That's Right, I'm A Writer

So I'm in my Literature class today, and we're learning about modernism. Nothing much sticks out to me, but I learn it anyway, and soon enough my teacher has us doing some writing tasks. The first one is that we had to read a book or document, take five or six lines and turn it into a bit of a poem.

I'm currently reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac, so I took some lines from that and created this little number,

It was a war with social overtones,
He put an ordinary fan in a window frame,
Then it finally happened,
We got to the house where the waitress sisters lived,
It was a wonderful night.

Not too shabby if I don't say so myself. The other writing task was to take an object and write a few lines about it. I took a black coffee mug, and I ended up with some badly written haiku.

Made of cold clay,
Smooth and curved,
Dark as the night,
Easily breakable.

I thought it was a bit crap, but two women in my class (we'll call them Delia and Meg) thought it was really good. Surprised I was. Delia had been praising me for some of the things I'd brought up in class discussions, so I guess she was on a role. Also, Delia and Meg do a bit of poetry, so I guess they know the good stuff when they hear it.

That's all for now good bloggers. Peace.