So today I was sorting out all my worldly possessions, at least I was supposed to be…
Then I found my little tub of air dry clay, and, well, now I have a little roughly-put-together cat.
After all, those are my favourite types of cats.
What do you think, should I paint him to make a realistic cat or leave as is?
I’m a sister to the spring
In a town where the sun always shines
At night the dark clouds gather
And we’ll never see the stars.
Herein is a poem that I wrote as Augustus The Fish, go check it out! Keep in mind that it’s Augustus’s very first poem, so he probably needs a lot of encouragement! 😂
For any that don’t know, Augustus is my alter ego. I write as Augustus The Fish on the blog What a Fish Thinks for my job at the Age of Fishes Museum. Augustus is a cantankerous fish who is secretly lovely underneath it all, and who cares a lot about how humans treat fish. He would love your support!
I have never written a poem before. Cecily, unfortunately, has written thousands, and has been pestering me to let her post one. I refused. Instead I decided to write my own poem, which adheres to …
Source: Augustus Writes a Poem!
My mum was struck by lightning but I was never scared of storms,
Although everybody seems to love the breeze that summer warms.
I always had a dream, that I would learn to fly,
With thunder above my shoulder and lightning in the sky.
I beg the storm to take me up into the gold and grey,
The wind sings to me so sweetly, till I start to turn away.
I shall walk home through the olive groves and weep, for I’m down here,
While above thunder and lightning dance, there’s not a chance that they can hear.
Fun fact: my mum really was struck by lightning! Indirectly of course, which is why she survived, with a pretty cool story!
Also, summer or winter? In this poem I seem to be leaning towards winter but in actuality I love summer best. Which are you?
He heaved his suitcase to the floor,
Packed it and was out the door.
He fed the dog, let out the cat,
And he was gone, just like that.
A rover now, stay-at-home no more,
To a mountain or some forgotten shore.
Seeking, exploring, see what he’ll find,
Sleep out of doors, or not, he doesn’t mind.
The dog followed 100 yards down the track,
Then sat down and wandered back.
If 100 years turned him like a cog,
This was the last time he’d see that dog.
Sorry for the slightly dismal ending, I’m not sure why he didn’t take his dog. But if you like you can imagine that,
He whistled just to see if he’d come,
On this journey he’d just begun.
And the dog came running, gleeful barks,
Now they’re off, on glorious larks!