Penny for your thoughts?

(This is the intro)

Abstractions undermine the wicked, as a story is laid forth, from magical stylus.
Enjoy the infamous Robyn Eggs poetry with a splash of lime.
She tell tales from all sides and yet none.
None is the number of the day, and the letter is written.
This will stir your soul and leave you wondering at your own philosophies.
Psychology takes a dip into a bag of chips and can’t stop, for the tasting of it is so sublime.
Appreciation required.
Rewards are in the finale, a tale told with style can only end with one person left changed - the reader’s own.

April Poems bring May Slogans

(A poetry compilation for those who sell themselves)

(All original photography with artistic edits by Robyn Eggs)

I.

If I could tell you the story, I would
But it hasn’t been shaped yet
The shaping of it
Has yet to pour from the lips of you

For, from what I can tell of you
You mean to split it up
Into mashings and thrashings of the irrelevant
Not much more for there to said, but should

Except sauntering, wandering lids
Upon jars, in bars, where they are hid
Like stashes of plants, growing in sieves
The soil keeps the holes from falling through the wind

II.

The wind did call
And shot the ball with it
And it poured over Manhattan like a fog, it did
And so, the story began to unfold with your words,
Turning like they did

That sieve shot up from the ground, it did
Under massive pressure from below, the sieve
Blew all the soil up, tall
It rose from the landing, and called
Out to the lids, “help me,” it said

The plant held face
While all in a turmoil
The plant had nothing to waste
To fall from its shelf, misplaced, misguided
And far from wasteful, it had nothing to taste

(Starring Model Winry, year 2198)

III.

It was your lips, pouring out the words
That tumbled from the gist
Of the things, gone asunder and missed
That tipped off the shelf that it should tumble and wish
To no longer be a shelf that wished

To be closer to the ground, the wood
It was made of the finest wood from high cliffs
It was made of the dirt, the ocean, and rifts
It was made in time, to the singing of fish
It was designed, in kind, by a man who wished

And it was from that man who had lips
That words tumbled and spilled in the dish
The words tumbled, alright
Right into this story while taking flight
The tales weaved said shelves could fly at night

IV.

And fly they did, like whirly-wind tails
Wagging through the air on ribbon and sables
The plant flew from its soil like cascading veils
And the wind blew and blew it
Like water falling over the gables

Like water, falling over Frank Lloyd Wright
When he envisioned he’d be close to it
His idea took flight
And imagination and desires
Took it from dark, to light

A house was born, in the middle of the night
And nothing could go wrong
Once the plans took flight
And everything was still, in his mind
Like a happy, balanced, and well-armed kite

V.

It was the spotter who did it
Let it fall from the sky
This story, like a fable
Leaves everything to disguise

I am counting on the ties
That bind us to the telling
Like I am trying to tell you
While you listen to the spelling

It’s all in the limericks
Bound to each other, like lines
The limericks will tell you no lies
The lesson is learned, under architect’s skies

VI.

5 lines
You had 5 lines to do it in
And you did it in 10
How did you go from sink to swim?
How did you pull it together, without any friends?
Asks Lynn
And Jim,
He wants to know, too
How did you manage to screw
In that last screw?
You mean, you wish I would settle?
What’s in it for you?
It’s a psychological test, you say
You say it so true
But, last time I checked
You were turning blue
Simply from the thought
Of how to choose
Alacrity, mediocrity - know no truth
For to be true
Is a clue
On simple human worth

I choose to overdo
Every last hope of a clue
Only to find my kind
Laying on shoes
Ensuing the writing
Of lines, times 10
Ensuring the wiring
Is labeled 5, and not when
It’s then I jump over the wiring,
Tiring of the boring
Calculated costs of a wren
Do it then
Shorten it to 5 lines
And tell me that’s all you could do it in

Good luck choosing
The abuse
Is amusing
And cruising for a bruise
In the left ligament above the left shoe
It’s time you will choose
It’s time for you to lose
5 lines is not enough
It’s time to add real thoughts
That crush
And brush
The strokes of whim
Too fancy
To imagine
The numeracy of gladness
The binds us in sin

It’s when -
When, When, When
And it will change again
With the telling of it
You’ll realize
We’ve gone, and then…
THEN will it matter to the 10

VII.

Now choose a slogan
Filthy rats beg you to
They hoorah on stage
For a supple spool
Of strength, resiliency, and age

What begs a house
But a rat to live in it
A home of homes
And a companion to share it with
When nothing is left, but the bones

If I could just strive
To make it
I’d like it
But the struggling isn’t worth it
I’d dine on prizes just to make it

Into something worth it
Maybe abstractions will never reach fruition
Maybe this Kingdom is never given
And maybe sinners hang from trees
Like all-American giblets, ridden

Piddled American gambits
Drive on into the distance
And slogans are chose
With deliverance and magnets
Like witnesses, sloven and rampant

I’ll never delete you
Though the thought of it
Has crossed my mind
Like a parapet
Rising high above rats in kind

Chosen like the houses, sublime
We reach a verdict the size of the pines
And cries, far out-reaching the disguise
Loosen upon the air like supple spines
Curving at the taste of a lime

So tell me about yourself, they ask
Tell me about how you do it
Tell us about how you threw it
Up, into the air, like a nail
Before hammering it to the ground, stale

It tastes so good, they way you’ve chosen it
Like limes in a vodka drink
The green is clearly not purple
It’s not red or blue, either
But something much more excusable

The rats have made the prizes
But dare not to receive them
Houses take a gamble on how to sell out
Snowshoes come back into season
When skies gave them a reason to doubt

VIII.

But, skies, like lies
Come in numbers to count
They fall over lips
That love to pout

And, if you let them
They scream and they shout
“Put us back together,
Or we’ll eat you like trout”

Put us back together
Or the story won’t be told
Write as we say
Or never be bold

The telling of it has sold…

Thanks for reading along!

I hope you enjoyed this compilation. There has been a lot of change recently, constantly, it seems, but all for the better, even if it's in a mysterious way...Cheers! Look for more original chapbooks, coming soon!

(Older Chapbooks:)

I figured I'd bring the old eggs logo back, for good times sake...

April poems bring May slogans: Poetry for the whoresome