<grumble> In the FotCR (Feast of the Cash Register - thank you, Blue Witch : ) I find my shopping centre swarming with mutoids (<g> thanks, Joules) tottering under their loads of plastic bags. (Plastic bags. Come on, people, it's not like there isn't a source of readily available reusable alternatives in every other shop if you haven't the wits to bring your own.) It's very annoying - but it'll be over soon.

A cub needed an alternate word so he headed straight for the Thesaurus without prompting... So proud. <g> And he's recently been browsing through the dictionary, just because.

Despite having read some amazing poetry over the years, pieces that have moved and/or inspired me (notably, Joules' [damn your eyes!] Pavane for Panthers, in the poetry section on her site) I've never thought much about making my own attempts. This is partly because what's sublime for one person is another's pretentious twaddle and I'm not convinced my efforts won't land squarely in the latter. Plus, I don't understand poetry, not really, and understanding something goes a long way to making a successful attempt. I get haikus, and I've written a few that could be interpreted as mildly clever, but there's not many of the other forms I can get to grips with. The cubs learnt about Acrostic poems this year and they look like fun. That's when you start each line using a letter of the poem's 'word'.
An example:

Sex god of Slytherin,
Never nice.
Albus trusted him, but did he
Pay the price?
Evil or not?

<g> Give me a break, that took me all of five minutes! But you get the idea.
I did play about with poetry when I was in high school, but never in anything approaching a serious manner.

The Saga of the Little White Dog.

Once upon a time,
just the other day,
a little white dog
went out in the fields to play.

He romped and he scampered
amongst the long tall grass,
until a farmer thought he was a snake
and shot him up the arse.

Boom boom. : )
Or this one that I never got 'round to finishing:

Ode to a pickled onion.

Oh, you round smooth globe,
so tart and full of life...

Yes, I was taking the mick and going by the 'style', this was penned about the time we were studying the English Romantics; Keats, Shelley - that lot. ("There's nothing romantic about swanning around Italy in a big shirt trying to get laid!" Black Adder: season 3, Ink and Incapability. <giggling> So funny! Where was I...? There was a point to this. Ah yes...)
So, poetry. I saw a book yesterday that could be useful in my quest to master different forms of literary expression. Stephen Fry's The Ode less traveled: Unlocking the poet within. I like his work and just reading the blurbs had me snickering out loud in the shop. Can't afford it right now but I'll keep an eye open for when it's on special. (There's no point getting it from the library cos it looks like a keeper and there's nothing more frustrating than wanting to keep a library book. : ) And who knows, one day I may inflict my musings on the world and they won't look like they've been written by an unhappy adolescent. <smirk>

And finally - just checking... Hah!

Which Hogwarts house will you be sorted into?

[edit: I've just noticed it says 'harkworking. Must've been written by a Gryffindor... <snerk>]