The problem with hedgehogs is the universal one.
It's the struggle of every man lying on his back, staring at the stars,
of every woman from mars, trying to appear from venus.
It's the distance between two lovers,
and the pain of the sulking man on the bus.
The problem with the hedgehog is the problem with us.
The binding of every heart that's too large for its chest,
and the worry of the mother who can't rest because her child has not come home.
It's that we feel like we are alone when surrounded by our friends,
and that the feeling of love ends when you hang up the phone.
The problem with hedgehogs is that when times get cold and rough
they can't seem to get warm and soft enough to love.
It's the push you're always giving to keep her away,
and the words you can't find to get him to stay the night.
It's the constant fights that wear you down every day.
It's the talent wasted in pursuit of pretty words
that won't be heard by the ones we care for most,
and the ghosts in the rain of yesterday, that won't leave us be.
The problem with hedgehogs is the problem with me.

there was a little hedgehog he was very sad
it was christmas time and he had lost his dad
the snow had go so deep he got left behind
and the hedgehogs dad he just couldnt find
he just kept on walking in the snow so deep
then he found some snow piled up in a heap
he dug into the snow then he heard a snore
there he  found his dad sleeping on the floor
hedgehog he was happy that he had found his dad
it made his christmas happy best one he ever had

there was a little hedgehog adventure bound was he
and a mountain climber he just long to be
he took a trip to everest to see the mountain there
standing very tall  high up in the air.

he took along his tent  climbing ropes and all
up the big high moutain he began to crawl
using all his skill he began to climb
hedgehog took it slow he just took his time.

climbing up the face having lots of fun
he was really happy his adventure had begun
hedgehog he kept going till at the top was he
now he could be famous go down in history.

he had done the thing that he long to do
to be a moutaineer and be famous too.

i like the countryside and all there is to see
so many different things you can view for free
there are lots of thing waiting to be found
lots of flowers and plants growing from the ground

there are animals the badger and the hare
hedgehogs and the squirrel all of them are there
there are many berries some that you can eat
mushrooms and the garlic a tasty little treat

there are mice and moles and the little shrew
many other creature waiting there for you
lots and lots of things that nature has to give
mother natures way that helps the world to live

There's hedgehogs in my garden
I only see them at night
sniffing and scuffling around
for worms, slugs and termites

They are such particular creatures
with their hardened spins on top
and very little downy fur underneath
they are rather lovely, sniffing underleaf

Those cute little snouts sniffing around
looking for creature that dwell underground
and when they are harassed at all
they do curl up into a tiny ball

I love the hedgehogs in my garden
they are such sweet little things
and when it's cold at night
I bring them warm milk and a bite


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

The night went away.
The sun came out to play.
The hedgehogs are hiding.
Until tonight.
The cats are not crying or calling and screaming.
They went back indoors and they're taking their cream in.
Along with cat biscuits and a little meat.
The dormice are sleeping until bedtime comes.
He's dreaming of Alice and teacups and fun.
In his dream  the Mad Hatter hides,
The queen of hearts decides,who's lives and who to dies.
Who at the end of the day is alive.
It off with his noddle said she.
Stroppy witch, she takes control of croquet games and rabbit holes.

The grub the hedgehog ate, destroyed his mental state.
It was nothing to do with dormice at all.
Somebody gave him milk and bread, instead of worms and garden bugs.
Gave him ****** weird dreams.
Went straight to his head.
Dawn broke.
Shuffled back into his home, under the bushes.
In a bit of a queer confused state.
He went straight back to sleep.
Hedgehogs don't eat bread and milk.
(c) Livvi

The geese are talking much these days
just over the way a field next the shore
moves to their webbed dancing
a place of safety from all on the hunt
for flesh and bones feathered.
We have no foxes here, our Island,
small oasis in the sea;
the most the geese have to be alert to
are Man and egg loving Hedgehogs.

On behalf of all hedgehogs please read this before lighting your fire on bonfire night.
Wading through rotten wood gathered throughout the year
Lies a little baby hedgehog and in its eye there’s a tear.
In hedgehog talk he pleaded for help and, missing his mum
He was set free to walk back cold and lonesome.
He arrived home and his mum had missed her only son.
She cuddled him while he told her what he had done.
She realised her son could have been burned alive at night
He was under a pile of wood which could have set alight.
She looked at him with all the love in the world and more
But her precious little one was fast asleep on the floor.

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
  Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
  Come not near our fairy queen.

      Philomel, with melody,
      Sing in our sweet lullaby;
    Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
        Never harm,
        Nor spell nor charm,
      Come our lovely lady nigh;
      So, good night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders, come not here;
  Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
  Worm nor snail, do no offence.

      Philomel, with melody,
      Sing in our sweet lullaby;
    Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
        Never harm,
        Nor spell nor charm,
      Come our lovely lady nigh;
      So, good night, with lullaby.

I measure out my days in witticisms that fall
As freely and pointlessly as leaves in autumn,
My few amongst the countless that fall anonymously
Along streets, in parks, in gardens
Filling gutters, blocking drains, making homes
For hedgehogs, rats and beetles.
Things we **** with cars, poisons and heels.

Sunset is one time, one thing I dare to love
Different to sunrise, but not so much in light
It’s how fishermen hold so tightly to their line

In evening, my countenance feels pleasantly light
I move through cool air, a smooth-flowing line
Intersecting invisible ties, each person and each they love

I wait for some odd thing in a long ordered line
Calmed by the blending of sun and sea that must be love,
Serenely, I disappoint those in need of cigarette light

The sun bade farewell to the sea, and fell below the horizon line




*—Urchins are hedgehogs of the sea, I was called an urchin by my mother, which I loved. The nicknames only got worse from that point

Hedgehogs with spines
have it very hard at times,
trying it on with female type
and finding the females have a gripe
with spines,
at times.

A hedgehog I know and have often seen
coats his spines
in poly..sty (a) rine
he finds this a boon
when finding the females swoon at his feet
which just goes to show that you cannot beat
innovation.

Through the looking glass I peered, hoping,
Hoping to see another world.
Alice, oh Alice, how envy I you,
Dreaming, still dreaming,
But your dreams come true.

No one moved, not a single spoke, silence,
All around the world grew, or shrink it did.
It was you, Alice, you,
You were the one who grew.
Eat of that mushroom you did.

The caterpillar, smoking its pipe, wheezes,
In the garden, the flowers did sing.
You fell down the rabbit’s hole,
Not too long ago,
A new world you discovered.

The Cat, what was it called? Cheshire.
It’s wide grin, plump body.
Here, there, nowhere, it vanishes and reappears,
A cat without a grin, you’ve seen,
Not a grin, without the cat.

The Mad Hatter, the March Hare, seated,
Dormouse still sleeping.
Table long, tea cups and pots,
All set and ready,
Truly a Mad Tea-Party.

The Queen, oh, Her Majesty, Red hearts,
Loyal subjects pay their respects.
Golf, was it? No – croquet, you played.
Flamingos and hedgehogs,
Certainly a difficult game.

Painting the roses red, they were,
Red, red roses. The gardener,
He grew them all wrong: White roses from the trees,
Card soldiers, hard work.

Roused, awakened, your sister came, running,
A dream you thought.
It must have been, maybe,
The mushroom in your pocket, the white rabbit’s glove,
You know where you’ve been.

land of no responsibility
except to give in to that burning urge
that prickles up the back of your neck on waking
to be off out running under sun
barefoot as soon as out of sight
adventures wait and time belongs to you
you fish for sticklebacks in a field of golden corn
where farmers wave in anger at the trail to the pond
and take home tadpoles in glass jars on string
breathless at the sight of legs emerging
pick bluebells in the wood for mother
but then arrange them in old tins
in tumbledown cottage the gangs den
scrumping crab apples in overgrown gardens  
never getting that stomach ache all Adults warned of
roaming hedgerows looking for hedgehogs
hoping for signs of any living thing
all long fled at the collective noise you make
catching butterflies to look at their wings
putting crysillis in greaseproof papered jars
to watch them emerge for flight on glistening wings
when you return them to the wild
lifting up old drain pipes to look for slugs to race
not forgetting to put them back at races end so they dont shrivel
basking in hot sun after watching trails of catapillars
whose prickles mother later tweezers out
amidst a small flood of tears because they flame red
having a bath with bubbles then tucking up in bed
drowzy but anticipating  tomorrow is waiting

My little blue dress hangs in my closet now, and my black ribbon is around my wrist and not my hair. I've cut my long blonde hair shorter, and my childhood fantasies are a mere haunting that reach to me at night, reminding me of who I am.

I once dreamt of you as a wonderland, a place of fear and magic and horror that I would suffer a thousand lives to feel a moment of.

Then I grew older, and recognized that this wasn't a wonderland; or perhaps, it was, but not quite the wonderland I was thinking of. This wonderland had a name, a name that came with frightening connotations.

Bipolar.

Those fantastical moments in which I was flying, in which nothing but the flowers could sing with me as I danced in a purple field of wonder. Where the bluebells kissed my hands and the crochet was with hedgehogs and the pond behind my house was much more than it seemed.

Bipolar.

Each corner I turned in which a shadow hid behind, shadows I could only see and that chased me through the darkness unto the stairs and into my bed, holding me tight and strangling me until I woke up and realized everything was ok.

Bipolar.

Each friend I made as a child at night that wasn't tangible, though we shook hands and danced and read books together as if we were real. As if anything was real.

Bipolar.

It was a game I was playing that I didn't know was hardwired into my brain, that this wasn't just Grace and her wonderland, it was something darker, deeper. But alas, that's how it is as you age, isn't it?


Wonderland gets darker with each visit, and with each day it grows closer to me. Its terrifying how it may begin to affect others, others i love, but there's not much I can do, is there?

My one wish is that there will not be another blonde little girl, with my green eyes and my blue dress, finding herself stumbling into a wonderland that she cannot handle.

If it means I can never have the one thing I want more than anything, then I am willing to sacrifice everything to protect that little girl.

I will never lead another little girl into wonderland.

Never.

we'd wake up and play with magic
like any other game of pretend
bath towel tied into a cape
we'd approach an empty plastic top hat
wand in hand
 
we were tapping into an ancient power
that we barely even knew
we've played a superhero, Sub-zero
and now, a miracle worker
there was nothing we couldn't do
 
we'd climb trees to the summit branches
as high as we'd dare to go
we'd lower the hoop and dunk with ease
alley-oops, 360s
sometimes in slow-mo
 
there was nothing but room
to grow and explore
frontiers of the imagination
seized on roller blades with plastic swords
 
we'd tie skateboards to the back of bicycles
and Jamaican bobsled down the street
we were free ninjas in the 90s
off to adventures no one sees
 
we'd front roll down hills like hedgehogs
we'd scrape knees
we'd footrace to the stop sign and back
to pretend we're going faster
we'd kick clouds of dust in our tracks
 
we'd steal bricks from the neighbor's garden
and throw them into lakes to see the splash
we'd throw pebbles to see how high they'd go
or paper planes from the top of the staircases
one time, we jumped off:
it was a dare
we did it though
 
we unscrewed the air cap from the tires
of our enemies' parked cars
we clapped back with super soakers
the block was truly ours
 
we'd play until the streetlights came on
with more discoveries left unseen
and in the shadows while sleeping
we'd play catch with our dreams

Deep down a rabbit’s hole
Lies a strange and wonderful place
Where there is no such thing as time
Or sanity or space

You fall into a room
Where there’s a drink that can make you small
A door so very little
And a cake that can make you tall

A garden where flowers can talk
Where a smart mouthed caterpillar make smoke rings
An island where dodos live
And where birds and sea creatures sing

Down the road live a hatter and a hare
Their cakes and tea are the very best
Both so mad and very insane
Asking why a raven is like a writing desk

In a palace lives a Queen
Who is very short tempered
And with just four little words
She can have your head dismembered

A yard where they use flamingoes and hedgehogs
To play a game of crocket
And forests where bread-and-butterflies
And rocking-horseflies come out and play

Up a tree lives the Cheshire Cat
Who slowly disappears
Telling a young, blond haired girl
Almost everyone is mad here

In this place, it makes sense
That what it is it wouldn’t be
And what it wouldn’t be, it would
Logic of childish insanity

So you are cordially invited
To this place so eccentric and grand
Where nonsense is your guide
To this kingdom called Wonderland

I walk along same paths everyday
I never look for what on display
Birds singing dancing away
Sun out beating it's play
I feel the warm rays
This washes my cares away.

Ive walked this  path everyday
Today my feet move with the sun's dancing  beat with  the dancing of the little Robins feet.

I take my time on this warm spring day I take it all in , it warms me within

Moving with the sun beat
I'm dancing with the little Robins feet
I Shuffle muffle with the hedgehogs snuffle,  pushing through ***** leave i just love this spring time beat
I'm dancing to the little Robins feet .

Scarlet is the only paint I know
Gone from my palette forever
Are greens and blues of every hue
Yellows and oranges no longer acceptable
Purples blacks and whites, no more
Red, scarlet crimson; only these
The color of blood and roses
But wait, I don't like order
So let's say that french kisses are red
And cool water is too
Redefining red as I wish, I make
Soft curling ferns and fuzzy bellied hedgehogs red
And you know what?
Scarlet is now the only paint I know

The pace was too fast
So i just slowed it down
Giving you a chance to breath
We're not hedgehogs with red shoes
We're human beings
Take it down a notch for a day or two
Inconsistent pace isn't always bad
Give it time to rest.

i wither...
                                                       ­         ~away
i float from my consciousness, watching myself listen
to endless dribble of the ignorant pro-tagonist of life.

the limitless waves of gray faberic framing the brown bald
and blonde hedgehogs poking their heads up to electrify their
deaf ears and blind eyes – blind eyes
to the world of a real mind.

-they cant see as i see – this life (of theirs) means as much as the DIRT holding the ground of the ghosts in wooden boxes under the rocks
mouths moving words flying
silly tongues flapping – saying nothing – begging for nothing while across the gray,
dull words of hip-hop and pop don’t stop…
contradicting the history of blood and turmoil

ridiculing the bowtie wrapped around the neck of authority – maneuvering the black and white pieces of a chess board  - an antiquated system crumbling – the backbone of an elephant standing tall while ignoring the memory of those dishonored by them – they forget – the ever-forgetting elephant no!
the ignorant elephants whose eyes have been gutted by its own tail – these elephants don’t wail
i wail, scream, howl and groan I weep (inwardly) as I stand cold, engulfed in smoke and smog. I scoff, scowl, and scorn openly inwardly at the treachery and horror that life brings

forgetful is that elephant that kindness is not weakness warmth is not love and a smile is not always real – gripping clawing scratching grabbing clutching to a life that means nothing – than recycled water in the perpetual flow of a ****** river
theyweep theycry theybeg theydie

and they are faded...
…into memories – and the gray infinite abyss of the blue collar drone.

He conceived you
Wrote you
Those acts for you
Unfold relentlessly

A stethoscope he hears
Your heart-lines well known
The days you bent
Or contract at contacts

A moon he watches
The geometry shapes you create in bed
Or the oceans let loose
The hedgehogs on your skin
He cried a shimmering tear

He kisses you
Work you
So don’t you love
The boy across

nature is a wonder with lots of things to see

for all the world to view all of this for free

the singing of the birds high up in the trees

the blowing of the wind with its gentle breeze.



creatures in the forest there quite a few

squirrels and the hedgehogs lots of others too

there are many things nature as to give

a miracle of life that helps the world to live