bits of seagrapes,
parts of a dead crab,
One day these grey clouds that linger above
Will give up and allow their rain to fall
The droplets like an echo of my love
A shadow of the leaves that fell in fall
I long to reach up with my hands and grab
Those hideous clouds I wish would crash
Your sign is cancer, the sign of the crab
It seems we are not meant to be, we clash
But I know your eyes, eyes I can't evade
For that I become a slave to that grey
They bear into me as if to invade
I have no complaint, I only say stay
My hearts the flame that you always enrage
Trapping me in passions bottomless cage
This is my first attempt at writing a sonnet
I don't know any cancer signs... it just needed to rhyme
Is a common turtle really different from a crab?
They both make their ways slowly, across the dirt and sand.
The mouth and claw don't differ much in ways they're used to grab.
Could a common turtle really be a green-shelled crab?
I came across a crab
Strolling on the beach,
And paused to admire
Muscular legs held
Up a stony shell as
He marched ever onwards,
Sideways, back to the ocean.
He paused also, as if
Admiring my own gait,
And so I asked, “Mr. Crab,
Why are you walking sideways?”
Only later did I realise that,
As I asked him that question,
He must have been thinking
The exact same thing of me.
© Lewis Hyden
I’m spiraling and sprawling out
The **** parts revealed
Like a hermit crab
who’s had his shell taken
Hyperventilating and staring at opaque ceilings listening to the walls
They speak and when they do they whisper of me
They laugh at their corners and close in on me
They grip with brick hands
Face the floor
He feels what I feel
I will merge with him so they will be right
Let them walk all over me
Until I can no longer feel
In the swash zone
a desperate crab somehow overturned,
belly-up. Dome-backed, helpless,
she twitches feet and claws
grasping only air
as seagulls gather, smacking lips.
Shall I intervene?
Who do I favor, crab or gull?
Frankly I have problems with both personalities.
Can’t ignore a creature in distress.
(Who programmed that?)
Wiggle my toes into damp sand beneath the beast.
With nary an acknowledgement, crab scuttles
sideways to a spot in the wave wash
where in a flutter of little legs she half-buries herself,
Seagulls scream curses.
What did I expect, a thank you?
First published in *Your Daily Poem*
Cooking beneath the shell
The meat of my thoughts
Like a hermit crab
The boiling of my dreams
Escaping as high-pressure steam
Through tiny fissures
In dye-shifting armor
I never opened up
I never bent or broke
and never cracked
But now is never
All I have, I’m giving back
Plug your ears
To the deafening screams
That no amount of heating
Can make edible
You are the hardness of my shell
Omnipresent and Incredible
I wanted to post this earlier, at the time of writing but I guess it had to ferment a bit.
As a hermit crab does she dwell
Safe within a borrowed shell
Here she lives in fear
Of the outside world
She feels so near
She exists here all alone
Only home she's ever known
Fearing what she'll find
Danger lies ahead
Safety left behind
No longer confined, free at last
All her doubts now in the past
Free now to explore
All the places
She feared before
Written at age 31, one week after returning from my gender reassignment surgery in Bangkok, Thailand
somedays, Love is like an empty driveway. sometimes Love is a grizzly; when it wakes, it growls at you. sometimes, Love is a full moon. Love dances with You and forgets its claws and gnashing teeth. sometimes, Love doesn't know that its bites aren't supposed to hurt. but sometimes You don't either, so you forgive. sometimes Love is a cat that scratches and comes back purring. You don't fault it for being that way. Love is not easy to understand, but at least You are always willing to try.