Topic: Orphaned Words and Stray Verses

Everett Ogden

Date: 2010-04-04 20:04 EST
He spends his days surrounded by the words of others in the old and lofty tomes of the library, and the ink-stained, bespectacled Englishman soon cannot help but feel the pull of new challenges and other forms. The book in which these poems live has an olivine binding. It is rather like an orphanage, and the words that fall between its covers are strays that have wandered from the usual predictable patterns of Everett's pen.

Everett Ogden

Date: 2010-04-04 20:06 EST
I never thought I might tread here again.
From places I had left behind, she calls,
Demanding that I sing this old refrain.
The siren song of want wears down the walls
And pounds my weary stronghold into dust
Leaving me defenseless as it falls.
I stand to face the music as I must.
With all that?s left in ruins, there is naught
To guard a heart preparing to combust.
Although I am enraptured by the thought
Of honeysuckle comforts that await,
The very notion I could soon be caught
Seems far too tempting; and in tempting fate
I have reservations, through and through.
How dare I rouse a heart in slumb?ring state?
How trifling my doubt must look to you.
How much I pray this shan?t all be in vain.
I would that I could figure what to do.
Consigned once more to sing this old refrain
I never thought I might tread here again.

e i o -

Everett Ogden

Date: 2010-04-06 00:48 EST
Feeling experimental and rather open to new poetic experiences, the Englishman took pen to paper and did his darndest to pen a haiku. The man who honed his own poetic sensibilities by writing lovesick sonnets to the miller's daughter had some issues with the Japanese art form.



I

I just do not see
How something this bloody short
Is called a poem.



II

Seriously, man!
It hath a flailing meter
And nary a rhyme.


On principle, the man decided he could not bring himself to sign these, though he left them in the little green sketchbook, so as not to disturb the binding, mainly.