’s opinion, the worst part of working at a fast-food restaurant. Of course if you listen to mainstream pop music, it wouldn’t bother you so much, but then again; why would you be reading this?

Continue reading Three Problems Associated With Working at a Fast Food Restaurant

Suspicion

Me meeting you was surely propitious.

At first sight, my heart is desire-stricken

Your perfection is kind of suspicious

 

When I near, you seem to beckon, surreptitious,

Your overpowering presence forces my heart to quicken,

Me meeting you was surely propitious.

 

You aren’t prone, like some, to being capricious,

Before, meeting you was just pointless ambition,

You being here is kind of suspicious.

 

When you’re in here, I find it’s auspicious

That the mercury on those thermometers thicken,

Me meeting you was surely propitious.

 

Your succulent flesh would surely be delicious

I want to devour you, irresistible chicken

I don’t believe that would be at all suspicious

 

But although, for sure, you are very nutritious

Eating you has caused me to sicken

Me meeting you was surely propitious.

But, I guess now, it’s slightly suspicious

 

Some villanelle I wrote. It’s about chickens.

-Kevin Tang 10F

If The World Was Up To You

If The World Was Up To You

If the world was a blank canvas

And you were its artist

Whatever would you do

If the world was up to you?

 

Would the sky be a watermelon pink

And streaked with golden rainbows?

Would the air smell like peppermint

Or maybe a cup of cocoa?

 

Would the rivers flow with laughter?

Would trees talk and drink champagne?

Would angels chase after

The pitter-patter of the rain?

 

Will the mountains be like fountains

Of overflowing music?

Would flowers look like painted porcelain

Or paper with acrylic?

 

By Ryan Teo 10M

 

The man from Brazil

A silly piece of poetry I did a while back. It’s alright, nothing super. Give it a read?

 

There was a man from Brazil

Who went to a country called Glenville

He lived in this nice big flat

Which he bought at the drop of a hat!

He woke up each day

And ate at a buffet

Dancing up and down

He then complained with a frown

He exclaimed in fright

For what he saw felt like a bite

His things had been taken

As well as all his bacon

His abode had been ransacked

But he tried to look at it abstract

They were missing, his watch and his phone

He would now need to get a loan

There was a man from Brazil

Who fled from a country called Glenville

Now, all his friends gape

As he tells all, of his narrow escape

The wind blows,…

The wind blows, the tides shift

I sit on the sea shore, watching the waves

Above me sits a chalk faced cliff

Its shape and form change every day

The air is fresh, I breathe it in

Face to the sky, the stars like gods

Movement of hands, touching sand to skin

This beach, on this night, has no flaws

Such a perfect view, of the ocean when standing

Preoccupations take no hold, in this moment

The water seems so commanding

The urge to be in its engrossment

A final look at the infinite darkness

Then a calm stroll towards the brightness

 

 

The Official blog for Melbourne High Writing Interest Group (WIG)

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