“soft as eggs”

Written for:  The Twiglets #295 - soft as eggs

My grandparents ate
soft-boiled eggs.
Looked like diseased,
dripping eyes.

She always egged on
her soft-spoken,
timid friend.

sits admiring
garden, and brilliant-hued birds
soft blue of robin's egg

          He mercilessly egged his friend on
            to the stage for Karaoke song.
                After many beers
           his friend felt less fear,
    so he grabbed mic without fright, and bombed.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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6 Responses to “soft as eggs”

  1. Debi says:

    Karaoke was not that poor guys friend. Good work, I esp love that robin’s blue egg


  2. Jules says:

    I’m more of a solid cooked egg fan. 😉
    No fun egging folks. Good verses.
    (Thanks for ‘hiking’ with me.)


  3. Misky says:

    Oh those eyes – made my shiver!


Comments are closed.