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Ira Desmond Sep 2023
Our trajectory is unknowable, you tell me: the planet
corkscrews around the Sun, sure,

but the Sun corkscrews around a black hole at
the heart of the Milky Way,

and our whole galaxy travels on some mysterious,
incalculable vector. But sister, I saw a photograph

in which two whale sharks were brought to
heel by men in simple reed boats just

off the coast of the Philippines. All that they had
to do was often feed

the sharks many gallons of grocery-store frozen
shrimp, poured from plastic garbage bags into

their yawning six-foot maws to portside.
Gargantuan, sure, but still

as obedient and eager for food as backyard
squirrels. I remembered a grainy

internet video—I saw it probably seven or
eight years back—in which

a captured whale shark was winched
ashore in Madagascar, or

maybe it was the Philippines again—no matter—
the thing still had life left

in it and struggled to breathe while a crowd of
people gathered around—there were

women carrying babies, girls holding baskets atop
their heads—and then the

men came with a long slender blade and sliced clean
through the whale’s spine, vivisected it

right there on the dock, and the onlookers stood there quite
unfazed—I remember

being shocked at the effortlessness of the cut,
the pinkness of the whale’s blood,

and the boredom in the onlookers’ eyes. Our father
took us down to San Antonio

on one of his business trips there when we were five
or six—I think

you were probably too young to
remember it—

it was when you and I saw the ocean for the first
time. We drove down to the Gulf

of Mexico, and we saw waves breaking
out near the horizon in pale

sunlight. I kept scanning for a dorsal
fin off beyond

the breakers, thinking that I might spot one—
sandy brown, mottled with

cream spots and glistening—so that I might be able to
say to you, pointing, “look,

sister, there is a whale shark!” Years
later we would learn

that he traveled down to San Antonio so
frequently because he was a philanderer. As

a child I believed that whale sharks
crisscrossed the ocean following

paths that we couldn’t fathom, that
their concerns were somehow

beyond our comprehension, but then
Keppler pinned down

the shape of the Earth’s orbit over four
hundred years ago,

and the lives of ancient sea
titans are sundered

by men with indifferent faces.
I S A A C May 2023
this place is a pond
destined to dry, destined to die
i fashion some wings, white and long
i left before i could see it was wrong
spending my seconds before the sun
before tumbling down into the blue ocean
serpents and mermen
sharks and eels
my lungs fill like swimming pools
my restlessness got me killed
Anais Vionet Mar 2023
My boyfriend (Peter) and I went down to New Haven Harbor today.

Let’s face it, we’re surrounded by oceans,
and most of them are downright inhospitable.

I live near the ocean, (pointing) it’s right over there.
I love the ocean, tripping over whenever I’ve time to spare.

The way I’m fawning over it, you’d think I know it well.
But I really only love its edges and undulating swells.

It’s like a book that I’ve judged by its cover,
a beautiful stranger taken as a lover,
or a pie when I’ve only tasted the crust.
I love something, I suppose, I’ve barely even touched.

Peter says that black, inky “outer-space” is a low-viscosity liquid,
another, even vaster ocean that’s more dangerous and rarely visited.

The air that we breathe is an ocean - our own, vast, atmosphere -
in it swim creatures too small to see, but to the naked eye it looks clear.
It flows, eddies and swells - birds swoop in it so you can tell.

Of course, the ocean has issues - it's hardly news - corrosion, erosion, sharks and drowning - and the way the ocean lets the moon and air push it around.

What I love most is its motion, and how it reflects the sun and the moon.
Did I mention that hanging-out by the ocean makes for a pleasant afternoon?
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Fawn: to show excessive affection.
Katie Jan 2022
I hear them all out there
On dates, in love, thriving.
I think they all judge me,
Pity me for just surviving.

But last I checked, it's my decision
As to if my life's worthwhile,
And frankly right now I'm content.
I'm living my life in style.

I've a big fluffy shark here,
Sitting in my arms,
Underneath a warm cover,
And free from your qualms.

I'm the one thriving.
You wish you were me
'Cause my soul is jiving.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
He stared down
                into the dark, twisting waves, as if
a voice spoke to him from
                                                         the watery depths

                                            It seemed to pull him in and
                                                                                              pool in him.
It swam circles
          in his curiosity.

The Sun stabbed at the waves, washing rainbows     over
glimmering abalone.
                Translucent bubbles danced
in its light.
Fishbones lay quietly on the ocean floor, forgotten.
                                                                                   Starfish whispered to him, tales
of how they had lost their arms to the
                      creatures that walk in the sun.

                                                        Urchins complained about the oil pooling in their waters.
Sharks gave him the silent treatment.
And despite the fact that he too had legs and walked in the sunlight,

                               he knew he was not made for the sun,
                      but for the sea.
                                                            And the waves whispered his name with
salt and foam.
This poem was written in 2016.
"Sea" was published in Rose State College's Pegasus 2016.
Can't cut through
Lost my even keel
Just blackness below
and sharks at heel
Could tread forward
Rather flip the wheel
Run her aground
Taste the bite of the steel
Let the waves crash over
and the chain unreel
Until the deep takes me whole
and I can no longer feel
The grip of the truth
and the horror of the real
I'd like my mind to fade
give it some time to heal
دema flutter Aug 2020
trusting someone

is like

jumping in the middle of the ocean,

hoping you know how to swim.
Hamad Apr 2020
Rupi Kaur once wrote
"Your absence is a missing limb"

and there are sharks,
around my bleeding heart.
Makayla Jordan Mar 2020
i used to save the messages where you complimented me
told me i was
how my smile could warm the seven seas
things that I’d never heard before
so I would save them
because I thought I’d never hear these things again
now those messages hold up space
in my phone
because now I see the sharks you hid underneath the sea
and those words ate me up
Fey Feb 2020
sharks are passing through my brain,
for a second I thought they were beautiful.
but as I looked up again,
they were consuming my happiness away.

© fey (27/11/19)
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