Dylan Bragg
@dylanbragg.bsky.social
Poet, riddle writer, bass player, cat dad, software developer, classics major, book designer, reader.
Creator of a whole slew of eight-line riddle-poems.
https://mastodon.social/@dylanbragg
https://www.facebook.com/dylbud/
@dylanjohnbragg@threads.net
Creator of a whole slew of eight-line riddle-poems.
https://mastodon.social/@dylanbragg
https://www.facebook.com/dylbud/
@dylanjohnbragg@threads.net
A cow at market to be sold,
A hen, a harp, a bag of gold,
A wife who tells her husband lies,
A common thief of normal size
Whose blood has a distinctive smell—
My bulk impelled how hard I fell
When he outran my lumbering legs
Who listens while collecting eggs.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
A hen, a harp, a bag of gold,
A wife who tells her husband lies,
A common thief of normal size
Whose blood has a distinctive smell—
My bulk impelled how hard I fell
When he outran my lumbering legs
Who listens while collecting eggs.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
September 5, 2025 at 12:39 PM
A cow at market to be sold,
A hen, a harp, a bag of gold,
A wife who tells her husband lies,
A common thief of normal size
Whose blood has a distinctive smell—
My bulk impelled how hard I fell
When he outran my lumbering legs
Who listens while collecting eggs.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
A hen, a harp, a bag of gold,
A wife who tells her husband lies,
A common thief of normal size
Whose blood has a distinctive smell—
My bulk impelled how hard I fell
When he outran my lumbering legs
Who listens while collecting eggs.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
I can’t see, hear, or use my tongue
Because, when I was very young,
I witnessed a horrific scene.
I later met the Acid Queen
Who tried to open up my mind.
But I remained completely blind
To Truth until my mastery
Of Pinball finally set me free.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #opera
Because, when I was very young,
I witnessed a horrific scene.
I later met the Acid Queen
Who tried to open up my mind.
But I remained completely blind
To Truth until my mastery
Of Pinball finally set me free.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #opera
September 3, 2025 at 10:37 PM
I can’t see, hear, or use my tongue
Because, when I was very young,
I witnessed a horrific scene.
I later met the Acid Queen
Who tried to open up my mind.
But I remained completely blind
To Truth until my mastery
Of Pinball finally set me free.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #opera
Because, when I was very young,
I witnessed a horrific scene.
I later met the Acid Queen
Who tried to open up my mind.
But I remained completely blind
To Truth until my mastery
Of Pinball finally set me free.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry #poem #opera
I’m up before the day’s begun
And set out earlier than the Sun,
Announcing to the Earth and Air
His imminent arrival there
With dripping tears and rosy fingers.
The brief time that my presence lingers
The world’s enchanted by my light
And celebrates the close of night.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity
And set out earlier than the Sun,
Announcing to the Earth and Air
His imminent arrival there
With dripping tears and rosy fingers.
The brief time that my presence lingers
The world’s enchanted by my light
And celebrates the close of night.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity
September 3, 2025 at 10:33 PM
I’m up before the day’s begun
And set out earlier than the Sun,
Announcing to the Earth and Air
His imminent arrival there
With dripping tears and rosy fingers.
The brief time that my presence lingers
The world’s enchanted by my light
And celebrates the close of night.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity
And set out earlier than the Sun,
Announcing to the Earth and Air
His imminent arrival there
With dripping tears and rosy fingers.
The brief time that my presence lingers
The world’s enchanted by my light
And celebrates the close of night.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity
Down in the lowest, inmost layer,
Neck-deep in ice with my betrayer,
I feed on him that immured me.
Your speech says you’re from Tuscany
So you’ll have heard of Hunger Tower,
But not of my most desperate hour
When, as I chewed my hands in madness,
Starvation overpowered my sadness.
#riddlepoem
Neck-deep in ice with my betrayer,
I feed on him that immured me.
Your speech says you’re from Tuscany
So you’ll have heard of Hunger Tower,
But not of my most desperate hour
When, as I chewed my hands in madness,
Starvation overpowered my sadness.
#riddlepoem
September 3, 2025 at 10:13 PM
Down in the lowest, inmost layer,
Neck-deep in ice with my betrayer,
I feed on him that immured me.
Your speech says you’re from Tuscany
So you’ll have heard of Hunger Tower,
But not of my most desperate hour
When, as I chewed my hands in madness,
Starvation overpowered my sadness.
#riddlepoem
Neck-deep in ice with my betrayer,
I feed on him that immured me.
Your speech says you’re from Tuscany
So you’ll have heard of Hunger Tower,
But not of my most desperate hour
When, as I chewed my hands in madness,
Starvation overpowered my sadness.
#riddlepoem
Unmarried man, beware my bite,
For I am the Screech Owl in the night;
I am the demon devouring souls
Of children, mentioned in the scrolls
That comment on the Pentateuch,
Mother of every monster or spook,
Sucker of blood and seed of life,
Your first father’s first true wife.
#riddlepoem #poetry
For I am the Screech Owl in the night;
I am the demon devouring souls
Of children, mentioned in the scrolls
That comment on the Pentateuch,
Mother of every monster or spook,
Sucker of blood and seed of life,
Your first father’s first true wife.
#riddlepoem #poetry
September 3, 2025 at 10:10 PM
Unmarried man, beware my bite,
For I am the Screech Owl in the night;
I am the demon devouring souls
Of children, mentioned in the scrolls
That comment on the Pentateuch,
Mother of every monster or spook,
Sucker of blood and seed of life,
Your first father’s first true wife.
#riddlepoem #poetry
For I am the Screech Owl in the night;
I am the demon devouring souls
Of children, mentioned in the scrolls
That comment on the Pentateuch,
Mother of every monster or spook,
Sucker of blood and seed of life,
Your first father’s first true wife.
#riddlepoem #poetry
Although we both were old and poor,
When strangers knocked upon our door
We brought them in as welcome guests.
Others denied their meager requests
For lodging, food and drink; but we,
With modest hospitality,
Unknowingly were host to gods
Who spared our goose from desperate odds.
#riddlepoem #poem
When strangers knocked upon our door
We brought them in as welcome guests.
Others denied their meager requests
For lodging, food and drink; but we,
With modest hospitality,
Unknowingly were host to gods
Who spared our goose from desperate odds.
#riddlepoem #poem
September 3, 2025 at 9:56 PM
Although we both were old and poor,
When strangers knocked upon our door
We brought them in as welcome guests.
Others denied their meager requests
For lodging, food and drink; but we,
With modest hospitality,
Unknowingly were host to gods
Who spared our goose from desperate odds.
#riddlepoem #poem
When strangers knocked upon our door
We brought them in as welcome guests.
Others denied their meager requests
For lodging, food and drink; but we,
With modest hospitality,
Unknowingly were host to gods
Who spared our goose from desperate odds.
#riddlepoem #poem
I met my friend in a wood, at night,
Under a lonely lamppost’s light
Beyond the furry winter coats.
His horns and hooves were like a goat’s,
And he invited me to tea—
It was all very queer to see!
I didn’t stay long or go too far
And sensibly left the door ajar.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #riddle
Under a lonely lamppost’s light
Beyond the furry winter coats.
His horns and hooves were like a goat’s,
And he invited me to tea—
It was all very queer to see!
I didn’t stay long or go too far
And sensibly left the door ajar.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #riddle
September 3, 2025 at 9:49 PM
I met my friend in a wood, at night,
Under a lonely lamppost’s light
Beyond the furry winter coats.
His horns and hooves were like a goat’s,
And he invited me to tea—
It was all very queer to see!
I didn’t stay long or go too far
And sensibly left the door ajar.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #riddle
Under a lonely lamppost’s light
Beyond the furry winter coats.
His horns and hooves were like a goat’s,
And he invited me to tea—
It was all very queer to see!
I didn’t stay long or go too far
And sensibly left the door ajar.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #riddle
Reposted by Dylan Bragg
A massive attack on several humanities units (Arabic Studies, Judaic Studies, Holocaust Studies, Classics, Religion, German & Scandinavian, Russian/East European/Eurasian Studies) *and* tenure now unfolding at the University of Oregon (a blue state!). Closure of units and faculty layoffs threatened.
August 18, 2025 at 6:42 PM
A massive attack on several humanities units (Arabic Studies, Judaic Studies, Holocaust Studies, Classics, Religion, German & Scandinavian, Russian/East European/Eurasian Studies) *and* tenure now unfolding at the University of Oregon (a blue state!). Closure of units and faculty layoffs threatened.
A Scientist in days of yore
Conducted from my upper floor
Experiments on gravitation.
Due to my gentle inclination,
The setting was ideal. But those
Observing would not bend, and chose
To deny the proof in plain sight,
Saying the Philosopher was right.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem
Conducted from my upper floor
Experiments on gravitation.
Due to my gentle inclination,
The setting was ideal. But those
Observing would not bend, and chose
To deny the proof in plain sight,
Saying the Philosopher was right.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem
August 16, 2025 at 6:48 PM
A Scientist in days of yore
Conducted from my upper floor
Experiments on gravitation.
Due to my gentle inclination,
The setting was ideal. But those
Observing would not bend, and chose
To deny the proof in plain sight,
Saying the Philosopher was right.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem
Conducted from my upper floor
Experiments on gravitation.
Due to my gentle inclination,
The setting was ideal. But those
Observing would not bend, and chose
To deny the proof in plain sight,
Saying the Philosopher was right.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem
Back from beyond the Great Green Sea,
My true parents abandoned me
Before my life force fully formed.
But when the frosty weather warmed,
Preferring me to her own brood,
My foster mother brought me food—
A bastard bird, from whom the shame
Of jilted husbands takes its name.
#riddlepoem #poetry
My true parents abandoned me
Before my life force fully formed.
But when the frosty weather warmed,
Preferring me to her own brood,
My foster mother brought me food—
A bastard bird, from whom the shame
Of jilted husbands takes its name.
#riddlepoem #poetry
August 16, 2025 at 6:46 PM
Back from beyond the Great Green Sea,
My true parents abandoned me
Before my life force fully formed.
But when the frosty weather warmed,
Preferring me to her own brood,
My foster mother brought me food—
A bastard bird, from whom the shame
Of jilted husbands takes its name.
#riddlepoem #poetry
My true parents abandoned me
Before my life force fully formed.
But when the frosty weather warmed,
Preferring me to her own brood,
My foster mother brought me food—
A bastard bird, from whom the shame
Of jilted husbands takes its name.
#riddlepoem #poetry
Here where I drew my final breath
A shrine commemorates my death,
Where four knights from across the sea
In God’s cathedral murdered me,
As every pious pilgrim knows.
Their rationale, in standard prose,
Is what the reading audience learns
In a verse play by Thomas Stearns.
#riddlepoem #poetry
A shrine commemorates my death,
Where four knights from across the sea
In God’s cathedral murdered me,
As every pious pilgrim knows.
Their rationale, in standard prose,
Is what the reading audience learns
In a verse play by Thomas Stearns.
#riddlepoem #poetry
August 16, 2025 at 6:43 PM
Here where I drew my final breath
A shrine commemorates my death,
Where four knights from across the sea
In God’s cathedral murdered me,
As every pious pilgrim knows.
Their rationale, in standard prose,
Is what the reading audience learns
In a verse play by Thomas Stearns.
#riddlepoem #poetry
A shrine commemorates my death,
Where four knights from across the sea
In God’s cathedral murdered me,
As every pious pilgrim knows.
Their rationale, in standard prose,
Is what the reading audience learns
In a verse play by Thomas Stearns.
#riddlepoem #poetry
Removed from civilization’s cares,
From uptight snobs and straight-laced squares,
We munch on this narcotic tree.
A chronic case of apathy
Comes over us, and we’re so wasted
The moment fruit or flower is tasted
Or smoke of smoldering leaves kicks in
That we’re not sailing home again.
#riddlepoem
From uptight snobs and straight-laced squares,
We munch on this narcotic tree.
A chronic case of apathy
Comes over us, and we’re so wasted
The moment fruit or flower is tasted
Or smoke of smoldering leaves kicks in
That we’re not sailing home again.
#riddlepoem
August 16, 2025 at 6:42 PM
Removed from civilization’s cares,
From uptight snobs and straight-laced squares,
We munch on this narcotic tree.
A chronic case of apathy
Comes over us, and we’re so wasted
The moment fruit or flower is tasted
Or smoke of smoldering leaves kicks in
That we’re not sailing home again.
#riddlepoem
From uptight snobs and straight-laced squares,
We munch on this narcotic tree.
A chronic case of apathy
Comes over us, and we’re so wasted
The moment fruit or flower is tasted
Or smoke of smoldering leaves kicks in
That we’re not sailing home again.
#riddlepoem
Out of the woods, a river flows
Into a field where wheatgrass grows.
And there, where tilth and treeline meet,
I rule, from my luxurious seat,
The fruitful seasons of the land
With golden scepter in my hand
And silver stars that cap my crown,
Bedecked in pomegranate gown.
#poetry #riddle #tarot
Into a field where wheatgrass grows.
And there, where tilth and treeline meet,
I rule, from my luxurious seat,
The fruitful seasons of the land
With golden scepter in my hand
And silver stars that cap my crown,
Bedecked in pomegranate gown.
#poetry #riddle #tarot
August 13, 2025 at 4:15 AM
Lightning strikes, and white-hot sparks
Touch down like calligraphic marks
On skillfully constructed stone.
From there, two human figures thrown
Escape destruction, smoke and fire.
But like the crown atop my spire
That once stood sturdy, proud and tall,
So too went they… before the Fall.
#poetry
Touch down like calligraphic marks
On skillfully constructed stone.
From there, two human figures thrown
Escape destruction, smoke and fire.
But like the crown atop my spire
That once stood sturdy, proud and tall,
So too went they… before the Fall.
#poetry
August 13, 2025 at 4:14 AM
Lightning strikes, and white-hot sparks
Touch down like calligraphic marks
On skillfully constructed stone.
From there, two human figures thrown
Escape destruction, smoke and fire.
But like the crown atop my spire
That once stood sturdy, proud and tall,
So too went they… before the Fall.
#poetry
Touch down like calligraphic marks
On skillfully constructed stone.
From there, two human figures thrown
Escape destruction, smoke and fire.
But like the crown atop my spire
That once stood sturdy, proud and tall,
So too went they… before the Fall.
#poetry
I woke one day completely changed.
My family wasn’t yet estranged
And begged me to unlock the door.
It took a while to cross the floor
And longer just to turn the knob.
My first concern was for my job,
But now they all pick up the slack
While throwing apples at my back.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
My family wasn’t yet estranged
And begged me to unlock the door.
It took a while to cross the floor
And longer just to turn the knob.
My first concern was for my job,
But now they all pick up the slack
While throwing apples at my back.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
August 12, 2025 at 8:22 PM
I woke one day completely changed.
My family wasn’t yet estranged
And begged me to unlock the door.
It took a while to cross the floor
And longer just to turn the knob.
My first concern was for my job,
But now they all pick up the slack
While throwing apples at my back.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
My family wasn’t yet estranged
And begged me to unlock the door.
It took a while to cross the floor
And longer just to turn the knob.
My first concern was for my job,
But now they all pick up the slack
While throwing apples at my back.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
On winter’s eve or summer’s dawn,
The Hunter holds the bowstring drawn,
Ready to let his arrow fly
Straight through the Sacred Bull’s red eye.
Though we are distant, deep and dim,
Eternally evading him,
We seven sisters jointly shine
Along that imaginary line.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
The Hunter holds the bowstring drawn,
Ready to let his arrow fly
Straight through the Sacred Bull’s red eye.
Though we are distant, deep and dim,
Eternally evading him,
We seven sisters jointly shine
Along that imaginary line.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
August 11, 2025 at 4:35 PM
On winter’s eve or summer’s dawn,
The Hunter holds the bowstring drawn,
Ready to let his arrow fly
Straight through the Sacred Bull’s red eye.
Though we are distant, deep and dim,
Eternally evading him,
We seven sisters jointly shine
Along that imaginary line.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
The Hunter holds the bowstring drawn,
Ready to let his arrow fly
Straight through the Sacred Bull’s red eye.
Though we are distant, deep and dim,
Eternally evading him,
We seven sisters jointly shine
Along that imaginary line.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
The Master of the Vineyard hired
Us in the morning. Now we’re tired
And hungry, though it’s only noon.
With half the vines still left to prune,
He goes to town and hires more.
Assigning them an easier chore,
He promises to match their pay
With those of us who’ve worked all day.
#riddlepoem #poem
Us in the morning. Now we’re tired
And hungry, though it’s only noon.
With half the vines still left to prune,
He goes to town and hires more.
Assigning them an easier chore,
He promises to match their pay
With those of us who’ve worked all day.
#riddlepoem #poem
August 11, 2025 at 4:33 PM
The Master of the Vineyard hired
Us in the morning. Now we’re tired
And hungry, though it’s only noon.
With half the vines still left to prune,
He goes to town and hires more.
Assigning them an easier chore,
He promises to match their pay
With those of us who’ve worked all day.
#riddlepoem #poem
Us in the morning. Now we’re tired
And hungry, though it’s only noon.
With half the vines still left to prune,
He goes to town and hires more.
Assigning them an easier chore,
He promises to match their pay
With those of us who’ve worked all day.
#riddlepoem #poem
Still wet with seaweed, muck and brine,
The Oracle speaks: “Now leave this shrine
With veiled heads and dress unbound,
And cast behind you on the ground
Your mother’s bones.” We can’t profane
Our ancestors—we must explain
This riddle in some other way.
So we throw stones and walk away.
#riddlepoem
The Oracle speaks: “Now leave this shrine
With veiled heads and dress unbound,
And cast behind you on the ground
Your mother’s bones.” We can’t profane
Our ancestors—we must explain
This riddle in some other way.
So we throw stones and walk away.
#riddlepoem
August 11, 2025 at 4:32 PM
Still wet with seaweed, muck and brine,
The Oracle speaks: “Now leave this shrine
With veiled heads and dress unbound,
And cast behind you on the ground
Your mother’s bones.” We can’t profane
Our ancestors—we must explain
This riddle in some other way.
So we throw stones and walk away.
#riddlepoem
The Oracle speaks: “Now leave this shrine
With veiled heads and dress unbound,
And cast behind you on the ground
Your mother’s bones.” We can’t profane
Our ancestors—we must explain
This riddle in some other way.
So we throw stones and walk away.
#riddlepoem
Till cows come home in old Vermont
The critics’ words will always haunt
Our story of grassroots success
Despite how much our fans obsess
Or how complex our compositions,
Allowing that we’re fine musicians
And each of us can clearly shred…
We’re just a ringer for the Dead.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry
The critics’ words will always haunt
Our story of grassroots success
Despite how much our fans obsess
Or how complex our compositions,
Allowing that we’re fine musicians
And each of us can clearly shred…
We’re just a ringer for the Dead.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry
August 6, 2025 at 1:32 AM
Till cows come home in old Vermont
The critics’ words will always haunt
Our story of grassroots success
Despite how much our fans obsess
Or how complex our compositions,
Allowing that we’re fine musicians
And each of us can clearly shred…
We’re just a ringer for the Dead.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry
The critics’ words will always haunt
Our story of grassroots success
Despite how much our fans obsess
Or how complex our compositions,
Allowing that we’re fine musicians
And each of us can clearly shred…
We’re just a ringer for the Dead.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry
I’m well-to-do and well-respected.
I’ve never yet done unexpected
Things or gone on an adventure.
Indeed, I’d be subject to censure
If I should take my daily stroll
Without returning to my hole.
All this explains my sense of warning
At a gray, old man saying, “Good morning!”
#riddlepoem #poetry
I’ve never yet done unexpected
Things or gone on an adventure.
Indeed, I’d be subject to censure
If I should take my daily stroll
Without returning to my hole.
All this explains my sense of warning
At a gray, old man saying, “Good morning!”
#riddlepoem #poetry
August 6, 2025 at 1:28 AM
I’m well-to-do and well-respected.
I’ve never yet done unexpected
Things or gone on an adventure.
Indeed, I’d be subject to censure
If I should take my daily stroll
Without returning to my hole.
All this explains my sense of warning
At a gray, old man saying, “Good morning!”
#riddlepoem #poetry
I’ve never yet done unexpected
Things or gone on an adventure.
Indeed, I’d be subject to censure
If I should take my daily stroll
Without returning to my hole.
All this explains my sense of warning
At a gray, old man saying, “Good morning!”
#riddlepoem #poetry
With scythe for sword I ride and reap,
A wandering knight without a keep
Mounted black on a pale horse.
I am the one unstoppable force
To whom both kings and bishops bow.
But don’t despair—the Cards allow
A less macabre interpretation
Of simple change or transformation.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
A wandering knight without a keep
Mounted black on a pale horse.
I am the one unstoppable force
To whom both kings and bishops bow.
But don’t despair—the Cards allow
A less macabre interpretation
Of simple change or transformation.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
August 6, 2025 at 1:26 AM
With scythe for sword I ride and reap,
A wandering knight without a keep
Mounted black on a pale horse.
I am the one unstoppable force
To whom both kings and bishops bow.
But don’t despair—the Cards allow
A less macabre interpretation
Of simple change or transformation.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
A wandering knight without a keep
Mounted black on a pale horse.
I am the one unstoppable force
To whom both kings and bishops bow.
But don’t despair—the Cards allow
A less macabre interpretation
Of simple change or transformation.
#riddlepoem #poetry #poem
Not every scientist is mad,
But when they are, they’re always glad
To have me with them on the screen—
And that’s where you’ve most likely seen
My hunched outline in shadows lurk.
I always do the dirty work
And sycophantically assist.
But in the book, I don’t exist.
#riddlepoem #poetry #whoami
But when they are, they’re always glad
To have me with them on the screen—
And that’s where you’ve most likely seen
My hunched outline in shadows lurk.
I always do the dirty work
And sycophantically assist.
But in the book, I don’t exist.
#riddlepoem #poetry #whoami
August 6, 2025 at 1:24 AM
Not every scientist is mad,
But when they are, they’re always glad
To have me with them on the screen—
And that’s where you’ve most likely seen
My hunched outline in shadows lurk.
I always do the dirty work
And sycophantically assist.
But in the book, I don’t exist.
#riddlepoem #poetry #whoami
But when they are, they’re always glad
To have me with them on the screen—
And that’s where you’ve most likely seen
My hunched outline in shadows lurk.
I always do the dirty work
And sycophantically assist.
But in the book, I don’t exist.
#riddlepoem #poetry #whoami
Thirty-one pilgrims trek this trail.
We each take turns and tell a tale
To while away the long, slow miles.
The language of the British Isles
Transitions between old and new.
I document with much ado,
In couplets of iambic rhymes,
Daily life in medieval times.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
We each take turns and tell a tale
To while away the long, slow miles.
The language of the British Isles
Transitions between old and new.
I document with much ado,
In couplets of iambic rhymes,
Daily life in medieval times.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
August 6, 2025 at 1:22 AM
Thirty-one pilgrims trek this trail.
We each take turns and tell a tale
To while away the long, slow miles.
The language of the British Isles
Transitions between old and new.
I document with much ado,
In couplets of iambic rhymes,
Daily life in medieval times.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
We each take turns and tell a tale
To while away the long, slow miles.
The language of the British Isles
Transitions between old and new.
I document with much ado,
In couplets of iambic rhymes,
Daily life in medieval times.
#riddlepoem #poetrycommunity #poetry
With bare feet and a tin-pot hat,
I made sure that your cider-vat
For years to come would still be full.
A generous and gentle soul
Anticipating future needs,
From sea-to-sea I planted seeds…
Or so they say—if not, at least
A handful of states in the northeast.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #whoami
I made sure that your cider-vat
For years to come would still be full.
A generous and gentle soul
Anticipating future needs,
From sea-to-sea I planted seeds…
Or so they say—if not, at least
A handful of states in the northeast.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #whoami
August 5, 2025 at 7:51 PM
With bare feet and a tin-pot hat,
I made sure that your cider-vat
For years to come would still be full.
A generous and gentle soul
Anticipating future needs,
From sea-to-sea I planted seeds…
Or so they say—if not, at least
A handful of states in the northeast.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #whoami
I made sure that your cider-vat
For years to come would still be full.
A generous and gentle soul
Anticipating future needs,
From sea-to-sea I planted seeds…
Or so they say—if not, at least
A handful of states in the northeast.
#riddlepoem #poem #poetry #whoami
The Emperor called all his best
Philosophers to try and test
The soundness of my faith with prattle,
But I was victor in that battle,
Convincing several to convert.
He tried to hit me where it hurt
And break my spirit on the Wheel,
Then milked my neck with sharpened steel.
#riddlepoem #poetry
Philosophers to try and test
The soundness of my faith with prattle,
But I was victor in that battle,
Convincing several to convert.
He tried to hit me where it hurt
And break my spirit on the Wheel,
Then milked my neck with sharpened steel.
#riddlepoem #poetry
August 1, 2025 at 3:53 AM
The Emperor called all his best
Philosophers to try and test
The soundness of my faith with prattle,
But I was victor in that battle,
Convincing several to convert.
He tried to hit me where it hurt
And break my spirit on the Wheel,
Then milked my neck with sharpened steel.
#riddlepoem #poetry
Philosophers to try and test
The soundness of my faith with prattle,
But I was victor in that battle,
Convincing several to convert.
He tried to hit me where it hurt
And break my spirit on the Wheel,
Then milked my neck with sharpened steel.
#riddlepoem #poetry