"amphibious" poems
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****
I execrate extraterrestrial.
We are all kaput to conk out.
Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.
If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing **********
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.
We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.
I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id. Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
Southern shells – or longitude
it’s rude to discuss such a rough location – but I’m a *****
to such provocation.
destiny’s Vacation
in a nation
with ****** – nonchalantly run a muck.
total *** or ******** visible I don’t believe the natives can purchase *****
a loss of bucks is inherent to those who want.
bring your paranoia to a paranormal place where
paintings haunt
or move around after your heat signature.
can he make this
make meaning?
i am the dignitor.
a broken side of a square to settle the score
if you weren't sure.
stressed to proceed with thee program.
the waves can crash on shape and
make ham
sandwiches
which is beautiful.
in the eye of the beholder, hold on I’ve smoldered
all of my calls.
put a hold on the fourth wall – I can
and swam into the shallow.
tribune myself to the tropical Loch Ness
fall fourth to the shadow.
let us Dive further.
amphibious herder of the deep
stay afloat on a personal boat
to return to sleep.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
It comes after heavy rains.
Naked amphibious marauder
crouched beneath dampened stars
bip-bipping its personal intercom;
soporific in sleep-weary bleary-eyed dreams.
I imagine a Cop on his elbows
zig-zagging, belly-flat
under cover of darkness;
he not naked; peaked cap askew,
shoulder pips glinting in half moon;
he too, predator on a mission -
Echo - Charlie - Zebra.
The freezer kicks in
out-droning night sounds.
Light eases between blinds.
I slurp chocolate dregs from a crazed mug.
Over and out.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
Perilous voyages of small watercraft at sea , amphibious landings on well defended beachheads , Clipper ships whaling on distant oceans , military vessels in armed conflict , night of relentless cannon fire , explosive reflections across shark infested waters , treasure maps and chest laden with gold , rubies and pieces of eight , the cry of Viking warriors on the rugged coast of Newfoundland .. Pirates just off the shores of the Carolinas .. Forts Pulaski , Sumter and Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas ..
Oil platforms racked by ferocious winds on the Gulf of Mexico ..
Union and Confederate battles on Mobile Bay , Riverboats traversing the Mississippi ..Tending barges along the Ohio ..On high alert through Georgia's intracoastal waterways ....
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
As the salamander was strolling through
the hot coals beside the wall, he noted it
was made of brick. Going around the
edge of the wall, he realized that
salamanders do not fly, yet soon he was
coasting through the air, high above the
place where the birds were flying. It was
through the clouds.
The amphibious pile of rags, he agreed,
belonged as a stack of books leaned on
shelves against the bricks. The birds were
hoping feathers would protect the words
from the rain. The salamander continued
his agreement; the virtual world of the
pages was another place he could breathe
in a medium not intended for general use.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
By morning we've got cold amphibious tongues
coated in blubs
waiting bubble eyed.
Still slimy throats
up-gurgle newts and muck.
Moss sprouts from our mouths
and brown coated gums.
Flies quivering between teeth.
Lips dry as salted meat.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
Midway- Surprise! We saw them
Coming from a mile away.
Japanese aircrafts and ships try and attack,
And they get their butts whooped!
And then we got the idea to island hop!
Hop to Iwo Jima- Slowly.... Slowly.... Don't scare it,
It's like a nest of bees!
And we got it! Two air bases captured
And one step closer to the mainland!
Japan may be fortified, but we
Have tons of muscle!
Hop to Okinawa- this one was a doozy...
The biggest amphibious battle of WWII,
And contained the most casualties! Pretty harsh.
Maybe you they shouldn't have attacked us in the firs place!
We only meant to invade and use the island as a
Springboard towards the mainland, but the
Battle took too long.
Just weeks after the fighting ended, Japan surrendered
And we bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki!
We never got to invade...
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Half-buried in the sand, lay some rocks in the sun ,
Whom nature had mocked in the shape of sea dogs;
Their wrinkled coats say they’d been too long in the sea.
Next to them, as sunrays kissed a dormant crab,
Traces of some bare feet started to crumble
Under the silent, liquid weight of a tide within.
Now let the amphibious Historians rejoice
In interpretation thereof a dark green hog
Comes forth from the mountain to the shore - to sun
Himself and send the frightened rocks back to the ocean.
(c) LazharBouazzi (December 7, 2017)
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
The past hurts like an ocean made up of opaque glass.
And you asked me to exist within the shatter-jagged fragments.
An amphibious creature,
Breathing the pain through shredded gills.
Numbed, bruised and bleeding.
Wounds are what they called them.
Battle torn from a thousand different edges.
Don't you feel them?
The watery shards wedging into your sides,
Piercing your lungs of the will to exhale.
I feel it, like rough hands upon my neck;
Tearing through my flesh.
Slipping down my throat.
Till I'm choking on red.
You asked, and I confessed.
My passions, the black and the blue.
Inhaling the wine-water,
I want to save you.
Even with an ocean of glass standing in my way.
I want to save you.
Swimming and swimming, until this agony bled away.
I wanted to save you.
Even though I knew I couldn't.
I wanted to be the one to save you.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Do you remember the apple cider?
Your house was always cold, every-
thing was always apples. I never
did get the matching triforce tattoo
with you and that is okay because I
don't like tattoos anyway. You didn't
ruin the Legend of Zelda for me, I
just said that. Remember to drink water.
Remember that everyone you ever meet
is responsible for their own feelings and
their own problems. Remember that lots
of things provide temporary fixes but
never solace.
How about those frogs? Never a silent moment
until I yelled out your window and you lamented
over the amphibious life you stole with the lawn
mower. (I noted that I had caught frogs at my
grandfather's funeral).
Here's to your earliest memory. Standing in a hamper looking out
the window until your mom picked you up. Was there a bucket
involved? Here's to your scars, your split finger, right next to your pinky the red
on your cheeks, the rough texture of your triceps. That other chris in
kindergarten, Mercer? Did he steal your first love? Haven't smelled
your stomach for a year but I am pretty sure it still smells like
leather. Your hair, soft in the middle, rough around the edges.
Will I ever have enough documentation?
You taught me that tap water doesn't **** and that
all you have to do to make anything perfect is add
an egg or two.
Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep Breath
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Gusto affairs spiraled to marooned stairs!!
Amphibious angel,
Where art thou own wings?
Apparent your sanctioning is,
Appointee of marital status!!!
Anthropologist of creations new madness,
Armful arousist!!
Arrogant aspirant!!!!
We are all baggage carriers of used goods,
Bestowed to thy own selves thou ******** of crud!!!!!
Very few bonuses this time around,
For the metropolis hath gone broke and choked!!!
For oil runneth this deliveranth!!!
Bind thy own,
You biggot of brigaded quarters!!!
None to coincide with ,
No cognac love to filleth me with cocoa nestled swifts!!!
Engrossment of shufflers, greasers to seventies sneakers,
Esteemed of high retailer goods!!!
Distinction between euphemisms blame!!!
Highed tops to spindle games,
Atrocious calibrations!!!!
Such tiredness flees the crime felt page,
Who's enraged?
Refute novelties of javahouse breaks,
Wherein assemblers are all members of cafe corner states!!!!
Paxilheads to axlehead drinkers,
Some material like,
Some medicinal thinkers!!!
How much shalt one taketh before his psyche leaves reclusiveness all behind the robust tower!!!!
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Vibrant yellow back
Defiant black streaks
Deceptively cute
Solid almost artificial blue unlike the sky or ocean
Speckled with the night
Assuming an artificial rainbow
Small eyes that radiate innocence
And an equally built body
Your diet is of alkaloids
Psychotropic substances
You use them to protect yourself
Psychedelics have brought you questions you'd rather not answer
I've indulged in the natural poisons
I can see beauty in harm, purpose, necessity
But if I let you be, I know you're no danger to me
Though, I'm a little too late
You're delicate and I am clumsy
You've warned me not to get to close, I’m bound to get hurt
I yield to what yearns to cradle your amphibious nature,
so unique to a monochrome world
Physicality is your weapon
An open wound lets your corrosive membrane transfuse my blood
You flood me
And oh, I moan. Action potential discharged, the sensory impulses to my brain.
You stop feeling slippery in my hand as I begin to rust
Little one, you escape my hands
But I am paralyzed
Thickened blood, what went so wrong
Tender in touch, I didn't hurt you
But your defensive, corrosive skin reflected your inner malintent
Black mamba venom indisputably pierces the skin
Harsh betrayal of curious wonder
Black widow toxin, an unblunted destruction of the dermis
But you came in celebrated color
How am I to trust visual credibility of sinlessness
You're a poison dart frog
When the beauty that once enticed me
Has hardened the sanguine essence that filled me with vitality and awe
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
This was it:
The broken seat,
the precipitous stairs,
the heads of sleepy metal beasts mounted on the wall
places that felt full but were empty.
We mingled brain stems, exchanged heads.
I traded my hypothalamus for your frontal lobe.
Moths un-attracted to light,
we flickered in the dark,
weightless yet burdened-
this dirigible in my chest
Alone in a crowd you whisper
What if?
What if….
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 7:27 PM UTC
The salamander did not expect to fine
that a lizard could lose all the teeth
collected through evolution. Eyes turned
to sink into the dryness of erosion.
Hair failed to grow where the birds
preferred feathers. The skin began to
fall away leaving the animal out in
cold weather, slowly drying to escape
the erosion of amphibious skills, to
escape the cage of the canvas and slip
into the water another time.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
We are halted on the path
where a small amphibious mite
has sprung headlong into an unknown world,
its river home now out of sight.
Fingernail-size it shrinks on the path,
absorbing the colours of the gravelled ground
and somehow surviving
the rigours of walkers and riders around.
Its freedom now moves it from riverbank hollows
to find the instinctive role that it follows.
Cradled in cupped hands it is carried to water
but I explain its life lies elsewhere.
These precious moments shared with my daughter
are but part of the time which may see it grow
and spawn in the seasons yet to come,
while we witness a cycle that’s just begun.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 9:54 PM UTC
When I was in the third grade, I spent a lot of time camping at a campground in Redhouse and a lot of time by myself. One Summer day, I was playing in a creek when I spotted a frog. I had a very active imagination as a child, so I decided to play with the frog. The first game that came to mind was the game of catch. Excitedly, I scoured the surrounding area for something to toss to my new friend. After a few minutes of searching, I found a hand sized rock. With the rock in my hand, I exclaimed, “Get ready, here it comes!” Then, I underhand threw the rock to the frog. I eagerly waited for a few minutes for the frog to throw the rock back to me, but the rock was motionless. With much haste, I slid down the creek banks and picked up the rock. There in front of me was the smashed remains of my amphibious friend. For the first time in my life, I was faced with death. Tears began to roll down my face because I realized it was my fault that he was dead. I was now alone again and I had nobody in which to discuss this event. That frog was the first and last thing I ever killed
Ever since that day, I've had an eye on the man in the black robe that's waiting patiently in the back row. I know it's not normal for someone my age to think about death, but it helps me enjoy my life. At any given moment I could combust, stop breathing, or get smashed by a rock, so every moment that isn't spent in death's cold arms is an absolute blessing. I regret that it took the life of another living being to teach me this lesson, but I will not let that frog's death be in vain. I have to make up for the life I wasted, and if my flame for life starts to die, I visualize lifting up that rock and my soul is instantly stoked. If death is going to catch me, he is going to dance around the trail of fire I leave behind because I don't only believe in death, I believe in life.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
There was a small frog
Splayed out on a zoo log
Its name was something-dog
I think it was dead
It didn't move its head
Nor blink its eyes instead
It was kinda cute
Though in death it was mute
So a picture of it I did shoot
A girl my age shoved past
Looked into the foggy zoo glass
To see the amphibious class
She called it lazy
Said the frog was **** ugly
Then left to see cuter things
Dead or simply asleep
Cute or a slimy creep
Who thought about frogs so deep?
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
Listless airwaves
wreak havoc across
my sun scorched
landscape.
I bend into
snapdragon
position,
lilt like August wheat
and regroup,
regenerate
my amphibious
limbs.
But I am not bold
or strong
or any of those things
that you said
when you were trying
to talk me back
from the precipice
of my jagged mind.
I am pigeon toed
and meek,
stuffing sticky sweet
secrets
into the cracks
of my palms
and turning my face away
from the lights.
I am not,
I am not
any of those things
that you said,
but I'm trying;
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
Through the hedges across the roads
do the Frogs hop bound and go
this dangerous journey annually done
can be the last for the unlucky some
Back to the pools that they were born
to lay in waters amphibious spawn
still to negotiate are ploughed up fields
and hungry Crows who want their fill
Most travel at night
yet some still at day
green pancakes some look
on baked highways.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
I’m still stuck in the fairy tales
Of magic shoes and handsome prince,
Of servants of my own to boss
And I’m still at wash by hand and rinse.
My dreams of riches and luxury
Are still around and just as strong
But haven’t come true that much.
So I must be doing something wrong.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
I’ve kissed so many **** frogs
My lips have become amphibious
But not one morphed into a prince
So, the solution must be obvious:
I am not holding my mouth right
Or kissing in the wrong phase of moon.
I am not going to be able to hold on
If this wish doesn’t come true soon.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
I’ve bought magic seeds and amulets
To help the process on it’s magic way
But nothing seems to be working for me.
There must be better words to say.
Some kind of abracadabra mantra
That makes the real voodoo begin.
If I ever get this incantation right
II’m going to do it again and again.
Zippity zappity, zoppity, zoom.
This is me begging at the moon.
Flaffity, naffity, raffity, roon.
My fairy godmother needs to come soon!
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
My Lord, screamed the monkey
in the yellow whimsical suit
amphibious tests biological checks
micro bot techno ready, to compute
The city became slightly slimy
frogs fell like rain from skyscrapers
the slums turned into theme parks
green and sticky seats to hop on
Swamp flowers grew in shadows of lamp posts forgotten
and by each one, a trio of lying toads waited for weeping moths
small newts stepped aside for the great crested kind
giant tadpoles ate news vendors and papers till that time was lost
Now all is marshland
those Humans are under way
under the lilies, under peat
they had their chance, they had their day
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Greyblue overwhelms my eyes
as fog and cloud covers the sand
Stretching beside me
I step forth, leaving family behind
Lost in wonder.
Salt intoxicates, tempts my nostrils
Enticing my feet forward
The coarse sand grows soft
As it greets the water,
Melting at its touch
- my toes relish the taste-
Natural
Water rushing around me
Below me
Through me
Rising as I willingly sink in
The endless ocean hypnotizing me
Like the sirens it holds, singing to
The voyager within
A voice, now not so sweet
Stern, concerned, worried,
-motherly-
Calling me back, forming
Crossroads to my young mind
Amphibious
A tadpole
Drawn between reality and - safety?
Pulled back
The sand chafes my skin
As I walk back to the world I know so well,
And the future that remains a stranger.
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
When it rains outside,
and their choirs grow,
while the crickets sing high,
the frogs sing low.
But where do they go when they're tucked in there beds?
And what are the voices they hear in their heads?
How loud are the screams that shatter the dreams?
And the sighs and the moans of the life in between?
And who gives them warts on their necks and and their hands?
Whose legs do they eat?
Whose fate do they meet?
And which prince will they kiss just to make him their own?
And where do they go when their frogging is done?
If I were you my little friends,
I'd make this vow to make amends,
with the green blood splattered on the cold road side,
and the twitching arms trying to stay alive...
Because from the dark there are eyes that peer,
and amphibious ears that are longing to hear,
of a hardened tongue and a wicked stare,
and the crooked hands that will lay a snare,
for the one who owns that-
sorrowless,
merciless,
cruel,
in-compassionate glare:
will find his end on a gondola,
while the night creatures doom him
to Frogola.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 7:15 AM UTC
In rows they stand,
Locked in patterns, one after the other.
In the field they are one mass of land,
Stalwart in their stance, as similar to their neighbor as to their mother.
Within the fiery skies above their planted heads,
In lanes unmarred by planned similarity, flies a beast cast of a different die.
Black as night, with wings of smoke; within those fiery skies they fly.
There you will find me.
In lines one by one,
Single file on either side of tamed nature,
Grazing along black river avenues, stand carefully planned hovels beneath the sun.
They are faceless, markedly lacking the unique touch of artistry to mature.
While crowded entities parade upon the market,
Great amphibious royalty croon ancient songs to the land around,
Gifting the night with the grand chaos of their sound.
There you will find me.
Not content to face bitter winds upon modern lanes,
A dweller of the urban landscape seeks out that which most abstain.
Deep in the dark hollows, where the gods of yesterday lie within still,
A fool seeks sanity amongst the ancestral beings who, within these spaces fill.
In the shadows of the great old ones,
Reveling in the divine lost amidst human progress,
There you will find me.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC