London Fireworks on New Year's Day 2009 - New Year Live - BBC One


The autumn trees sway
Golden orange yellow brown
The beauty of death

Robyn xxx

The Secret Ninja Sent To Kill Our Beauty

I was looking at the Sunday Times magazine, which has a picture of Kate Hudson on the front of it. Now normally, i would have been tinged with green at the sight of the model-turned actress, but not today. 

On first view, the picture is quite typical: lots of make up and lots of airbrushing which make her look ten years younger and ten times better. But on closer inspection, i noticed that you could see all the creases in her face where the make up and had sort of....gone weird. Her lips looked like they belonged on a 70 year old with small creases  all along her top lip, and an odd unnatural shine ran across her forehead, revealing many makeup-clogged pores.

Could it be that the very thing that is supposed to make her more beautiful, is actually taking it all away? Could the same be said for all of us? Have we been warped by society to believe that we need make up to be considered beautiful, and yet we all know that it can have disasterous effects on our skin!

Let us all take a moment and think seriously about what the bloody hell it is that we put on our faces anyway. How many ingredients to make up could you list? How do they get the mascaras so black? Oil? Charcoal? Who is it tested on? Where is it made? In what country? By who? What is different in the ingredients of a £10 mascara compared to a £30 one? How do they manage to pull out my eyelashes? All these questions, and so few answers. The strange thing about it all is that i know more about the lives of penguins (March of the penguins: bloody awful film, but interesting!) than i do about the chemicals that i put on my face and spend a good deal of my money on!

I say we should take the song title of my new favourite french song to heart:
Laisse tomber les filles qui se maquillent
Instead, lets embrace natural beauty, or at least until we find out whats in make up...or until the next party...


My (semi-new!!!) laptop power adapter is making burning smells and i've had to switch it off. This is TERRIBLE news because my laptop battery only around an hour on it, SO i wont be able to use my laptop!!! Last time i had to wait three days to get a new one!!! what a bleeding nightmare!! i've hated this wire ever since i got it, and it cost £40!!! i am getting my money back, end of!

Anyway, the reason that this actually matters to you is because it means i dont know how often i will be able to blog!!! which is bloody annoying!!! So i'll try as hard as i can, but i'm afraid i cant promise anything =[


The Stranger

Darkness gave Privates Howell and Fischier the cover they needed as they slowly made their way through the muddy field towards the truck. Bent low, they silently signaled to each other, deciding who would go where. They both knew what they had to do. They came closer to the truck windows, to see the snoring target behind the wheel. One on either side of the truck, they reached the half-open windows. Fischier raised his pistol, aimed and shot. Howells body fell silently, but the sound of the bullet woke the slumbering soldier. Seeing Fischier at the window, pistol still raised, he cried out in shock and began pleading in German. Fischier placed a finger on his lips, but left his gun raised and now aimed at the beggar's heart. On the fall of the last echo of the soldiers last cry, Fischier nodded and walked away. The German soldier stuck his head out of the window to watch the stranger make his way back across the field, a look of shock, confusion and a hint of relief spread across his face.

Robyn xxx

Clawing Off The Cat

Ever since childhood, I have been exceptionally shy. My mother said that on leaving the womb, instead of producing a shrill loud cry to announce my existence, I blushed and tried to cover myself up. With that as my start in the world, it is no wonder that I have never been a conversationalist and small talk is most definitely not my forte. It’s just not who I am. I have never seen the purpose of discussing the fact that it is raining for several minutes, or conversing on whether Superman or Batman would win in a fight.
        Nonetheless, the world of the chatterbox intrigued me more than I was willing to admit, and so I decided to settle my mind once and for all. I decided that on Tuesday 21st October I would wake up and start talking, then not stop until I went to be that night.
        The prospect of what I was going to do both terrified and enthralled me. On the one hand, I would often be faced with the choice of talking to anyone about anything or talking to myself and looking like an escaped lunatic. Without meaning to seem crude, choosing whether to kill my mother or love of my life would have been easier. That bastard is always leaving the seat up. Yet there was still the fact that this day could wash away my stifling shyness and teach me the act of being sociable. This meant I may actually be able to go to parties where I didn’t know anyone! Golly, what a thought!
          Tuesday 21st soon came, and I woke at 
7:30 to not the best of starts, as I completely forgot what I was supposed to be doing until 8:00. Let me make it clear, however, that after realising and cursing loudly, I put my best tongue forward into my continuous talking. Or should I say continuous bollocks? 

          In an effort to keep my voice permanently preoccupied, I switched on my itunes to sing along to all the songs. Unfortunately, I discovered I know the words to about 6 of 906 songs, so found myself doing the backing vocals of “do doo do dooo” instead. When creating the laws of that day, I hadn’t thought of what would constitute as speech, but I decided that as long as coherent noise was leaving my mouth, it would do.
        Besides singing along with my itunes, I got creative that day by producing my own lyrics. There was the “brushy, brushy, brushy” song, which caused me to spray Colgate all over the bathroom, and the “crunchy, crunchy cornflakes” song which I sang while eating my rice krispies.
           My younger brother Ryan accompanied me on the walk to school. Socially, Ryan and I are opposites. Mixed-race Ryan could walk into a Nazi camp sporting a skull cap and be best friends with every soldier in 5 minutes. He is simply a people person. Ryans incessant talking would normally drive me insane, but on that day, he was a Godsend. We never ran out of anything to talk about, the journey was flawless and I didn’t even need to talk to myself.
        School registration went as well as I expected, seeing as it contains 3 of my best friends, a few other friends, some acquaintances and a couple of people that I could just about bare to talk to.
         I also had positive expectations of French, my first lesson of the day which lasts 4 periods. I had figured that Madame would be pleased, as normally she spends her timescreaming “PARLE, PARLE, PARLE” and now I would have no choice but to parle, parle and parle some more.
        I left French at break feeling very pleased with the day. So far I hadn’t been shoved into any awkward social situations or had to talk to myself, and I walked into the sixth form common room thinking how superbly everything was going. How stupid of me. Had I never heard the childhood legend of jinxing?
        I walked into the common room to see Emily Thomas sitting at the main table, surrounded by seven people whom I would normally have spoken to.
Emily Thomas had been in my high school. The strange thing about Emily being in the common room was that she didn’t even go to my sixth form, she was at a college in London that was behind a newsagent and students paid an extra £45 if they wanted to be taught in english. Baby Jesus knows how she got in as, at a very leggy 5ft 11, she’s hard to miss. More to the point, I despised her with every fibre of my being. We had never got along and she stole two of my best friends away from me two years ago. Without meaning to seem like an immature 7 year old, I normally would rather have dug out my intestines, tied them around my neck and used them to hang myself from a cliff than go over and speak to her or anyone near her.
         I was now more out of my comfort zone than a priest in a gay bar. Wait. That doesn’t work does it? Nevertheless, I was faced with the situation that I had sought to overcome. I had been handed the sword, placed in front of the dragon and now it was my duty to close my eyes and lunge. I started to make my way towards the table, muttering to myself with a heart that could have beaten Usain Bolt in a race. My mind ran through every opening line as I tried of think of what I would say. Here is a lovely little slice of my insanity for you to delve into: O, what do I say? Lovely weather? No, they aren’t 72. Nice shoes? No, I don’twant to lie. Ok, I’ll make a joke. But I can’t just come out with a joke, I’ll look weird. You are weird. Shut up.

      Throughout these musings, the table of doom got closer and closer, and then further and further away. I had walked straight past it and sat in the corner of the common room. Cursing myself under my breath, I pulled out my books and started to pretend to do some work. Hence Baby was left in her corner, and there she stayed.
      Staring at the empty page before me, I was faced with a strong sense of self-loathing. This was far from the first time I had sent myself to the corner to avoid speaking to people. In my dip into depression, I had forgotten to keep talking and realised after about 5 minutes that I ha just been staring into space and had failed.
        Filled with less disappointment than I expected, I shrugged and swore half-heartedly. I had tried, and the sweat patches on my jumper could prove it, but I couldn’t do it.
      On reflecting my failure, I came to a simple conclusion. I don’t “do” random people or strangers. I stick to my close and personals and let time break away my shyness. It had worked for me for the lat 17 years and had meant that I never had to socialise with fake people that I knew didn’t actually like me.
       Despite my positive conclusion, I couldn;t help but think that I was still too quiet. I was still unsociable. I was still unfriendly. I was still everything my father had scolded.

      I haven’t clawed the cat off my tongue yet. But by God, I will. 

Tammy Vindula

Lover, come close
I'll grant all that you desire
Romance, Suspense
You'll never tire

I'll make you
A surgeon, a monarch, a Fed
Watch the lions of Africa
From the realms of your bed

Forget the outside
Instead watch the weather
Forget all your friends
We'll live life together

I'm standing right by you
All i need is the spark
Sent from your finger
To light up the dark

I'll always be with you
Till death do us part
And don't worry my darling
Death by me is an art

Robyn xxx



Glitter Graphics

Christmas Glitters

Love Symone and Robyn at HOMEGROWN!!!!!!


Today is the one month anniversary of our blog!!! It feels like we only started yesterday!!!

Here is to many many MANY more months to come =]

Rob and Sym xxx
P.s: symone likes cats Lol

Hi5, Xanga, Tagged, Blogger Comments @


You may have noticed that a majority of our blog posts this month have been by me (robyn!), but thats because poor Symone has been so busy she hasn't hadn't time to write anything! (blood A levels, always getting in the way!)

SO next month will be "Symone Month" where she will be posting everyday. We've chosen January, because its her birthday on the 24th (make a note!)  She will put up all of her articles, interviews and reviews, as well as leaving random talk for you guys to chat to her! She will of course still be putting up some of our readers poems for you all to see too, and she's going to choose the best five!!!

From now on, in fact, every month will have a different theme. We shall be announcing the theme of february towards the end of Symone month, so look out for it!

I bet you can't wait!!! (we sure can't!)

Rob and Sym xxxx

Nursery Rhymes: REWRITTEN!

here is a short story i wrote, based on a children's nursery rhyme. See if you can guess which one...

Humphrey jumped as high as he could, but he barely peeked over the crowds shoulder. After several unsuccessful attempts, he huffed and curled his pudgy fingers into a ball. His cheeks were stained red, his once neatly combed hair had jumped out of place with him and one of his thick woolen socks had slid down to reveal a dimply knee. Humphrey cast one last jealous look at the other children waving from the towers of their fathers shoulders, before turning and walking away.

A few hours later, Humphrey moped his way home, thinking of how badly he had wanted to see the parade of soldiers leave. He ran his stick along the brick wall, enjoying the scratching noise and vibration beneath his fingers. His uneven solo was joined by the orchestra of mechanical stomps ad the dull clash of tin. Humphrey searched wildly about him for the source of the music, and settled a pair of determined eyes on the brick wall. He skimmed his fingers over the coarse barrier, searching for a grip. Desire and hope hoisted him slowly up the wall and before long, he reached the top. His eyes flew frantically, trying to take in every atom of the scene before him. The King's men marched past, pride etched into each stride, none noticing the small fat child sat on the wall.

No longer content with simply watching his heroes, Humphrey turned to climb down the other side and join the soldiers. He was only a few inches down when a piece of brick broke away from under his foot, and both Humphrey and the brick came crashing to the floor. Pain shot through Humphrey faster than enemy bullets. He turned his tearful gaze towards his fellows, his cries imploring them to help the fallen soldier. A few of the fathers among them gave him anxious looks, but Humphrey knew they would not come. They couldn't leave the line, even if they had wanted to. They had to go.

Robyn xxx


Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the kings horses 
and all the kings men
Couldn't be bothered
To put him back together again

Robyn xxx



The love has gone now.
Without you I swear I'm lost
I'm all alone. Cold

Symone xxx

How To write Comedy

Check out more videos at

100 word review: Cloud Atlas

A story of six interlocking lives. Quite a slow start as the first life is in the 1800s and not that interesting. However you must persevere because once it gets going, it is actually fantastic: mystery, adventure, romance, comedy and sci-fi! Each story seems to follow a different genre so you are guaranteed to find something you enjoy and even if you may not particularly like a certain genre that much, believe me this novel will change your mind. Do not get the author David Mitchell confused with the comedian (believe it or not many people do). I love it.


To be both of them
and to be neither of them
Is what i do best

Robyn xxx


How to write a Haiku

What is it?
A haiku is an unrhyming poem with 3 lines. The first line has 5 syllables, the second has 7 and the third has 5.

What is it about?
A haiku is used to create an image or convey an emotion and is mainly about nature or natural things.

How to write it?
Just try to sum up what you are trying to say in those 17 syllables. Most haikus do this through imagery, for example describing nature to represent loneliness

Robyn xxx

Love, Ted


I'm Leaving. I can't take this anymore
It just isn't working out. It just isn't the same.
I'm doing a Paddington (without the tag of desperation)

We've been together for a while now, and i think it's time i left.
You're not the same person that you were when we first met.

You hide me from your friends. Pretend i don't exist.
Am i such an embarrassment?
You never used to think so.

You don't pay me any attention either. You just bugger off
to school.
Just leaving me in bed every morning
And not returning till bed that night

I used to be your everything and go everywhere
with you. Now you never take me out.
You used to buy me cute little hats, and dress me up all dau
Now i'm naked and bare.

You won't take care of me now.
I'm stained
and coarse.

You've torn me to pieces a thousand times
And only your mum
Bothers to sew me back together

I'm leaving. Before it's too late.
Before you leave me in a sale, a shop. A bin.
You'll miss me when i'm gone.
When you eventually notice.

I love you.
I know you love me, even if you've forgotten.
I'm sorry, but this is just something i have to do.

Your eternal friend,

T. Bear


Once again, the important structure of my poem "Love, Ted" has to be compromised because the blog won't allow indents!!! there HAS to be a solution out there somewhere, so if anyone knows PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave a comment on here!


I want you in my life,
That's not a statment,
That's a fact.
My life is killing me, slowly, I need you back.
Sometimes it makes me angry that I'm still
Caught up on you.
But, it's the way you move, talk breath...
It's the little things you do.

Everyone's heart beats- it's what keeps us alive.
It stops. We all die.
My heart, it beats for you
Each emotion you feel, I feel it too.
I break down,
On the random sometimes.
It's because of you,
And the things you do to me...
It should be made a crime.

You ignore my exsistence.
Each time I die,
A little bit more inside,
All I need is a 'Hello' or
All I need to know you care,
To prove to myself,
Is there.

You have the worlds longsest
History of 'My babyee'
When, will it be my two weeks?
I know I don't have much to offer.
I'm noy blonde or 'gawjus'
or something
or other.

All I can promise is that
You know you will have my heart
Stick with me, we can never part.

This heartache is rediculous, stupid and vain
You could never love a girl like me
This is insane.

My heart is
pouring out to you
alover this page.
My pen burning through thr paper
Praying you'll stay.

But you won't,
Why should you?
When your 'Babyee' is one your arm,
More girls queuing
At the door,
When you turn on the charm

This poem is for you,
My dear,
My Beloved

I Pray...
You will realise...
All you need,
All I need,
All I want...
You and me.

The the heartache will end.

Symone xxxx

The Match

Here is our second piece sent in by one of our followers, who goes by the name of Ananda!

I always want to love you. Will you match that?

I can’t promise a lifetime, only every day of my life.

I always want to kiss you. Will you match that?

Soft and slow, long and hard, stopping only to inhale.

I always want to hold you. Will you match that?

I dream of being held by you and laying in your arms.

I always want to share with you. Will you match that?

Share my dreams, my hopes my desires and my concerns.

I always want to make you laugh. Will you match that?

Watch you smile, hear you giggle, listen to you laugh out loud.

I hardly know myself around you, always around you as myself.

What God has bought together let no mind tear apart.

My Hat!

Here is a poem by Tony Mitton

Here's my hat
It holds my head
The thoughts i've had
and the things i've read

It keeps out the wind
It keeps off the rain
It hugs my hair
And warms my brain

Theres me below it
The sky above it
It's my lid
And i love it


A puppy in the ways of love
Or so thought by dear old nurse
Alas to be shielded from your greatest desire
Is many a young womans curse
Medicine forced down to protect and refrain
May hold off love fro your duckling
But daily spoonfuls of moral and ethics
Won't keep this swan from loves calling

So bring on this illness and make me a dog
For i wish to be guarded no more
I'm at loves command for better or worse
To live by inks sweet lure
I've courted the plays
I'm poetry's divine, the muse of every sonnet
But pen and paper provide only so much
And so lies the bee in my bonnet

No man has cast deep eyes upon mine
From across a crowded room
No Rosalinds been pushed aside
For my far fairer bloom
No hardened hand with softened touch
Has stroked my hair and skin
No soft damp lips have brushed on mine
And revealed the feelings within

So i play the waiting game
For the Shakespeare of my heart
Only to discover
True loves no spoken art
It started as a friendship
The best a girl could find
But love with this sweet simpleton
Was far from my young mind

He knew not what a sonnet was
He tried to rhyme with purple
Yet something in those big brown eyes
Left me only capable to gurgle
That something was what i had longed
Since my younger years
A man who loved me for all my worth
And for me would face all fears

To him i am true beauty and grace
Though he wouldn't know how to write it
But a single glance from his eyes to mine
Meant more than Billys old dog shit
It seems that literature was my loves dawn
Now he has brought midday
I pray the sun will never set
And my love be taken away

Robyn xxx


A Night To Remember

Here is our first article sent in by a reader!!! Here Sarah has sent in her true story....

I was meeting my best friend Tom with my boyfriend, Raj, and we were going to hang out in the local park while it was still light. When we saw Tom, he asked Raj to go buy some cigarettes down the road for him. Tom and I waited, wondering what was taking so long. Raj returned with the cigarettes after about 20 minutes and his mood seemed to have taken a terrible turn: As we made our way to the park he walked ahead punching bins and other nearby objects with a face of thunder but still not saying a word to Tom or I. Instead he called someone on his mobile was yelling at them down the phone, although Tom and I weren’t close enough to hear what he was saying. I tried many times to ask what was wrong but he just replied “nothing” so I gave up and stayed away from him and his terrifying temper.

By the time we reached the park, I was furious with him for being so moody and ruining the evening, so I stormed off towards home. Raj chased after me and asked me why I was storming off. I told him I was sick of his mood and gave him one last chance to say what was wrong with him. He stayed silent for a minute, looking at the floor, before saying quietly “Some Tamils sparked me.”
Now I had no idea what “sparked” meant and assumed it meant that they tried to start a fight with him. I now became angry with him for not telling me about it earlier and again stormed off after arguing about it with him. Tom went over to Raj and they began to talk about what had happened. While I had the moment to myself I realised I was being unfair and went over and hugged Raj to apologize. Suddenly, Raj became very heavy in my arms and I realised that he had collapsed.

Tom came running over yelling
“Raj, where does it hurt, Raj?” Tom helped me get Raj to lie on the ground and I put my jacket under his head. I was terrified as I still had no idea what had happened to him. As Tom kept telling Raj to look at him and keep his eyes open, I asked Tom what was going on, as he seemed to know. He said that the Tamil guys had hit Raj around the head with a baseball bat until a shopkeeper came out and chased them off. After that Tom and I sat trying to figure out our next move. We had no idea what injuries he had gotten and every time we mentioned “hospital” or “ambulance” he would try to sit up, exclaiming,
“no, no, no, don’t, no” until we soothed him and got him to lie back on the floor. After about an hour of us deliberating, Raj sat up with the assistant of an apprehensive Tom and myself and began looking wildly around him:
“they’re here...I can hear them.”
We were sat in an open green and could easily see everyone around us. We were alone. Despite us continually telling him that we were alone, he just kept repeating
“They’re here... we have to go...they’re here.”
He stood up, swaying a little, and began walking towards the park exit, grabbing my hand and still looking around me.

Raj walked me home, still swaying and saying a jumble of words rather than sentences, and refused to let me go with him. Tom assured me he would look after him, and he closed the front door, I rushed to my laptop. Instinct told me that if I couldn’t find out what was wrong through the hospital, I would through the internet. I knew it wouldn’t be the same but at least it was something. I found a website listing symptoms of head injuries, and called Raj to get him to answer yes or no to which he had. He had ¾ of the symptoms for a severe head injury and the cure was to seek medical advice immediately, but no matter how I pleaded, Raj refused. Instead I spoke to him until 3am to ensure that he wouldn’t get concussion and not wake up. Before I allowed him to hang up, I made him promise to call me at 9am. Before I fell asleep, I closed my eyes and prayed like never before:
“Please, please let him wake up tomorrow. I beg you. Please.”

I was up at 7 and sitting and waiting for his call. At 9am on the dot, my phone rang: “hey babe.” I laughed pure relief at the sound of his voice and a coherent sentence.
“You ok?”
 “ head hurts and I can’t remember anything but I’m ok”
After a few more minutes of checking he was ok, I made him promise to go get checked out at the hospital as soon as possible.
“Sarah, I need to tell you something”
“What babe?”
“Those guys. I knew them. I haven’t seen them for two years, but I know them. They killed Kumal, my cousin.”
And so began the relationship changing conversation of Raj’s past. Two years ago, a Tamil gang stabbed and killed Raj’s cousin Kumal in a fight in front of him. Raj had always blamed himself, but I had never fully known why, until then. A few months before Kumal had been killed, he called Raj asking him to help him in a fight against a gang of Tamils. Raj went and during the fight at least 5 guys were kicking and beating his cousin. Raj had no idea what to do and started panicking, until Kumal cried,
“Look in your bag”
Raj quickly pulled off his bag, saw what his cousin had put in there, grabbed and ran at the group, thinking of nothing but saving his cousin.

“You stabbed someone?” I looked at him with a face of pure disbelief. He had always been a weapon hating peace keeper, and now I understood why, although I wish I didn’t. “Did they die?” Raj shook his head, staring at the floor. I watched him for a moment, taking in the pure guilt shame and sadness that had ridden his body and watched the tears drop slowly off the end of his nose. He stabbed someone. But he was not a stabber.

A few weeks after the incident, it was in the news that the Police had arrested a Tamil gang in East London and since then, crime had fallen by 65%.

Sarah, 23

I Spy

Here is a poem i wrote when i was 9 years old!

Lets play i spy
I spy with my little eye
My mums famous ice cream pie

Should i eat it?
Should i wait?
But NO! I can't, it's my bait!

Come to me Mr. Pie
I really can't tell a lie

You're scrumptious
You're tumtious


Robyn xxx

My Lady

Beauty holds no value and the eyes blind
For none but she can bring the stirring in
My paunch nor calm he thundering of my
Seas of anger, fear and doubt. Tender soul
Hath she, yet her brazen fire spits sharp sparks
At the flesh of the wily wretch who dare come
Close to mine person. Lionnesses strive
To match her regal and powerful ways
But fail as badly as those who seek
To take this loyal servant from his queen
Death reigns supreme above life without her
Yet, when i am alone, darkness descends
Upon me, for there is no greater pain
Known to man than that of the broken heart

Robyn xxx


How to write a sonnet

What is it?

A sonnet is a 14 line love poem. Each line has 10 syllables, like the beating of a heart, which is known as an iambic pentameter. It has an A - B - A - B rhyming structure.

How to write it:

Normally they tell some kind of story about someone you love, and normally as a beginning, middle and end style. For example, you may begin by describing your love, move on to how other guys love her too and end with your fear of her leaving you.

Modern sonnets don't HAVE to be about love, but Shakespearean style sonnets always are.

As with most poems, once you know the format, we can't help and it's all up to you, so get writing!

Robyn xxx


Your eyes take in the colour. The dream.
The soft blue skies and clouds of cream
Your fingers play the still clear air

You crane your neck, shut your eyes
Force yourself into the skies
Anything to erase
This overrated 'grown-up' phase

So tired of ills, of work, of stress
Who knew age could cause such mess
Don't lose focus.

Go back to the dream
Ignore that frustrated inner scream
But time is up, the break is done
You've had your 15 minutes of fun

Now lower your head and open your eyes
Let out that longg exasssperated sighhh
Then turn around, go back indoors
Don't dare gaze back over the moors

Of 25 odd years ago
Of times of fun in sun and snow
Here lies the childhood of your soul
Whose cause of death you well know
Was when you walked into that bar
Wearing that damn wonderbra

Robyn xxx


Today we placed some gadgets down the left side of the blog, all of which will help you to find your way around!

We have a list of every post we have ever made, organised by month so if you remember reading an article in december, but can't remember anything else about it, you can find it that way! This is called "All Our Posts"

We have gadgets to help you find specific articles or types of articles called "Looking for something?"

We have a list of what we'll be writing about this month so you can look out for anything in particular, "Whats coming this month?"

You can now also subscribe to our blog for FREE and see our "followers" (or future Shakespeares, as we like to call them =]).

So enjoy all the gadgets and keep reading =]

Rob and Sym xxx


He was going. He retched at the appearance of two guards in the doorway, both at least 6"2 with arms that could rip a baby in half, and faces that looked like they would. He had no choice but to go with them, though he was far from ready to go. He went, the docile prisoner, all the way to the prison gates, gently shifting the sharpened razor that was concealed in his fist. The guards stopped and turned towards him, and he could handle the anticipation no more. His adrenaline sliced the blade across the guards arm, doing little damage but causing massive commotion. He was beaten with a truncheon and frog marched back to his cell. Ron gently stroked the bars of the cell door and gazed lovingly at the dingy bunk and dirty toilet. He was home.

Still Playing

I like d0lls; they are fun to play with.
Align Left
From my childhood, forever on his shelf.
Keeping clean- no mess!
I remember my younger years well...
Suck suck... Play play
Funny how some things never change.

Family Guy's on. I like Stewie- Watch him go!!
Nobody can hear the baby's speech.
Silly little Stewie- how sweet...
TEEHEE!!! heha...
Can't laugh too loud,
daddy might wake, tired these days
working late, working

hard. Had to roll over last night,
needed my sleep. 'Tax returns won't do themsleves'
"Neither will I...' came the reply.
He think I'm a wife on a shelf
Up, down, up down.
I do nothing else.

I'm smarter than they think...
He should watch the accounts,
I do more than just stand there
and pout.
Girls like me and...
we go hand in hand....

the fairy tales,
on my
real daddy's lap.
Silent baby- I play and nap

He lay me down
Walked out and closed the door...

'... bye daddy...'

Symone xxx

How frustrating!!!

I'm trying to type up one of my poems for you guys, but i can't indent!!! The whole purpose of the poem is shown in its structure, but bleedin blogger wont let it have a bloody structure!!!!!!

PLEASE if anyone knows a solution, give it to me!!!

Robyn xxx

Blind? We wish.

Whoever said that love is blind
Has clearly not taken to mind
That what men love beyond compare
Has double D breasts and long blonde hair

Admittedly there are a few
Who'll want to know the inner you
But they're more likely to give their heart
To Stephen, Michael, Paul or Bart

Robyn xxx

All Poetry is copyrighted

Poetry's on its way!

From tomorrow, we will be posting our poetry on here for you guys to read and comment on so keep it nice please! (not that it matters, because we check your comments first anyway!)

All our poetry is copyrighted, so don't even think of copying any!!!!! We're watching you!

We won't be doing any guides to writing poetry, because for us poetry should have very few set rules otherwise it loses it's creativity! What we will be doing is making posts about the different types of poetry out there for you guys to try!

Hope you like it!

Rob and Sym