Best Hatching Poems
Growing too big for the egg
It pushes out
With all its strength and might
So naive of the outside world
Yet so determined to push through the shell
And leave its comfort zone
To see new world
Scribbles, tinkles, sprinkles, twinkle twinkle
Innocent eyes see the light
The feathers make little moves
The legs straighten out
The beak toughen
Making little sounds
Songs of freedom, songs of new dawn, songs of flight
Mama bird guides it through
Feeding styles
Hunting tactics
Feelings of depthness
Staying active
Lessons of, reasons to, seasons for
It heeds the advice
It follows its instincts
And lets the words flow
Far beyond the paper
Like a baby bird
Growing and flying higher
Hatching the Dead
Blocking out unopened space this prison in my head
Crawling all up inside of me laying eggs to hatch the dead
The silent stillness reminding me that I must be all alone
An inferno burns inside where only the Devil feels at home
No safety signs flash warnings, stop this bleeding in my mind
Relaxing is just a broken dream my nightmares can never find
Don't say things will get better, false hope only breeds hate
Learn to accept suffering instead of fist fighting your own fate
With these lessons the student fails, their are no passing grades
Don't watch, think about, or remember me, my impression always fades
Just in case you were wondering I'm not scared but I am afraid
Dead gone the exhausted me, living with death in different shades
Written for contest "Basic Rhyming Words"
Hosted by: IrONic ZiNk 05/21/17
WON 1st PLACE IN CONTEST RESULTS
The early morning silence
of a well earned day off.
the long slow stripes of
sunlight and shadow cross
the patio floor, tiger like,
at sunrise giving promise
of a glorious day.
The anticipation of
possibilities
etched with the shadows
of long deferred tasks,
the urgency of yesterday
almost forgotten,
but still nagging
at the edges and
threatening to show up
tomorrow.
But now,
a favorite cat sleeps in
a pool of sunlight
on the driveway,
a lone bicyclist peddles
down the street,
silence broken only
by an occasional bird
I can almost capture
the joyful optimism
that came with
days like this
so many years ago
hatching
eggs in eagerness
singing their own lullaby
while waiting to fly
24 June 2021
Bite Size Poem no11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
The hallowed history of the egg
is the stuff of landmine and powder keg.
For, many an innocent egg has died -
sometimes scrambled, sometimes fried.
The Nobel Prize, I will surely win,
for the egg that cracks only from within.