| You can buy my book of poetry "Ain't it Grand" here. I've gotten loads better since then. The new pet project (seeks traditional publisher, likes supportive comments and royalty checks) is called "The Very Secret Diary of the Bad Advice Society." |
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The Hedgehog SongChorus:The Hedgehog Song
In spring all the animals do find time for love The beasts down below and the birds up above But one's celibate habits do many appall Oh the hedgehog can never be buggered at all!
Verses:
Our friend the hedgehog is a little bit odd Though not quite so much as a monkey or cod But even these laugh at his prickely downfall For the hedgehog can never be buggered at all
It's madness, it's madness, the girls do declare It cannot be right! It's not even fair! But don't try to force him, he'll run from your call The hedgehog can never be
by ~Eve-n-Eden
P is for Poetwhy the poet?P is for Poet
politicians and progress might be petty, but with purpose toying with perspicuity, braiding meaning and language together into a void of sweet nothing
but the poet?
we indulge these petty words because our inner greedy child (sticky, covered in dirt and sweets) is gratified by their unknowing pomposity
meter means meagerly my message misunderstood
but not mollified
nonsense
i think i'm drunk.
by ~Eve-n-Eden
LockThere is nothing quite so ridiculous as a locked door, a key, and the empty street behind waiting for someone to come along and ask what it is you think you're doing.Lock
Well I'm supposed to be inside, you'd say, ridiculously, holding your key and feeling rather helpless. And they would smile pityingly, or suspiciously, if it was that sort of neighborhood.
And while we're on the subject, what of keys, anyway? They rarely fit their locks satisfactorily. It's like waiting for disaster to strike: one too-rough groove, one accidental crack, and there you go.
by ~Eve-n-Eden
The StudentTheology to the beat of rock the pulse of guitars and the notes spilling like wine through the air, across the pages, words of love and God and sin, the story of music in the black and white spacesThe Student
(rests in measures of salvation) Where is your glory your God your golden your truth your joy?
by ~Eve-n-Eden
Random Favourites
Chunky MonkeyChunky MonkeyChunky Monkey
Reo was fat. I guess that’s what happens when your mother dies and leaves you the dog. You let your big brother sell the house. You let your big brother organize the movers. You let your big brother take care of your little brother. You take care of the dog. Taking care of the dog involves taking care of yourself, and taking care of yourself involves a lot of eating. And I mean, fair’s fair, if you get to eat the dog should too, right? Theoretically, taking care of yourself should also involve jogging, because end
by ~dimerization
Osh-Kosh boyUnder soft eyelids he rules worlds which someday his pudgy hand may paint,Osh-Kosh boy
this same little hand wrapped incompletely around mine.
His warm cheek's pressure may be a life of compassion tempered by the self-willed line of his mouth.
The squatting waddle that allows him to track
our backyard pumpkin nose-to-vine whispers science's curiosity with each denim swoosh.
Always well-rounded, my Osh-Kosh boy builds forts and caves with only the most luxurious throw pillows available.
Some day he'll outgrow my lap and his world will streach past the corner park.
Someday he'll
by ~007-FRBRkitty
What's Become of UsHello, my Darling:What's Become of Us
Two years ago, it would never have occurred to me that we could be in a situation where I would not purposefully cross the street just to say, "Hello." There are some people, you see, whose presence you take for granted--whose friendship and love you assume, always assume, will be available and of interest. But today, while I was busy juggling the mail and looking for my keys, I watched you come out of the coffee shop and walk right past me--and I let you go. It wasn't conscious, it was simply that I had other things on my mind. For the first time in forever--in our f
by `GeneratingHype
deviantID
Why I Hate ThanksgivingDevious Info
- Skin of choice: Preferably my own. Other peoples' tends to chafe.
- Tools of the Trade: Whatever's handy. Poetry is like making a shamble... it just happens.
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[link]
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"You come near me and I'll stab you with this!" she shouted.
"It's a teddy bear," said the Count. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work, even if you sharpened it."
(sorry it took so long to respond)
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Elite Art for the elite at heart : [link]
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[link]
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"You come near me and I'll stab you with this!" she shouted.
"It's a teddy bear," said the Count. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work, even if you sharpened it."
Nice gallery! Thoughtful poems in clear language. Some are character driven, which makes me think you might be interested in the contest I'm cohosting.
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Stop popping that bubble wrap and check out *ThePurpleNurple
“Make [your] characters want something right away—even if it’s only a glass of water."-- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
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"You come near me and I'll stab you with this!" she shouted.
"It's a teddy bear," said the Count. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work, even if you sharpened it."
--
Stop popping that bubble wrap and check out *ThePurpleNurple
“Make [your] characters want something right away—even if it’s only a glass of water."-- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
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*
"I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy."
[Charles Baudelaire]
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