A is for death and pumpkins

So I'm back in Ottawa for a few days. I've been looking through my box of letters and other memoriabilia. There's almost nothing in there past 1997. I blame the internet. It's interesting what I have in there and what I see there looking back on some of the stuff now. For instance, I have a surprisingly large number of letters from Sonia, for those who might remember. I thought nothing of it at the time, but there must have been something going on there, given the dozens of long, decorated notes I still have. Or it just may be some wierd freak archiving accident.

More amusingly, of course, is the poetry. I found some gems I think may need to be immortalized by the internet. Names will not be included here to protect the guilty.

For instance, I have the near original copy of "The Library Song" [NB: Not written by me]. How glad I am that we lived in a pre-columbine world!

When I'm feeling down and blue,
There's only one thing left to do.
Library, Library.

Lots of fun and thing there to do
Books and maps and folders too.
Library, Library.

Put a gun to the librarian's head
Shot my gun and now he's dead.
Library, Library.

Set fire to the shelves,
Go the the basement and hang myself.
Library, Library.

There are lots of things I like to do, When I'm feeling down and blue.

When I'm feeling down and blue,
There only one thing left to do.
Bowling, Bowling.

Lots of fun things there to do
Pins and [unclear] and even strikes too
Bowling, Bowling.

Throw the ball at opponent's head
Lots of blood, I think he's dead.
Bowling, Bowling.

Run from the alley in insane glee
OD on drugs, I'll cease to be
Bowling, Bowling.

These are the things I like to do, when I'm feeling down and blue.

When I'm feeling down and blue
There's only one thing left to do.
French Class, French Class.

Lots of things there to do
Work and [unclear] and dialogues too.
French Class, French Class.

Swinging lead pipes to the teacher's head
A squashed melon be his head
French class, French Class.

Run to the roof and off I'll go
Where he lands no one knows
French class, French Class.

These are things I love to do, when I'm feeling down, and blue.

The creativity of teenage boys is astounding, isn't it. To be fair to the true author of the previous opus, I will not print that treatise written concerning multiple arm breakages entitled "Oops, Not again!" I will print however a short work called "ALOHA" by another author:

A is for death and pumpkins
L is for fish and Ad Williams
O is for crazy cow sickles
H is for jumping over hockey stick
A is for aloha.

I'll admit that some of the allusions in the previous poem pass right over my head. It's maybe a bit deep.

To be fair, I will also transcribe a couple of embarrassing works that I actually wrote myself. I don't know what the title is of the first one, but the notation suggests the key of 'C':

In the moonlight, I get up
Sleeping all day
Not gonna get too much sleep again

It's 7 o clock
I take the bus
I'm gonna go down and see my baby again.

The next is called "One Short Sentence" and the tragedy of this one is that I have no memory of who I wrote it for.

When you smile your eyes light up like parasols on a tropical beach somewhere
and you have to bow your head slightly to the side
slightly shyly
slightly scared at being happy
But the movement makes a strand of your hair fall to cover your face
And you then look up at me and my insides turn to chocolate pudding and my knees
feel like water and my hearts starts to beat so fast I think it's gonna burst

I really think that they need to do something about teenagers these days.