Poems that Don't Rhyme

I cooked vegan eggplant parmesean which was delicious.







Here is a picture of Payton eating vegan pancakes. Yum.




I'm greatly bothered by the turantulas running across the banner ad at the top of my screen.

I decided that if I were Pochantas I wouldn't have left the teepee this week. My heater is barely managing these cold nights. It's made my morning workouts a challenge.

Last night Chloe gave me a popsicle stick with one google eye glued to the top. I asked her "What is this?" She said it was baby jesus' eye. "Where is the other eye?" "He lost it." "We should find it then!" I said. And she replied, "No, he didn't like it so he rubbed it off." I'm tempted to see if this is in the New Testament somewhere as a show of how Jesus is capable of seeing without sight.

In the car this morning Payton said "I know how to tell good poetry from bad poetry." I was intrigued. "How's that?" "Good poetry doesn't rhyme." I remember learning that in school too. So in honor of that rule that teachers try to convince us of, I am posting a good rhyming poem to prove them wrong:

..>..>..>..>..>..> ..> ..>..>..>..>..>..>..>
SONNET 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

And that would be pronounced "loouved".

So it's been determined by a group of my closest friends that I am emotionally unavailable. I avoid attachment and I'm easily smothered. This bothers me, and Rachel Angel says "of course it bothers you, because it's the truth and the truth is hard to hear." Then she tells me whenever we have a deep conversation I won't talk to her for two days afterward. I'm not sure how that fits in with vegan parmesean and poems that don't rhyme, but this is my blog and I'm letting it flow.

Oh and btw, if you are contemplating buying "The Secret" (a book about the law of attraction) take my advice and don't do it. You can have my audiobook copy. It's awful. And the author reads it as if she were Chef Tony trying to sell Nylon Kitchen Lids.

BTW, if myspace could add one thing for me it would be the ability to save a blog as a draft. Please see to it Tom. Thanks.