allow melly to blog for a while before she goes off to tackle the last chapter of econs and marketing.
melly came home an extremely tried girl. she was supposed to study with xinling after school, but her desire to sleep got the better of her. and so, she went off for a nice lunch with mummy and matilda before she came home and slept like a log. a dead log. she slept through half an hour's worth of alarms. HAHAHAHAHAHA and she is supposed to be a light sleeper.
oh well, and so after announcing to the whole world what a pig she has been and what an unproductive day it has been so far, she wants to whine. simply because she misses jo, ty, cy, dia, sb, teo and gy. they need a sleepover soon. its wayy overdue with all the mugging.
she knows she ought to go off now and mug. but she absolutely refuses to do so. and she is worried that she is not anxious (gan-chiong as she always tells her mum in cantonese) about the exams yet. isnt that ironic?
i like the poem we did in school today.
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
-death of a naturalist, seamus heaney
nice and vivid imagery there. powerful too.=)
i had a hard time analysing this poem initially cause i did not think it made sense. haha but as i did the analysis, i started to like it more and more, rather, it started to make sense to me. haha isnt it absolutely beautiful??
