#penguin
A penguin once walked up to me.
I thought he’d lost his sanity,
and could not understand for why
he'd choose to leave the colony,
which packs together, groom and bride,
beloved pairs, and side-by-side
they huddle close and all surround—
without each other, they’d have died,
but this one lingered at the bound
between the nests and feeding ground,
and for a moment, looked at home
one final time. He turned around
and shuffled past the camping zone
where I now stand. He clutched a stone—
the little hope that he held on,
as he approached the arctic dome.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 3:57 AM UTC
To one side of him, lies the feeding grounds,
To the other side, the flock marches on.
The cold polar winds wail with hollow sounds,
“The sun now rises, how long ‘til it’s gone?”
At what point does dusk come? How far past dawn?
Do you give in to pleasure, sleep and feed?
Conform to the flock, an average John-
Limit yourself, just to survive and breed?
I guess to some, that’s all you really need.
I’m with the penguin; it’s better to thrive,
To strive for the peaks, follow your own creed-
For life is to LIVE, not just to survive!
Five-thousand miles to go, certain to die,
He does not pause, does not waver- But why?
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 3:19 PM UTC
On frozen shores you proudly stay,
In tailored feathers, black and gray.
Through icy waves you dive with might,
Guarding dreams that outshine night.
A spirit bold where few belong,
Both playful heart and steady song.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 1:45 AM UTC
a celestial body
lesser of age but
brighter in composition
was found to be
unexpectedly disarming
in its distorted form
unable to maintain
its expected shape
it was drawn in by
the voracious needs
of the other's gravity
a starry beckoning
that caused these
entities to draw forth
towards one another
this sharing of energies
a merger however
seemingly not unlike
those observed before
and yet something
about this pairing
steals the attention
of the experts and
the admirers alike
this rotation of one
about the other
guarding devotedly
from perils unseen
in the midst of
this stellar pirouette
there continues a chaos
pulling from all directions
both together and apart
defiant and undeniable
fluctuating with unknowns
eventually to become
Mar 7, 2024
Mar 7, 2024 at 6:45 AM UTC
Wolves stay with their packs.
Penguins travel together.
Humans give their love.
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 3:52 AM UTC
Butterfly butterfly
You fly so high
You fly without hesitation
That’s at least what I see with my eyes
Animal animal
That’s the wish I had as a kid
To morph into anything
Whenever these toxic people
Came running
Only to put my happiness at risk
To the oceans I went
To swim with the otters
To the poles I went
To look fly like the penguins
To fields I disappeared
To run for excitement
To escape the bad memories
But for a moment
Just some small moments
Being me wasn’t always that bad
Animal animal
You were there at the low moments
And for that thank you,
You’ve been very kind
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 12:13 AM UTC
But Yevtushenko...
A tribute to Penguin paperbacks
When they
Someday
Take us away
For reading
For thinking
For writing
Those Penguin paperbacks all tattered and taped
Discovered when they empty our pockets
Will
Be used against us in their courts of law
But Yevtushenko might corrupt our jailers
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
The Penguin waddles,
on the ice, he is graceful,
in his peaceful home.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Back and forth, a charming wobble
On a rugged rag she hops
Chasing traces of burst bubbles
Left by little soapy drops
Lightly pruned palms gently pressed
Hid behind a fresh new towel
In a formal evening dress
Like a royal clumsy fowl
A relentless Déjà vu
Is refusing to clear up
Like a lipstick smudge that drew
On the lip of a tea cup
Nearly done, a dreamy gaze
Smiling as she turns about
For her beauty I do praise
We chose to stay and not dine out
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
It's come to this
Kardasians as expertise
Kim is at the white house
discussing prison overcrowding
and relief
Why not ask a monkey
about policy for France?
or maybe just ask Keeanu Reeves
if he wears black
underpants
What I want from celebrities
amounts to stupid things
not anything of import
def not
cabinet openings
Holy crap and **** me now
where and when this debacle
someway and somehow
twisted crazy and unstable
Please O please just tell me
how and why, just when
did Kim acquire knowledge
making her smarter
than any ******
imbued
penguin?
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
Small beaks
Amongst the frozen peaks
Sliding over small blankets of ice
The frozen terrace and its cold embrace
Bright sapphire shimmers under the sunlight
Community within municipality, a band unbroken
Where affection lingers to a land lost
A land sought-after by many
The frigid landscape where loyalty lies
The royal forest of snow and ice
The keylock rings, the shackles ramble
For it is the pilot
Straight into the locket
And everything my locket carries
Beyond the arctic scenery
of lies.
Guide me home.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
A man spoke to me today,
On the train home from work,
He reached for my hands,
Carelessly, as if it were natural,
His were leather, rough,
With grinning eyes,
And tired lips,
He spoke,
I am a penguin.
Now, I thought, that was odd,
But who am I to judge?
So I remained patiently quiet.
I am a penguin,
With my tattered suit,
I care for my young-
And for my mate,
Whom I love deeply.
How sweet, I thought,
That he could care so much,
But what is the point?
I am a penguin,
The stone I got my wife-
Was the shiniest on the beach,
And I braved seals,
For her, I am enough.
Now, that's adorable,
But his hands were firm,
And sweaty,
Leave me alone, my eyes asked.
I am a penguin,
But I tire of it,
And perhaps for a moment,
I'd rather be a dolphin,
And swim away, with you...
But sir,
I said,
Do you know what I am?
No, why?
I am obsidian,
Dark, hard, sharp,
Forged in the fires of chaos,
And if you hold me without care,
I'll cut a *****
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
The greatest story ever told
Is a love story of a lonely Humboldt
One sided, until his time was through
Yet the world to him was his paper waifu
He taught us love has no bounds
Between penguin and a poster, weird as it sounds
He gazed upon her until the very end
Oh how strong was his love of a kemono friend
May you rest forever in peace Grape-kun
We won't forget you anytime soon
Now, every time I go to a petting zoo
I will always remember how much you loved Hululu
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
Heaps of her across the deserted plains, oily fingers reaching up and over the horizon until all of the numbers fill her pockets, her father worried, and her muses covered with goat-head's thorn. Where does she start to fuse her needs with the weapons in their suburban corolla of lilacs and wanton redolence? It's the opacity in her finger nibs and the dozens of names she felt closing over her legs sideways, until she awakens in the night to take the blood dripping cotton tissues off of her face, off of her bed-side dresser table. She can't even paw forward or undress her wetness in haiku. Everyone she knows doesn't know her. Everything she's seen, doesn't seem to be there for her anymore. That's the trade they told her to barter for, the golden seals and vitamin needs she's gobbling up by the palmful every morning by seven.
Seven for the circus or the mimes, seven for the cloves hanging from the door and seven for the queries that strike back her abcesses and cost her seven by the quart and seven for the plastics. Seven dancing backwards towards a rook or a ***** seven inside her chest playing guitar with David Bowie, seven at the doggerel, and seven for the stitch and the obtuse- only a creature of seven might go for her, in a spot of doves, crank, and soda it is poison, seven is her ***** line, her sexuality, her sinfulness, and her latitude over and over again. Seven makes her want for tomorrow, seven takes tomorrow and throws itself up against the wall, pledging a game in the summer, seven to a trip of caramel and dukes, seven for the prince and the painting of the two of them, seven for the winter, and for the shadows that stretch curiosity past the breath of a summons', seven for the day and seven for the evening, seven scratches her ears and pulls out her hair, seven is the ring and the blue phantom buried somewhere far, far away, green is what's left, but seven knows which way the rain comes and who is going to follow it through.
There is a numbness that radiates on the fringe, a tickly discomfort not even a narrator could let out or down to a name on the mountains near the **** plateau that conquers her nuance, and shakes the both of them to core of the fight. This is not a flag that costs us in coins or in dollars. This is the worry chiseling our shapes and our buttery hips, a stacked set of crazy in a photograph off the leash of only a few. And it calls them to the night when it's only three of us left, until every cord is untied, until every verb is set in its caste, or ringing out to the tremolos of rapture, and the musicianship of pepper-jacked sneezes in the ambers and umbers that although startling, we've all learned to convert our averages in order to swing under the storm, and baby each of us with an elixir of myriad captures, images, and violent abuse.
While the words can yield, and the festivities can hoard each of the simple new experiences against travels of women, and pictures from Mussorgsky riling up soft drinks and evocations towards the center where all of us sometimes will let ourselves, let loose. Something horrendous and cold plugging into the sugars, something quiet, nearly a friend of reminders, crustaceans and ocean making this top-down beach of faces for all to shake and roll with or set forward a cacophony of abuse. Until in a breath she calls for the infinite intuition sheltering her and our window from the pain of misuse.
That is the photograph where we have been looking to live, here is the memory we spent our minds trying desperately to relive in the shade and in the snafu, against the bark and the piano keys treating our rise. Within our skin and our pupils, our silver bookends and/or the mammals we don't use names for but for whom we've been introduced to.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
A most gracefully bird, but not of the air
White caped waves are his clouds
Water proof feathers is what he wears
He stands on the beach mighty proud
His wings won't let him fly
But through the ocean he quickly glides
You'll never see him in the sky
Behind the corral is where he hids
When lion seals are on the prowl
His play ground is a winter wonderland
He is by far the best dressed fowl
With his dashing tuxedo he looks mighty grand
By design he was denied freedom of fight
But that my friend doesn't make him sad
For in the ocean so deep he reaches new heights
The icy slides are his launch pad
He certainly is a wonderful bird
To call him anything else would be absurd
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
so I guess this is it, the summit
not very impressing.
I thought at the least I'd see over the tops of skies
you should know I hid cigarette butts under the stone patio
off the guest wing. now I wish I could just lay on those rocks or at the base of your bed, vanity wore us down like shotgun rounds in the face of our masquerade ballet. I drank the bloods from your fountains of paradise: 19, 20, 21, 22, and 23
then found you in our bed with your fingers in your ***
to make sure we'd fit together more aptly, and now my skin
burns in its own rash of obsessive unforgetfulness, I make my own
******* future with you innit,
***** or no *****
I know nectars better than the Georgians
worship better than Mohammad
skin better than Buffalo Bill
and your name better than my own
Penguin.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC
I'm heaving prose at you and you don't even know it. Like fish jumping into a boat that's empty. Having risen before, being brave would seem easier, lighter maybe. Like great fluff or a fugue of an earthy red wine. My tear ducts are hollow drums, if I could I'd give you a metaphor about weeping, but I'm wept out and worn out. I'm not tired or worn down. I'm an obelisk, or a saber perhaps. I'm good coffee from a specialty roaster, but I come in a to go cup. Coffee should never be consumed from a to go cup.
You're one of those pennies people pay one dollar and one cent for, stretched out with new print on them. At the zoo they can be bought. At places where the middle class can be classless they can be bought.
You were once a starlet. A golden and imperfect deity. I'm still worshipping you. You're my startling ****** but the rigging is busted. Now I'm onto acid washes and back on ivory. Maybe you didn't mean to leave cue cards and question marks like keepsake memories under our bedroom duvet.
I'm only asking for you.
While I **** around each new city in the jargon of a Calder sculpture. I've punched door mice and killed rattle snakes with the heel of my foot. Step on with the right and bring your fingers to your lips. I've been calling good luck for decades now. Julys Septembers and Novembers too.
Just a regular guy with a big ******* rooster.
Some girl said we're swimming for each other in the dark, but I know your eyes have adjusted to the light. Don't compensate for ordinary experiences. Realize what I realize and taste the snow.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
You know,
I think I'd make a good penguin
They're built for
Cold weather
Where most birds can't go
They thrive
They have to stay in their comfort zone
The cold tundra
They can't go out
Or they'll die
They watch the other birds soar
But know they can never join
They stay in their ice-filled wilderness
And keep two feet on the ground
And that is okay
I think we have a lot in common
I think I would make a good penguin
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
I am drunk on your breath, while a slave to your sighs.
I live in your heart and sleep in your mind.
Keep me in your eyes, and lend me your hands.
I want to live next to you wherever you choose to land.
There's a time when we thrived near the cockerell plain
In the strawberry fields where we danced and we played.
It's so unbelievably ****** to be three thousand miles away,
We haven't seen we for three years, but we work towards it every day.
Nothing ***** as much as being in the wrong state.
Being in the worst way, and living in the wrong place.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
In the forever winter landscape
Live gentle waddling penguins
While fierce forces conspire
All life brushed away
By unforgiving weather
But with an icy resolve
They all push back
Not with a Roar
But a little pitta patta
Of jolly dancing feet
As they happily bubble along
With defiant hearts whispering
To the weather
With a nonchalance
Disarming the Gods
"we don't care"
With a silky soft defiant Roar
They potter on with their day
In a light hearted way
Traveling through their life
They feel bound by limitation
Limbs retreating,, wings shrinking
Escaping from the weather
As the world places them
In a straight jacket
But they fluff out their
Love filled chests
A dash of yellow
On their cheek
Proclaiming I love who I am
As they slowly press into snow
Heart blazing with white fires
Busily they chatter
Nodding and bowing
To each other
Life pushes newly weds apart
As her ladyship is forced to abandon
Her man to the long winter's night
Left holding the egg
She looks back with a longing glance
Her heart torn
But in the blistering chill winds
And freezing cold air
A cool clarity is born
Where all passions are left
Under sheets of steely ice
And soft blankets of snow
Her task very clear
She pushes on
A trust between partners feels itself called on
Now fierce winds blow through
And into her face
As they now feel so far apart
She stops to take one last look back
And feels an impenetrable bond
Forged in their hearts
As her beak circles the sky
It is as though an arc
Of light is made
A silver connection
Binding them together
As they feel somewhere
In the eternal they remain holding hands
The aspiring father left
Holding precious egg tenderly
Left standing on cold ice
In blistering winds
Four months there left balancing
Treasure softly on his feet
Through the winter's night
Angry winds betrayed by the sun
Sting with a viper's vengeance
As temperatures plummet
-70 and dropping
Cooperating together they huddle
For their very survival
Perfectly dressed in Tuxedos
Black like death standing on their back
White in front for the devotion
They show us in life
Reliant on each other
They spiral around together
And say
"together, together we can do it"
As they silently sit through
The long winter's night
Letting go of their resistance
They release a godlike persistence
Over the horizon mothers appear bobbing
Like bubbles of thought bursting
From the flat transcendence
Fulfilled wishes appearing
New mothers pulled forward
By tickles of joy in their hearts
Leaping forward on their bellies
As they collapse in
Boundless devotion
Their hearts drawn forward
Skating along on their Love
They glide.................................
and slides..................................
On their own pouring devotion...................
Effortless devotion..................................................
They almost fly on their
Unlimited Love
Effortless embracing tasks
Supporting new life
They are filled with the
Ecstasy of fruitful service
Later adults return to water
Float with a grace
Of a dancing ballerina
As though fuelled by rocket fuel
They leave bubbles like smoke
As we delve into these
Vast fields of devotion
And see these jolly beings
Successfully spilling through
The dark winter's night
As they spread new life
I feel like the great God above
Totally humbled And can only
Kneel and Bow
To the beautiful penguin
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
blind me
deafen me
take my limbs
for i have lived in love
it is not with my eyes i see
it is not with my ears i hear
it is not with my hands i feel
for i have lived in love
blind me
deafen me
take my limbs
for i have lived in love
i have seen your smile shine
i have heard your laughter sing
i have felt your arms keep
for i have lived in love
blind me
deafen me
take my limbs
for i have lived in love
my heart still sees you
my heart still hears you
my heart still feels you
for i have lived in love
blind me
deafen me
take my limbs
for my heart has lived in love
and i shall live in my hearts memory
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
what is more gentle,
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
where no one ever goes.
I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
you in me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.
four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I never may forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as you, in me.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC