the manatee eats and shits
Auroleus
Auroleus
Aug 9, 2012

Fat and disgusting,
the manatee eats and shits
with endangered grace.

Choreographed fits
awaken society
to it's slow decline.

Politicians race
to win the seat but forget
how to act like men.

Why isn't there a
sociopath filter built
into the system?

Hansuru
Hansuru
Aug 18

It's early,
And yet I see the faint glimmer of the future,
It's undulating just over the horizon like a sea cow;
Adorable and ignorant.
A heavy beast, capable of violence,
And in need of protection.
I hope I have the strength.

Yet you were like the warm belly of a manatee
Andrei
Aug 25, 2010

The shouting face of the sea
Ravages rocks on the toes of the beach
Seashells glued to glass
laminate the reflecting rays of the baking sun  
A pebble preaches to a mountain
Underneath an electric dream
Galvanize my heart,
It needs a jump-start
Stuck in a frozen tundra of fallacy
Chasing broken tragedies
I told her
I tried
Nothing seems to change the mind
So I guess I’ll have to lie
Praying a lion’s smile
captures her immaculate eyes
But my summer’s luck lacks the ability to clear cloudy skies
Now I am alone in a misty meadow
With taciturn trees
Yet you were like the warm belly of a manatee
And I was a calloused heart  hoping for a remedy

my Manatee is growing restless
James Shasha
May 17, 2010

Exploring unforseen frontiers,
the Basil Confederate meets
a prayer called Monday.
Huddle your anticipation,
my Manatee is growing restless

a New Revolution Poem
whistle, a manatee surfaced
marina
marina
Apr 20, 2013      Apr 21, 2013

sometimes i like to remember when i ran
cross-country in the fall last year.
we always started at the park on first,
then took the sidewalk that
followed the water, all the way
to the fine arts museum and
back.  we started precisely at
five thirty every day.

but once, before coach blew the
whistle, a manatee surfaced
just by the boarding dock.
he swam beside the wall, until
he was just underneath us.
he wasn't majestic or
breathtaking, or anything special-

just another manatee.
but he was enough
to make us stop, even coach.
he was enough to make us smile.

because he was right, there are absolutely not enough poems about manatees.
so here is one, even if it's bad.  true story, though, the manatee had two friends and my team and i watched them for a good five minutes.
when i was in eighth grade, our teachers took us on a trip to swim with the manatees.  we strapped up in wet-suits in went the middle of winter, and it was freezing, but so worth it.  we weren't allowed to follow them or anything, but they were curious, and if they came up to us, we could do whatever.  i got to pet, like, six manatees that day.  i didn't really like manatees all that much up until that point.  one of them was all scarred up from boat propellers, and when i pet him, i could feel the scar tissue and it broke my heart but he was so happy and sweet and it was really incredible.  moments like that make me love living in florida.
"OH! It's a manatee."
Dream Weaver
Dream Weaver
Aug 27, 2012

You stop what you are saying
as you stare at me...
You then say, "Well,
what of Humanity?"

My eyes go wide
as I reply, "Why?"
You say back to me,
"Because."

"OH! It's a manatee."

Flung her onto the Manatee instead.
Rajat Narula
Rajat Narula
Jun 11, 2012

The golden grove swayed invitingly
Quietly goading the furry Squirrel
Into its sun kissed lair
Even as the Butterfly danced rings
Around its twitching nose and whispered
Of emerald leaves, until a honey laced gust
Merrily carried it to its home in the hills away.
The carefree Squirrel then pranced from pebble
To earth and earth to rock till the lusty Ladybird
Newly engendered, leaped on its swishing tail
And throatily sang of the passion in the hearts
Of blueberries, ripe as they be in spring
Before the steadfast Squirrel with a hasty dash
Flung her onto the Manatee instead.
Hurrying from branch to branch the anxious
Squirrel now flew past the restful Owl and in its
Haste to exit these worrisome groves
Rent its gleaming hide but carried on
Without wavering, its angelic face a
Picture of consternation while its melting eyes
Shone with joy and pride.
Finally slowing down, the shy Squirrel circled
The pristine pond, twittering to itself
When suddenly the myrtle bushes parted and out
Popped a Doe-Squirrel, cheeks flushed with
Adoration, and then the stars grew brighter
Carefully swallowing their passion, while I,
Solitary Reaper, still searched for my love in the woods.

like a manatee in the sea,
Clem C
Clem C
Sep 21, 2013

I toss,

I turn,

Spirits lift,

only to crash and burn,

I would change

to de-spare

if I had any,

more than none.

Why are there people
who get angry and
foist a will,
an unkind will
on others till
they break and break
like fine china on a porcelain tile floor?

drama and conflict are enough and
of this world,
blood stained words
are hurled,
I hope they never make it to my place
of fantasy, where I write in peace holding still
like a manatee in the sea,
thank you, hello poetry.

If someone needs this time and space,
to unload the life that weighs them
down or drags them into the streets,
kicking and screaming as the part
that goes streaming by is the very
reason they hide their eyes in public
or slump into their seat as the verbal
or text abuse, puts nails in the hope
which waits in escape, just beyond
their fingertips and barbed wire voices...

but as for me, so isolated

I may not always rhyme
I may not have the right prose,
my surreal images might raise
an eyebrow, and my as
and like may need a metamorphoses,
to even be a metaphor,
but through all of you here
I get to visit a different shore
each time I open up a poem,
even if I don't know your name,
or maybe even who you really are.

I am glad you let me care.



©ClemC092013

Any political scientist(s), or other debaters, be at peace, the world has enough war, it does not belong here.
   a fat manatee, and I will finally
Marty S Dalton
Marty S Dalton
Apr 19, 2013      Apr 21, 2013

There are not enough
   poems about manatees
If you are interested in human
   rights being kicked like a dog
   and justice being dragged
   through mud, you can find it
If you are interested in love
   that aches with a “burning
   heart” or a “bleeding soul”
   you can find it
If you are interested in death
   that holds out its hand
   to you like relief, or takes
   one too early, you can find it
But where, I ask, do you find
   a badger in a turtleneck?
Or a cup of coffee that doesn’t
   sound so self important?    
If you’re interested in the
   ocean or the sea or maybe
   a single “crushing wave
   of emotion,” you can find it
If you’re interested in God
  dying to save you, or God
  abandoning you to the darkness
  you can find it
If you’re interested in athletics—
   especially running towards
   dreams and horizons—and
   losing and winning, you can find it
But where, I ask, do you find
   a good left-handed centipede?
Or a wonderful, ice cold beer that
   doesn’t turn into alcoholism?
If you want to find a poem about
   how the “gray rain spills from
   the clouds like the pain”
   you can find it
If you don’t want to find a poem
   about rain you’ll still find it
   (cause those rain poems
   are everywhere)
If you’re looking for a poem
   about regret and forgiveness
   and cruel mercy making false    
   promises, you can find it
But where, I ask, do you find
   a barbarian ballerina?
Or a cigarette whose smoke doesn’t
   outline the shadows of a lost soul?  
Show me these things, show me
   a fat manatee, and I will finally
   take a deep breath and smile

periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the da
Reanna Horsley

I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.

I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.

I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.

I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.

Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.

Life will never end when you are in it.”

Lemony Snicket may be considered a children author but he has always been one of my favorites and his words speak deeply to me. If you like this, you would enjoy many, if not all of his books. Hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
 
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