Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

There is no better place to work than at this camp Though your headaches will worsen and feet will be damp The friendships we make will forever survive Though is you spread hatred, of friends you will be deprived The skies are clear on most days, and head's in a mist The hypothermia-inducing bay is tough to resist Breathe in the fresh bittersweet breeze Be baffled as sunlight kisses the trees At Camp Presqu'ile the soundtrack consists of children and birds Plus coyotes at night, but don't be concerned Though the job insists on creating bags under your eyes And there's a few troublemakers that you really despise You starve on "beans and weiners" day, you love your nights off If one person gets sick, everybody will cough You come back to this place every year The reason for this may not exactly be clear But hey, I'm kitchen staff, what do I know? Well, at Camp Presqu'ile you don't have to put on a show Don't be afraid t...

I should have listened to my intuition Before I applied for a kitchen position Now I am cursed with this temporary career The Kitchen Staff Oath begins right here: I promise to wash every dish spotless clean And fill the lawn tractor with the right gasoline There is no excuse for coming to work late I will come every morning in a hygienic state I swear to never abuse my coworkers with mayonnaise Violence is not the answer- I will live by that phrase Water fights are for idiots; this summer I will be mature I'm prepared for all hardships that I will endure I will survive this through blood, sweat, and tears At any moment in the day, I will be glad to be here I shall be obedient to the almighty boss With a smile on my face, I will never be cross Never will I eat and ice cream sandwich that is not mine I'll clean the floor to perfection, never will I step out of line Most of all, NEVER will I procrastinate, argue, or loaf I will abide by the kitchen sta...

Though the following is not a poem, it links to poetry and personal experience, so enjoy nonetheless. This blog is in dire need of some comic relief, wouldn't you agree? ;) Why is the term, "Poetic Scout" an oxymoron? I learned this from experience. No sooner had I been persuaded to join the army of scouts and tacky uniforms than I begun to have the growing urge to quit and get the hell out of there! Poets do not belong in scouts- this is just a fact of life. You cannot expect an absurd, artistic, and obediency-challenged poet to blend in with the flow of people who all dress and march exactly alike. What is the point of lifting your feet off of the ground at the same tempo as everyone else in the group, when you could concentrate less on your feet and more on your surroundings? A poet is distracted by the chirping of the birds and observes snowflakes gracefully falling to the ground. Just when I have an ideal start to a poem stuck in my head, I am disrupted by dr...