Biography of Devon McElveen
I was born in Norwalk Hospital in Norwalk, Connecticut on April 3,1993. I started writing in 1st grade when my teacher gave us a writing assignment to see how well we wrote. Most people wrote nursery rhymes, but I wrote a short story of a crime that I had witnessed with my very eyes. My teacher had not seen such writing from a child of my age and I was soon transferred into accademically talented classes. I found that I was a gifted child who could write at the level of middle school pupils. As I grew older, my writing began to stregnthen and I began to write even deeper and leaned into the field of poetry Now, I am continuing to write as a practical way to relieve stress. Hopefully, my hobby will become something that I can pay bills with, and my name will be written into history as one of the best poets of my time. Also, my name, Devon, means poet (Celtic) .
Devon McElveen Poems
The Woman In The Red Dress
The woman in the red dress How I admire thee How could one walk with such grace And such beauty?
Dreams, Langston Hughes Tribute
As we dream We are forced to believe That anything we wish Can be conceived.
Why do I enjoy this feeling? Is that really a question?
Leaving The Nest
A young bird leaves the nest, Searching for his calling. A calling that has elluded him While he has resided in his birthplace.
Through The Pen
Through the pen I write words woven with precision. Words that hold lesser meaning alone.
Recipe For War
1 Kilogram of Corruption 1.2 grams of Hatred 3 grams of Government 231 milligrams of Nationalism
He sits there thinking, Listening and watching With eyes and ears That learn more with each passing.
My mind feels empty I must fill it with knowledge For knowledge is key
Living And Dying
I will meet my fate As you will yours. Our lives will wash away On the earth’s forgotten shores.
The Beauty Of Two Lives
We dare, travel into the darkness of despair? Continue to try when our limbs grow bare. This world we see is far from fair. While they fell around me, it watched and stared.
So much grief lies under Her cheery expressions. I did not know of The woes she had endured.
Might I See My End?
I can finally see my end… Are those words a man should speak? Should a man know the date of his demise Or how his body would suffer?
We live in our present, Though we miss our past And await our future.
I know I am in a field alone
Because I hear no one in the background
I can feel the wet grass as I am prone
I sniff the grass as if I were a hound
I hear the wind howl as I stand
It buffets my face without pain
I feel dirt and grit in my hands
It suddenly begins to rain
I hear the pitter-patter of it hitting the dirt