Saturday, October 28, 2006

Hive Collective Logo Contest

Think you can come up with the perfect logo for The Hive Collective?
Go ahead and submit entries and may the best win!
Email submissions to The Hive Collective

Sunday, October 08, 2006

The Hive Collective Edition 1

Welcome to what is hopefully going to become the internets newest home of independent art and artists!
Check out the sidebar for more information on how to join , submit, and become a part of this great growing community.

To start things off...let's add a little color with our first art submission from one of my favorite MA. artists. Che Arrajj. Che is an amazing artist, photographer, and all around amazing person. If you would like to see more of Che's art and learn a little more about him, make sure you check out his website: Che Arrajj

Barbara was the first person to send me a submission when I put out the call!
Here are two of her poems.

crickets chirp

the setting sun

reflected on the skin of a green pepper, hanging in the garden

going…going…blip a small golden dot

fading to a speck of dust

last vestiges of light

6:19 pm Sunday night.


This is dedicated to all the false prophets and so-called holy leaders;

Hurry up and gather around

the preacher man is coming to town

jazz hands!

snake oil charmer

sinister force

when he speaks, the oxygen is sucked out of the room

drip dropping your rhetoric like acid to burn

just like you burned the witch

can you not learn?

cries of pagan left, sinister force

hey sucker, the goddess spoke long before you were born

burbling black tar from your lips


tick tock and ding dong

the wheel turns round and round

where once you were king

a pauper is now born

the devil hath power to take a pleasing form

have you not been foretold? Were you not warned?

and my oh my how those tables do turn

walking backwards, that’s how I learn

you come to me all smiles and honey

shove it up your ass

your god is money

Don’t look now but there’s a crack in your foundation

there’s money to be made in the business of salvation

self-satisfied fakir holy man

You’re obscene

hiding behind your false piety

do unto others as you would have them do unto you

Hey Mr. fucking holy preacher man, I’m talking to you.


Eddy Dyer is another MA. artist. Multi talented. He is an activist, musician (we will have some of his music soon I am sure) writer, poet.

There Still Hangs But One

...and the sky set him down in a small wooden boat
where a breeze on his back breathed of shorelines, remote
'til the Lady, once widowed did call him to ground
"come around once again,
wayward soldier, or drown...

Have you been where the dandelions sway in the sun
where the memorys fall, does there still hang but one?"
"Well, I"ve been where you're pointing
and there's no such a place
where they wait in damp silence
for a glimpse of Your face."

and the sky set him down on a dry, sunlit peak
as the ground swallowed wide, seven stones came to speak
'til the Lady, once widowed did call from ashore,
"Come around, wayward soldier and find me once more...

have you been where the scarecrows remember their songs,
where the old watch the young
wonder where they belong?"
"Well, Ive been where you're pointing
and there's no such a place
where they wait in damp silence
for a glimpse of Your face."

and his will set him high, both feet miles from the ground
'til the fire he craved sent him spiraling
where the Lady, once widowed, did call from dry land
"Come around, wayward soldier
and make your last stand;

Have you been where the dandelions sway in the sun,
where the red roses fall, does there still hang but one?"
"Well I've been where you're pointing,
yes, to that very place
where they lay in damp silence
remembering your face...".

-eddy dyer

(copyright 2006 eddy dyer and not Myspace or the fucking Fox channel thank you very much!)

One of my own poems

Into My Death

I expected you to be there that day
cheap glass filled with bourbon
The glass cheap, not the bourbon.
Camel red carelessly smoking
lung cancer long forgotten
fuck the lights

I expected you to be there that day
Ass in the chair
Elbows on knees
"don't you get it...?
re-read this page and tell me..."
and on it goes from there.

Our heroes still on paper
yellowed, frail, decaying
Computer dark in the corner
Shelves in the background
Hard spines neatly placed
yet packed full

I expected you to be there that day
Eyes so heavy i used my ears
to remember your face
Skin so thin
I had to fantasize about smiling
For fear my face would slide right off
My that thought would make you laugh.

I expected you to be there that day
lost in your words
on paper
from your mouth
not hearing the first gasp
the second you look up
words forgotten
first time ever

I expected you to be there that day
ancient body crumbling
holding my hand so hard
i felt the bones turn to dust

That ancient wives tale
Don't dare dream your own death
for you will never wake
just that a tale

Yesterday I woke from my death
Hale,hearty and whole

I never expected you not to be there that day
who else can i ever trust
to love me through that day
and hold me
Into my death.

Jessica Huddle