Poetry Slam

So, I decided to be social last night.  And, this meant going to the poetry slam at the White Gables house.  I thought it would just be readings from poetry books, but no, it was sort of a competition thing.  So, I ran back to my house to grab the sonnet that I just finished up (I spent two days working on it.  It's for my creative writing class).  Everyone had unique poems.  There were three trophies.  A dead bouquet of flowers for the most depressing/scary/sadistic poem, a glass half full of water (or half empty if you prefer) for the best comedic poem, and the prize for the best poem overall was a fishbowl trophy with a red betta inside.  There were lots of fun poems, so I wasn't expecting to win.  I was pleasantly surprised.

Next came the naming.  The names submitted were Wordsworth, Lister, Cloister, and Santa Cruzer.  I've chosen Santa Cruzer for now, although if anyone has a good name they'd like to argue for I wouldn't be averse to changing the name.  The real problem is that I'm unsure how exactly to go about changing the water and whatnot.  Supposedly you can't use tap water because it has chlorine in it?  And you can't use distilled water because it lacks the necessary minerals.  So, I am going to go to Petco tomorrow to get food and whatnot for it.  I also feel bad that it is in such a small space, but I don't really have space in my room for a bigger tank for it.  Maybe if I were to buy a desk and a chair for my room (more homework might get done if I did that) then I could buy a small tank for him to swim around in.  Then I wouldn't have to clean the tank as often.

So, here's introducing Santa Cruzer!

I couldn't really get a decent close up with my camera, so this is just to show his cool fins, I guess.

The trophy

So, should I get him a bigger home, or is he going to be fine in this one?

Oh, and here's the poem that won me him.

Evening In Monterey

I walk along, feet bare in the soft sand,

And breathe in water droplets from the mist,

As rolling fog slides from water to land.

The peninsula ceases to exist.

I journey down the beach, towards my home,

Send out a prayer to not lose my way

So when, enveloped by the thick white foam,

I won't be lost, but safe in Monterey.

I start to run along the road and vow,

"Never, this late, shall I visit the coast."

Alas!  My prayer will not save me now,

And I wander from lamppost to lamppost.

I breathe in water droplets from the air.

Unhappy and lost, I shiver, and swear.

Each line has ten syllables, but I know it doesn't religiously follow iambic pentameter.  I'm going to workshop it on Tuesday.  I'm expecting it to get torn to shreds, but at least it was good for something!