Browsing Category Poems involving Adam

A somewhat circular poem II

When I was growing up, many many witty children probably asked people named Eve: “Hey Eve, where’s Adam?”

Hey Eve, Where’s Adam?

Hey Eve, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Ant?
Hey Ant, where’s Arctic?
Hey Arctic, where’s Chill?
Hey Chill, where’s E?
Hey E, where’s Sun?
Hey Sun, where’s Day?
Hey Day, where’s New Year’s?
Hey New Year’s, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Adam?

A somewhat circular poem

When I was growing up, many many witty children asked me: “Hey Adam, where’s Eve?”.

Hey Adam, Where’s Eve?

Hey Adam, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Christmas?
Hey Christmas, where’s Happy?
Hey Happy, where’s Ness?
Hey Ness, where’s Loch?
Hey Loch, where’s Smith?
Hey Smith, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Eve?

A poem about a man in a hurry

They say that your name can affect your personality… 

They Called Me Adam

All my life I’ve
felt the urge to be
first in line, to
barge the queue, to
not waste time, to
rush towards the paradise I’m trying to find. 

On and on through the
universe and the
metaverse and
God-knows-where. So
long as I’m breathing, I’ll
do what it takes to get back to Eden.

On and on until too late, I
turn around but

no one’s there. It’s
all about Adam. I’ve
forgotten Eve. Did she
fall in a chasm? I
feel a bit peeved but
also relieved.

At last I reach the
Garden of Eden.
Heavily breathing, I
open the gate. It’s
rusty and creaking. I
doff my figleaf and
prance around but it’s
not the same. The garden needs weeding and

would you believe, I’m missing Eve. I
nibble an apple and
decide to leave but I’m
low on funds so I
stand in front and scream out:
Ultimate Magical Venue For Hire.’

Then off I jet
on the trail of yet
another messiah.

A poem about Adam and Eve’s daughter-in-law

God creates Adam and Eve. Adam and Eve conceive Cain and Abel. Cain finds a wife. Where?

Cain’s wife featured in the Scopes creation v evolution trial in Tennessee in 1925. Darrow: “Did you ever discover where Cain got his wife?” Bryan:” No sir, I leave the agnostics to hunt for her.” Darrow: “Were there other people on earth at that time?” Bryan: “I cannot say.”

This poem imagines the moment when Cain introduces his wife to his parents.

Cain’s Wife

Good evening,
said Cain’s wife.
I am Cain’s wife,
otherwise known
as the wife of Cain.
Yes, said Cain,
let me explain. 
I married her.
I am her husband.
She is my wife.
She is Cain’s wife,
the wife of Cain.
Great, said Adam,
what’s your name?
I have no name.
I am Cain’s wife,
the wife of Cain
and that is all.
Yes, said Cain,
she has no name.
It is a shame.
Odd, said Eve.
Let me explain,
said the wife of Cain.
I had waited
beneath the surface,
until the rain came
in the shape of Cain.
and now we live
in the land called Nod
where Cain is busy
building a city
which we must stock.
And so I bore Enoch,
no pain, no gain,
said the wife of Cain,
looking at Eve.
And now I must leave
before it gets light.

A poem about prehistoric me

I once read an article in the Independent that, 400 million years ago, a creature called Acanthostega lived in muck at the bottom of the sea. It had a salamander-like body with big glassy eyes atop a flat, Muppet-style head. Acanthostega was the earliest known vertebrate lifeform that crawled out of the sea to live on land. But why bother? And was it some version of Adam, the first man?

For some reason, my wife thinks this poem is autobiographical. Anyway, it is the beginning in so many ways. The first post in this poetry blog. The opening poem I read whenever I perform my poetry. In fact, the first poem I ever wrote.


I’m Adam the Acanthostega.
My quality of life’s quite meagre.
Lurking on the Atlantic shelf                   
I feel I can’t express myself.
There’s little point in being ambitious
when all you meet are ancient fishes.

On reaching land – if I could make it –
I’d run around completely naked.
Then settle down and find a wife
and venture out to get a life.
Once I’d evolved a little more
I’d open an account offshore.

I’m Adam the Acanthostega.
I’m feeling pressured and beleaguered.
Skulking underneath the oceans
I can’t tune in to my emotions.
I try to share with my pal Bob.
Sadly, he’s just a primitive blob.

I did once date an alligator.
She was a poor communicator.
I said, you’ll soon get over me.
There are plenty others in the sea.
She smiled; meanwhile her tail went splat
and ever since my head’s been flat.

I’m Adam the Acanthostega.
Plumbing depths of around one league, ugh
can’t stand this dirt and filth and grime
the mud, the muck, primeval slime.
I’d really love to power shower
and spray myself with passionflower.

Then out to dine, a top class venue
but please no seafood on the menu.
I’ve always had first rate relations
with lobsters, crabs and other crustaceans.
Though I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine
to take away the taste of brine.

I’m Adam the Acanthostega.
I’ve never been to Leeds or Riga.
The Seven Wonders of the World
are to me like a flag that’s furled.
These torpid hours concealed in murk
would drive any vertebrate berserk.

I sometimes visit that rock there.
I go by sea and not by air.
It isn’t much of a vacation,
so little chance for recreation.
As skiing doesn’t yet exist
I’m feeling terribly off piste.

I’m Adam the Acanthostega.
Not second rate, I’m a premier leaguer.
I lead my cohorts from the fore.
So I’m the first to crawl ashore.
As I later mentioned to my daughter,
the first ever fish that’s out of water.

And I find the fresh air very taxing.
So I build a deck chair to relax in.
But someone’s made it here before us
and I don’t mean a dinosaurus.
When I return to my deck chair
someone else’s towel is already there.

  • A video of the poet performing the poem plus an animated version: