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..      ..   .. . . Me..~~.
             the               )
4:00 am
peel on the
suit...just the
******* are out
and the sharks to boot.
Paddle out in between sets's a bit chilly, ain't ready yet............

gotta warm up, so I **** in the suit...

Here we go ready for flight..
Let the first roller cruise
right on by,.....the next one's breaking perfectly..10 feet high.

Tip the board on 180 and cup my two three strokes.... all the way to the sand....
cuz that's how we roll,
the dawn patrol band.
Surfs up Stu!....My nephew Gage threw the first line...I'm trying to inspire him to write... he's no Barney and Jeff Spicoli is a God.
Jenny Mar 2018
its a beautiful thing really,
its brutal, its strong
it so deep, and so heartwarming,
and at the same time,
it makes me want to cry, scream
pound my bed,
punch the white cement wall until my knuckles are ******, raw
and the wall has a display of reds.
it makes me want to break an elegant expensive vase, and crush it in my hand.
its destructive, desired, dangerous,
and yet
i want to laugh
i want to sing
and dance!
dance to oh what a night
dance with my yellow watercolored pillow case, with my favorite pillow stuffed inside
oh, love is so peculiar isn’t it?
its spectacular,
and its like standing in the middle of a ballroom
where dresses and suit ties of different hues reflect the chandelier light hanging from the ceiling,
an array of rainbows cast on the walls.
and yet, theres an emptiness…
one I’m afraid i cannot fill, and rely on you to.
its like standing in an ocean of chaos, of excitement and watching it from afar at the same time.
i can see myself swimming with the sharks, yet i am a bystander
as the thread of my life is strung tautly,
i watch myself bleed, gruesomely torn to pieces
i watch as the water darkens from spilt wine,
the wine that was once salty becomes sickly sweet around me
but i continue watching myself become bones stuck in their teeth.
its like being in an aquarium, encased in water,
and yet, still not a part of it, a distance, yet, a proximity
i watch myself drown through the looking glass, unable to help.
the sign says don’t tap the glass, but i pound and pound.
I am the only one watching myself slowly slow, and slowly stop.
stop breathing, stop fighting.
love is holding your breath, being cautious, yet careless.
Its diving recklessly, unsure whether to be sober, or drunk,
and being both.
its like seeing myself on a high diving board, the water beneath is so deep,
it seems to never start, and never end at the same time.
I can see myself, on the edge peering over,
scared to take a leap of faith,
yet relived i can still feel the sharp breaths,
nervous stomach,
because it means i can still feel, i am still capable of human emotions
i thought had left me long ago, before you.
Baby Don't Hurt Me
Poseidon's hellhound
slithers in remorseless seas
bloodbaths are just feast
Ezis Apr 2018
I'm living in a tank filled with sharks
A contained living space
with creatures of blood

My body
suspended in the water
dark, blue light filters in
from somewhere far above

I don't need to have my eyes open
to know they are out there
watching me

Every once in a while
one gets too close
to me and my lifeless body
it nudges its head against my floating limbs
reminding me it's there

Today a shark took a bite out of me
my flesh ripped open and I am exposed
What do I do?
If I hit it back, surely it will consume me entirely
and if I don't I will die slowly anyway

You see, here in this tank
there isn't escape
The sharks don't leave
they pack together and hunt me

So I stay here
my hair fanned out and body wieghtless
floating and waiting for something to happen
I wait for the creatures of the tank
to leave me
but I know they will only sink back
into the shaddows
watching and waiting
for the next time they want to take a bite
M Rose Nov 2017
Sharks can't swim backwards,
they can only move forward.
But forward is a circle
and they'll never know.

We buried you in cherry
under the juniper tree,
and with God as my enemy,
God isn't there.
I tried to write a song after my baby brother died, but to no avail. The drought continues. I've been doing a lot of reckoning with my spirituality since then.
Sean Flaherty Sep 2017
"I wish I was happier," she
confessed, to me, in-between
puffs and awkward silent

"I'm not disappointed," was
all I could say, forcing
back down my throat, the "me too."

We stood there, in quiet,
surrounded by loudness. The other
few, ate, and drinking inside.

Goes back in, she kisses him.
What does he know?
More than he's liable to make known.

I can't look at her. If I do,
I'm caught-in-love, and
stuck on the possibilities.
If my eyes can avoid you, my
dreams can stay fantasy,
not just unfulfilled.

She's tired of hearing she's perfect.
She'd rather be told the truth.
but no one that loves her lets honesty in earshot.
And I'm sick of love, lying, and
truth-telling, too.

I wish you were happier.
I wish the path of least resistance laid itself out,
before you.
I wish you'd hold my hand while we walk it, together.

I wish I could make happy,
like some folks brew beer.
I'd pour you a growler,
(On the house, of course)
and laugh at everyone else, while you drink it.

This poem is the list of
things I never thought could
make a difference.
This poem is the litany of reasons why
I think I deserve one
last chance.
This poem is the one I'd
read to you every night, if
it would change your
It wouldn't. It won't.
This poem bites, the last dying
hope of a beached shark, spying
the wave that could save it.
This poem is the black pods
we once foolishly believed were
shark eggs.
This poem knows I hate the beach,
and brought me along,
I started this poem months ago.
It'll never really be finished.
Stanley Wilkin Jul 2017

Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower- if you like women with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.

Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.

But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opened suture.

At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.

Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration-
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her thunderously satisfied indigestion.

No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And criss-crossing her piebald nose a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.

The last of her kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast-
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast

She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as in unexpected agony she died: “I thought, I thought, I was god!”
AllyRose Jun 2017
Have my rivers began flowing?
Is my hair finally growing?
The sharks are blood-thirsty.
Forgive me, but is my womanhood showing?
Is it only natural for them to prey on me when their thirst needs quenching?
Their tendencies are dangerous,
They can **** with a look.
When their finished, they leave you for dead.
After using every trick in the book.
They leave you for the next and the next after that.
In their eyes, you're just another fish in the sea, they can pound away at.
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