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Harley Hucof Apr 2021
Back in my village, in the middle of a pine forest, I walk for hours radiating yellow and green until the earth swallows me and spits me out as a mystical bird-like being.

Like a peacock, I spread my shimmering, resonating feathers and bow to the giant raptor in the sky.
I can only be obedient to his emanations.
I fly back to my children, to my nest on a magnificent cedar tree. We entangle our necks and feathers in rapture knowing that soon, the earth shall reclaim my original nature.

By the sea I sit and patiently wait  to remember why I chose to forget.
The wind moves the waters, and the waves cast the sunlight onto my forehead. I feel the heat increasing as my structure dissolves. I gain back consciousness in an aquatic atmosphere taking a turtle-like form with a shell and humanoid hands. I swim down following a series of glares and vibrations until I reach what is seemingly an immense turtle temple. I feel a sudden danger and crawl back into shell. I open up my eyes and find myself sitting by the sea again.

Life is a journey of appreciation.
I can only surrender and be grateful.

Words Of Harfouchism
Jason Apr 2021

I am not an Atari running Logo.

I will wear a turtle costume for you.

I will Go-To-Line-22, and I will STOP for you.

I will even Go-To-End, for you.

But if you're not there, for me, you'll eventually find that turtle costume unresponsive.

Did you try turning it off and back on?
R J Coman Sep 2020
I remember when first my head pushed out of my egg
All about me my sisters stirred, small children testing their muscles
We pushed. We dug. Our long necks straining through wet sand
We said goodbye. We dove. We swam apart. We were happy.
Turtles have not much to say.

I remember the morning when first they came to my bog
Oh the racket they made. The acrid reek. Their footfalls broke my moss
With nets and shovels and loud voices they searched
We dove deep. We swam silently, like clouds in the night. I was snared
I was taken so far from home.

I remember when first I saw the man in a hot, smelly city shop
He tapped upon my glass and spoke, waving his arms and shouting
I pulled my head into my shell. My beak ached for clean water
I tried to hide. I tried to cry. I tried to climb the slippery walls
I went with the man, in a brown sack.

I remember when the first pin was driven into my back
The searing pain through my thick but sensitive shell
Then another. And another. The cruel men drove them deep
I tried to scream. I tried to run. I tried wriggle out of the agony
Gold burned like a thousands suns.

I remember…

I remember the sadness in the man’s eyes. Not for me
Turtles live for centuries, he said. Make it perfect. Gild and jewel
The terror. The weight. My heavy, heavy shell. My legs give out
The longest life a curse. My glittering shelter a prison. My life
This life forever.

I remember…

A poem about a gilded turtle, based off of story 4 of Huysmans' Against the Grain
Paige White Jun 2020
I received a few little letters
Scattered by my shining sun
Digitally mastered, he has overcome
Somewhat (insert a pause)
(I struggle for the word
For mixing up letters - you know the one)
He enquired about his grand sire
Wanting to know everything
Every little thing
For he perished when he was very young
He then recounted to me
His one remaining memory
Of finding a tiny little turtle
With great glee and awe
On a walk between our two houses
And their interchange there and back
Now I can but wonder
Would he have any idea
that one small adventure
Would be all that remained
In a boy’s mind, now a man
With two boys of his own
Of their short time together in life?
When he swung his walking stick
And batted that tiny turtle into the pond
Would he have reached over
And picked it up instead?
Or let the boy who was so excited
To find a tiny turtle on a walk
With his beloved Papaw
That memory has the same impact
As your walking stick on a tiny turtle
I suppose.
I do indeed wonder as I sit to compose
Words for my grand babes to find
And come to know me by
And I let that Sun’s memory guide me
On our little walks now....
We might find a little tiny turtle.
True story. I would appreciate honest feedback. I’m leaving a revised version in my journal for my children and grandchildren when I am gone.
old willow May 2020
Sigh. All things part.
Friends, where are they now?
Returning to eastern stream,
My turtle friend has long departed life.
Strolling the street,
My friend had become a craftsman.
Back in the capital,
My friend had become a merchant.
Standing here where it all began,
I can only watch their path split apart.
Shreya May 2020
His shell is a hard rock,
His speed is the ticking clock,
His sneeze is sometimes a shock,
And his skin is a soft sock.
He is greener than the grass,
And his eyes are a transparent glass,
I ask,
Toto you like to bask?
Sorry if it's bad... I wrote this in 2015 when I was in 5th grade ^^
Sage Mar 2020
how much longer will I wait for butterflies bursting red at the wings, fiery orange curling their tips into flames

today is long and heavy like the space before a goodbye
i watch a moss-backed turtle float on clouds above the water and I think of you,
of coiled garter snakes and soft pink sunsets, of warm lentil soup and white zinfadel and fern forests and I know,
I would not be enough for you

settled in the space between sun and moon I am two parts water, one part fire,
I am boiling hot springs set on a river deep, bubbling and breaking and gasping for air,
I am summer thunderstorm, hot rain and violent life and love without control,
I am ocean fissure, the space between, red hot lava shifting slowly like a lover beneath the sheets
I am self-contradiction, all crab-shell and shape-shifter and the answerer of my own questions,
I am crystal cave heart and loose leaf mind, waterfall eyes and moonshine smile, you cannot tame me but you cannot let me go
Klaus Jan 2020
Don’t hesitate.
Don’t forget to participate

If two things fit
That’s it!
This poem was made in tandem with an Iranian named Turtle
Daniel Magner Jan 2020
Five sea turtles bask,
the evening sun glinting off their shelled backs.
The sand glistening with each waves retreat.
Like statues, the turtle guardians.

One cracks an eye, slow,
peeks at those watching,
then closes the eye again.
Not concerned with human things,
it's only desire to store sun fire
deep under it's scale skin,
bring it back underwater
and heat its soul within.
Daniel Magner 2020
Mark Toney Nov 2019
beware atomic attack!
1950s civil defense
duck and cover drills
Bert the turtle
showed us the way

flash of light - duck and cover!
6/8/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - In school we actually did atomic bomb drills where we'd go into the hallway, sit with our backs against the wall, duck our head between our knees and cover our head with our hands! Duck & cover drills! ***! - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
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