Intro:
Tonight's special edition goes out to all my followers. I dug deep tonight to bring you some ancient texts from the Robyn Eggs vault. Before I had children or was grown up, when I was still in that young adult phase, I used to just write and write for hours on end, as I was inspired. A rainy day. A mood - the atmosphere, something would ignite me and I would write. This No. 4 series is from a time when the world seemed so much more abrupt. I was positive that nothing ever could be defined by one definition alone.
Existential High - Write 4
Spirit wind
Carries me away
Over the mountains
To see another day
SILENCE
The sighs of time
Fill my heart
And my rhyme
-
Waiting for the rise
Of God inside me
The release of cries
-
A new beginning
Just beyond me
Without all the sinning
-
So slow to grow
My reach beyond time
Gathering everything I know
-
And I wish times seven
It would all dissolve
And I would be in heaven
(original graphic art by robyneggs)
The Rhyming Prose
so good poems do not rhyme?
and why does everyone love
poems like that?
all my poems rhyme
so that the reader may discover
the form
of the unrhyming poem
is that not the purpose?
I suppose, yet...
must the words flow
totally on their own?
no rhyming, tapping
the words into your head
Just flowing words like
tidal waves splashing
on the shore
Oh! the dull normality...
I like to rhyme
to show off that
I can
shower words with
flowing rhyme
like one tossing a dime
placing fate
not upon himself
but up on the shelf
for, words without rhyme
are words out of time...
(original graphic art by robyneggs)
I call this next one:
Boogers of Joe - A Freshman's Ballad
(Rated R, yet humorously)
Today I look in the mirror
I am tall, blonde, and stoned
So this is how I look on beer..
What happened? Was I boned?
-
And now I lay me back down to sleep
Drool on my pillow - I remember!
I was boned. So, now I weep
Never again will I have sex in December!
-
(chorus)
His friends all know
I am positively sure!
They will all call me a hoe
And say I'm unpure
-
I look out my window and
See the starry sky
I see my purple, glowing hand
And now I want to cry
-
I am trippin' out again
Where will this go?
Where will it end?
Oh look - there's Joe the Hobo
-
(chorus)
His friends all know
I am positively sure!
They will all call me a hoe
And say I'm unpure
-
Joe pulls out his handkerchief
It's checkered red and white
He blows his nose, and in disbelief
I realize I'm just high as a kite
-
Boogers of Joe are all around
They melt into the walls
And make a river, on the ground
Like watching from behind waterfalls
-
As the night turns into day
I realize I have been fooled
That explains the delay
Someone slipped me something at school!
(original graphic art by robyneggs)
I love me. I'm so brilliant. I want to...here...with myself
Walking out of myself, to place myself, next to my revelations
Too high to stop writing
The past is only meaningful through metaphors
The period before the indentation
Oops, I unaligned with the above
The one above?
Can't hear me because of the perfect synchronicity
Beautiful realism
Builds self confidence
Just sit
Radio
The ever changing tunes
My hood on, shadowing
Change out the control moods
Moods: or: modes of interpretation and
Selected by the unconscious superior
Are the best modes
My nose wets - mucus - a kin species to
Saliva, deteriorates, heals
People's voices - ah!
The straight line/the known
[repeat] comfort
The proportioned shadow
Governed by perspective...
A STANDARD
END
Past Musings:
No. 3, No. 2, No. 1
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