"anemone" poems
You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?
I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the
petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.
I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.
I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.
20.9k
The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
I used to watch men when they spoke of beauty
And measure their enthusiasm. One
An old man, seeing a ( ) setting sun,
Praised it ( ) a certain sense of duty
To the calm evening and his time of life.
I know another man that never says a Beauty
But of a horse; ( )
Men seldom speak of beauty, beauty as such,
Not even lovers think about it much.
Women of course consider it for hours
In mirrors; ( )
A shrapnel ball -
Just where the wet skin glistened when he swam -
Like a fully-opened sea-anemone.
We both said 'What a beauty! What a beauty, lad'
I knew that in that flower he saw a hope
Of living on, and seeing again the roses of his home.
Beauty is that which pleases and delights,
Not bringing personal advantage - Kant.
But later on I heard
A canker worked into that crimson flower
And that he sank with it
And laid it with the anemones off Dover
14.1k
Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth
the miracle
happened
and when your clumsy
green stem appeared,
and your leaves were born
like swords
in the garden,
the earth heaped up her power
showing your naked transparency,
and as the remote sea
in lifting the ******* of Aphrodite
duplicating the magnolia,
so did the earth
make you,
onion
clear as a planet
and destined
to shine,
constant constellation,
round rose of water,
upon
the table
of the poor.
You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists,
but to me, onion, you are
more beautiful than a bird
of dazzling feathers,
heavenly globe, platinum goblet,
unmoving dance
of the snowy anemone
and the fragrance of the earth lives
in your crystalline nature.
13.9k
I remember that day on Mount Tamalpais.
We picnicked under the loving sky
On Bolinas ridge, atop Wicklow hill,
The maiden’s breast. We found those apple trees,
Who’d gone wild and fell into their world.
A blossom on the way.
I took your picture and you developed into
A sea-horse, or was it a mermaid? The ridge
Was foaming about you and birds were swimming
Like fish underneath. We found a tree, an umbrella
Left at the beach. The coral-grass became our bed
And wine turned into water.
A spiral dance in arms of anemone, it was
All embrace! That reef was spawning heaven.
At the treasure chest under the sea maiden,
Like children on highland pap, we played
At the beach that day in a castle above the clouds,
Beneath the wave.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 1:42 PM UTC
I laid an anemone
on the mask of a crying girl
the young mother
the crouching woman
I am beautiful
says the sirens
says the ever-youthful vegetation
of God
I mixed my blood and nectar
on the mask of a dying man
the decay of kiss
the resurrection
I am beautiful
says the anemone
says Adonis in his grave
I burned their leaf-stems
on the mask of an artist
the eternal springtime
the life-death-rebirth deity
I am beautiful
says the martyr
says girl as she wakes
to the sirens
I am beautiful
says the head on the platter
I am beautiful
and the woman descends
the bronze invading
the bronze high-handed
the bronze opening
to the gates of hell
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
When I was a child, I thought,
Casually, that solitude
Never needed to be sought.
Something everybody had,
Like nakedness, it lay at hand,
Not specially right or specially wrong,
A plentiful and obvious thing
Not at all hard to understand.
Then, after twenty, it became
At once more difficult to get
And more desired - though all the same
More undesirable; for what
You are alone has, to achieve
The rank of fact, to be expressed
In terms of others, or it's just
A compensating make-believe.
Much better stay in company!
To love you must have someone else,
Giving requires a legatee,
Good neighbours need whole parishfuls
Of folk to do it on - in short,
Our virtues are all social; if,
Deprived of solitude, you chafe,
It's clear you're not the virtuous sort.
Viciously, then, I lock my door.
The gas-fire breathes. The wind outside
Ushers in evening rain. Once more
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am.
4.9k
You, my garden of Anemone;
of periwinkle, plum, and mauve.
A fragrance of Lilacs; for my springs and summers.
A snow's aroma of a rare, rich branch of Daphne
Fenced by shrouds of Lavender and Sage.
Adorned with Irises and virulent Vervain.
The Verbena that consumes me
As I yield to it's amethyst.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,
Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,
The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Caressing my face,
Bubbles rush to greet me
Tickling like a sweet spring sigh.
This is only the first.
I am still half
A visitor. Stuck in suspension
Between this world and mine.
Slowly I pass
Through the threshold.
My air-sick ears adjust
To the sounds of the sea.
I stare down
At the small colony
On the sea floor,
My landing gear is down.
Customs arrives.
A grey, French Angelfish
Of the most industrious kind.
But he isn’t obtrusive.
As he flits in and out
Checking my bubbles
Ensuring I am not bringing
Any more air than I should.
No doubt he will stay near
Most of my stay
I have finally arrived,
The coral city stretches before me.
I catch the current trolley
And it whisks me past
Rocky storefronts and coral motels.
Lobster shopkeeps
Rush out of dark
Stores and stand in the street
Giant claws raised
Toward me in supplication.
Beckoning me to come
And browse his wares
While a fish I don’t know
Is busy cleaning homes and stores.
They must’ve dropped out of the school
Which passes by
The pupils in matching uniforms
Of flashing silver and black.
Clown fish wave
To me from their Lawns
Of sea anemone
Before darting back inside.
Here is the kind of place
Where I could put down roots.
Live out an idyllic life
Living in a coral townhouse.
But for me to stay
Would be severely fatal.
I’m just a visitor
And my visa is about to expire.
I look back one more time
As my head breaks the surface.
The sun stings, I blink.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
Pure white in flight
brown rivers rush
a seagull
Swooping under the bridge
a pure white flash
seagull
Brown river flowing
under the dark bridge
white gull
Seagull swoops
under the bridge of brown
pure white flash
White moment
an arched shape of pure white
seagull
White flying flash
in the shape of an arc
a seagull
Under the bridge
one white flower blooms
spring
Below the dark bridge
an anemone flowers
full moon
Brown waters
the river flows fast
one wood anemone
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
1.
A star-shaped
patch of snow,
achingly white,
rests against the base
of the little white
pine, wrapped
in glittering
golds and reds, gifts
for the Christ Child.
No claw or paw
or beak or wing
has touched the snow.
Only a hidden pitch
of grass pushes
it skyward.
It shirks
its shrinkage
north
of the pine.
It will not
winnow until
the bright star burns.
*I pass the snow
and think of nothing*.
2.
Lightning split
the hide
of the 80-year-old
oak that shaded
our little tan house
each summer.
Its bark ripped
apart like
wallpaper,
life leeching out
of its crooked limbs
in sap-soaked
streams of sorrow,
making room
for the little white pine
to thrive
in the dead of winter.
*Nature is not
our friend*.
3.
The pine prays to preserve
some piece of the oak
I used to love. Its needles,
like shark’s teeth,
fend off friend and foe
alike, granting it
the right to grow
wherever it likes,
even here,
at the foot of giants.
Dead, the pin oak loans
its beauty to no one,
boasts only of its hard,
straight wood,
an abiding abode
for birds and squirrels
and barking boys.
I climb to its top
each Christmas,
straining toward
the Epiphany star.
*The tree sways, and
I think of nothing*.
4.
The burgeoning pine
pines for such power.
You cannot cut it
without exposing
its darkened knots,
like aging spots
on my hands
and face.
It rises bright with
anemone-like cones
dappled on its coat
of single color:
evergreen,
ever young.
Ever gone,
my pilgrim oak.
I stretch toward the star
of Bethlehem,
dreaming my way
to Heaven, saying No
to the punishing
star of snow below.
Hanging high
above the Earth,
I sense the Christ Child
in my branches.
*Wet, wild grasses
brush His cradle,
push me skyward,
His star my home*.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Oakes-photo, hypocrisy and flagrant mirky plateau. Brimming celestial warrants overcrowding public housing systems. North-South lights, sell costly iPhone Apps; and then there are Social Societies of non-verbal delight. Password protected non-profitable and over-costly educations of no reward or biblical synonyms. Catastrophizing hash-tag dot.com. Weary party going poster children with glowing anemone guts, fruity looped cantlings, ravenous scattered supper clubbed coughing up ******* on their strange and central affairs unit. Overcome the candisation and sugary affairs of any of the ***** and pops that erstwhile matter less and less. We are speaking of nomenclatures that don't arise. Promises and by which confession aloof romanticizes every Tom dicking Mary that carries the theory of sustainable energy, prussian blue, and irregular browsing.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
Bright vegetables of the sea,
disordered hair, thin arms.
Tubes protrude among vivid coral,
an array of shades against a sapphire canvas.
Wobbly vermilion wires poke out
from under rust-coloured rocks.
A clown swims quick through the middle,
orange in a forest of fingers.
Pink bonbons, candy canes,
an underwater confectionery store.
Some throb with electricity,
small pools of violet light near their homes.
Others ***** rainbows
from deep open mouths.
Waltzing in solitude
as tangerine horses gallop.
More creatures weave past,
realise they are in a multi-hued hug.
Hidden paint splatters,
are they aliens of the deep?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,
Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,
The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,
Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,
The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
in winter we rubbed off our skin with bitter yellow soap
& danced across the murky floor of our brains.
ankle-deep in ambien, our toes scraped urchins & palms of anemone.
we built shelters in the living room
from moss-green blankets & coffee tables,
our fingers making furtive wishes in the quivering dark.
we picked small hairs & pennies out of the carpet.
when i grew hungry you offered me your left thigh
like an unwrapped christmas present.
under the aquatic quake of the fluorescent light
you fat seemed to boil
& your bed turned into a small, cold island.
we opened checking accounts under fake names
& you started to worry about your gently doming stomach.
when the mailman came, we cowered in the closet.
each year the temperature of our livers
rose a few degrees.
spring brought us flowers that smelled like DDT.
––Appears in the Spring 2013 issue of The Columbia Review.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Winter rains soaked us to the core,
our first bath, drawing her near.
With trembling hands, we dared to explore,
water swaying her anemone clear.
Through steam, I ventured the unknown—
what was once two becomes one.
Where I end and she begins... unknown.
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 5:47 PM UTC
Inside my underwear I thought
A red flower had fluttered in,
And stuck itself there like sap.
Inside my underwear I thought
I had spilt a spoon of strawberry jam,
It felt so sticky on my fingers.
Inside my underwear I thought
A crimson blob of sea anemone
Had swum on out of me globosely.
Turns out it was only blood,
Only blood, only blood
I wasn’t even frightened
Even when it started hurting
I’ve always found it pretty
Growing pools of tulips
Inside my underwear.
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC
One rock that bounces off the river
Another rock that drowns and scars the bed
What distinguishes the two is fate's solitaire
One day I will skip like a stone
But today I lie sunken at the bottom
Amidst the many mermaids in the photic zone
Stifled by the pressure of the water
Fettered by the weight of failure and anxiety
Overhead a storm rages, unsettling the ocean
I will outlive this habitat that will die slowly
I will see the ecosystem turn into a corpse
Anemone, scampi, and sharks; no trace of it all
I hope to skip like a stone, but, at what cost
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 3:11 PM UTC
31
Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole—are done!
For thee to bloom, I’ll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o’er!
Pray gather me—
Anemone—
Thy flower—forevermore!
1.9k
I remember that day on Mount Tamalpais.
We picnicked under the loving sky
On Bolinas ridge, atop Wicklow hill,
The maiden’s breast. We found those apple trees,
Who’d gone wild and fell into their world.
A blossom on the way.
I took your picture and you developed into
A sea-horse, or was it a mermaid? The ridge
Was foaming about you and birds were swimming
Like fish underneath. We found a tree, an umbrella
Left at the beach. The coral-grass became our bed
And wine turned into water.
A spiral dance in arms of anemone, it was
All embrace! That reef was spawning heaven.
At the treasure chest under the sea maiden,
Like children on highland pap, we played
At the beach that day in a castle above the clouds,
Beneath the wave.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
we
mill the
wheat
and our bread
is
broken.
slack lung
sponge
anemone the cavitous
tide
po
ol
s.
we
chill complete stars
and oi ! our dead
are
tokens.
bad
nuns
expunged
eternally hap-hazardous.
blind
fo
ol
s.
we are not risen. we are unleavened.
our chevy glistens where the chrome clings to the rust bite.
the light tingles the rods and cones of Time's swipe across narrows,
it's arrow sings. it singes the rind of our fat lips
where it's teeth slide,
where our worlds kiss the pavement
from so much grinding
chaff
into gold.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
Here, the gods did not listen
When you cried
Here, disarmed
Here, fallen
Here, I laid you down
With kisses soft
Until you fell asleep forever
Here, the gods did not listen
When I cried
But I made sure the earth remembered
When you died
Here, in the pool of ichor
I planted my heart in disguise
And blood-red windflowers grew
Here, here and here –
I have loved you
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC