Poem Body
THE EGG
Aborted.
Born and packed in sixes
sold as food, hard boiled,
cracked into a pan, beaten,
eaten, secreted, forgotten.
Spawned, collected, stored,
spread on toast, devoured;
shaken onto bees,
wafted by the breeze,
carried by the seas,
transported to foreign shores.
Guarded, warmed, rolled,
stolen, jogged on a silver spoon,
painted with beautiful patterns,
preserved in palaces for kings,
admired, desired, works of art.
The egg.
26th January 2013.
Comments
I greatly admire this
like your drawing ability there is a technical and
flare to this that is marvelous
Thank You
Oh how lovely to read this
Oh how lovely to read this comment of yours Steven,
thank you,
eggs, simply eggs, what we us in our everyday,
and yet what creates life, new life, wondrous eggs.
Love Ann.
Faberge immortalised
Thank you anna
We are,
We are all born from the egg, so there is far more to this poem than first appears. What you have written in this poem happens to us daily, packed into trains, buses. Carried by the breeze, hard boiled characters etc sailing across seas. Nice thoughtful poem, that could be developed. Love Roscoe..
Dear Ann
I love the egg poem you made me think all the uses we have for them ... I was surprised to learn they use egg whites as a binder to chalk in drawings and art only watched it the other night
Well done
Love Jc xxx
Yes of course there is
Yes of course there is tempera,
murals even used the yolk for that and one can still buy real tempera,
I didn't mention all, was just musing, I suppose it should be comprhensive,
so i might add some, on the other hand you all had fun telling me what I
missed out. Faberge is included, of course.
I even spoke to the armed forces of Norway, all ove the world,
on board ship, on the radio, about egg painting; a moment of fame!!!
This is possibly a better post at easter, but that's another story!
As aye Ann thank you.