"aquariums" poems
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Fish in aquariums make me dizzy
they swim in circles as though
there is somewhere to go
I pity their hopeless journey
someone should tell them
it’s all a trick
But most of all
they’re reminiscent of me
How many circles have I spun
how many times have I thought
I was going somewhere?
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun
Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.
The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.
Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.
We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.
That face always made you
want to kiss me.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
we all have sorrows as deep as wells,
but i'm tossing them right out the door.
maybe this is where i shed my old skin like a cobra,
but i'm hardly as vicious.
i'm only as dangerous as you let me be,
with my bones as strong as glaciers and
my eyes could swim inside aquariums
or the Mediterranean sea,
like i have gills that could let me breathe.
i could make a home,
20,000 leagues under or i could
touch land with my sun shining shades
of affections
with the complexions of new worlds.
and did you know, that there are more stars
in our galaxies than there are particles of
sand on each coastal line -
i guess you can say we learn something valuable
when you least expect,
like how cats have one hundred vocal sounds and
we can relate because
our vocal sounds
are endless. we can use our voices.
kind of like our opportunities,
expanding like water turning to ice on our
puddles so we can walk on them without
rain boots or umbrellas that catch our tears.
instead, we wear our thickness overlapping
our feelings and
i just want to be naked.
if that leaves me vulnerable,
so be it as long as i can taste the glass half full
on my skin.
i just want to be happy.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
if I could be any one of your body parts I’d
be your fingertips.
when you break my gaze on screen, I yearn for it like
a lost child.
keep pushing others out of the way at aquariums so I can
touch the stingrays
and nudge my calves with your nose when you
want to be brushed
I promise to always remember where your car is parked,
if you let me keep that photo of you as a young pilot
in my pocket
in public spaces, we fill the
air between us with supernovas.
you are Sirius
you are the lobster
you are the look across the room at a party;
feel my phantom hands on your shoulders
I’ll crawl into the nape of your neck and make a home
plaster myself across your skin so you can find me
in the grooves of your hands
I’ll sew my words into your sheets so you will never be without them
promise me you’ll comb out your tangled hair if it gets too much
and wait for me by the Whitney
as I walk 341 miles for you.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
I was moving out
Parked my bike down the street
With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole
connected to my seat.
The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down
the front
Vanished each car-
go carrying trip
of dictionaries and travel guides that
could have been lumped together in boxes
separately tossed into the neon
green
synthetic fiber
rain-proof buggy
Connected to my seat.
I ran across the lawn, one last time
Buckling the watch I found from high school
remembering it’s broken and not caring
then I saw men wearing polos beneath
Greek symbols beneath a doorway
and held my breath as they stared at me.
This vacant lot held something which I carried back
to find
my bike was gone, replaced
by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying
“no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine
I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps
surrounded by aquariums or tvs
which comprised the store's interior.
The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past
refrigerators next to vending machines
In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men
Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others
Disconnected, hung
its tires lying on the ground beside their feet
and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck.
“What the ****
A woman got into my face “don’t use that word”
***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we
got here”
One man smiled.
He felt bad.
They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house.
I saw my car down the street.
I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d
rode my bike
Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill,
to see the roommate I hated
and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo
but took only my one possession
and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch
on the top of a table
beside some legos
and left.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
I shake awake in the sleep…
The invisible dialogues, unable
to distinguish from darkness
vexes me...
I have heard the sob of the horn bill of the freedom
throughout the half broken dreams…
you also may blame me like my mother
that it’s because not pray to God when I go to bed…
For how many ‘freedoms’
I've been kept decorated
in the living room?
the fishes in aquariums
are not the beauty kept in the glass pots
but freedom closed in the glass…
While the fishes argue that
the three quarter of the world has made for them,
looking towards the open canopy of freedom,
the love birds, quibble me from the cages
that what I caged is the word of ‘freedom’ itself.
Doubtlessly, creating Auschwitz cells in living rooms
how can I speak about the freedom?
Having exempted the birds towards canopy of indulgence
the fishes to the sea of the rights,
I went to fly in the freedom of sleep
forgetting to pray to God…
then, I know
the birds from the canopy of indulgence
and the fishes from the sea of the rights,
are praying God for the sake of me…
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
Letter to My Lawyers.
Being of sound mind and body...
To whom should I leave my teeth
Which person do I love
Enough, to leave my smile to
When I'm dead and up above
My grandson will get my glass eye
When my life is at an end
I'd imagine I could see him
playing marbles with his friends
My artificial knee cap
I'll leave to my younger sister May
She can have it in her living room
As a brand new candy tray
I think I'll leave my hearing aids
To the woman up the road
They don't work too well anyways
And in truth, the cow's a toad!!
The breast implants that I have got
Are old, and slightly mottled
But, I'll leave them to the nursing home
As two hot water bottles
All my unused catheters, to the pet store
that's my wish
They can use them in aquariums
Pumping air for all their fish
This is my will and testament
It's my National Health Care list
These bits of me are all I own
There might be some things that I missed
My artificial hip joint
I'll give to the fellow down the lane
He can clean it up a little bit
And there's a topper for his cane
Anything else that I forgot
That is still good, I want to go
To someone who might need it
Make it someone that I know
One last thing I ask now
my support hose, goes to Jack
He always wanted a nice hammock
To swing in out the back!!!
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
it will just end up
being a tale of a drunk looking into a metre
as if it was a kaleidoscope mile
in an l.s.d. fuelled centimetre seance,
conjuring the dead, esp. sergei with his kijé,
and thinking about turning the zoo inside out,
with the birds as fish in the great aerorium
of the missing stars to cook up a fluster with broken beaks
nudging achilles to kneel using his heels.
i mean i’d cage those parrots to seal their colour
into stamps and dutiful ink of borrowed bureaucracy,
but i’d stink of oysters doing so and very little else.
so why did they decide upon petting fish in an aquarium
and said that birds were simply caged chickens easing out
an omelette? if i was keeping goldfish in aquariums
i’d be keeping budgies in aeroriums.
don’t tell me, the glass eases the process for disney's
talking blue fish? no wonder, a caged animal
is reminiscent of a caged man, but put man behind glass
and there's little chance of a narcissist conjured;
hence the necessity of slicing iron of the ribcage innuendo
within the framework of a niqab to peer through
on that whitewashed backdrop some call a canvased sigh of beginning.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
I've never been that strong
but I can drown emotions
as big as whales
by covering their blowholes
and tying down their tails
so they never reach the surface
I've always loved aquariums
because they are silent reminders
of what we cannot see
and the inhabitants
do not require verbal commands
to continue living
Existing as a mermaid
would be a better option
than being treated as a fisherman
by the scaly creatures
of whose glittering skin
you admire
with appreciative envy
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
The book isn’t quiet at night.
My mind tosses to turn the pages quicker,
so I might fall asleep faster.
The book doesn’t quiet.
The pages turning sound—
the slow waves of an ocean,
causing the hermit crabto long for the sea.
Ticking against the plastic hermit crab aquarium,
hermits make up their own laws of time. Longing
just to reach the sliced trees that lay as the floor beneath me.
Knots come out on the floor under my bed
begging to tell the stories of their wood rings.
Hundreds of years of uncut life—until suddenly,
streaming out on branches from every tree—is compacted
into the paper on this page
and into the hardwood underneath
that begins shifting slowly to driftwood.
Standing still with the grains of time resting at my feet.
Hearing the sea crying out too for some sleep,
the sea crying out to be a pond,always resting.
With every turned page,
the sand brushes, wanting the hermit ***** to come back
from their hand painted, tattooed shells.
To dance once more on the sand beneath the sea foam,
under delicately night speckled atmosphere
beneath a far off silent observer
we humans call the man in the moon.
Turning pages are slowly closed,
placed aside once more,
left alone to stare at hermit *****
Hiding in their hermit crab aquariums, they
await the 6am alarm clock’s tick.
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 1:39 PM UTC
Fish:
You come in all forms and shapes,
In all imaginable colours and shades,
Larger than some ships you find, Smaller than a thimble of any kind,
You can live in every place with water,
Deeper then where light will falter,
Or high enough to see the sun light,
But sometime you are not in sight,
Some of you are
really beautiful,
You make
aquariums look full,
Some of you are just divine,
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
I used to think that fish
In little bowls and aquariums
Were pitiful prisoners of men
Deprived of freedom
Defined by frontiers
Hindered by limits
But now I know that fish
Might be happy in their prisons
Able to explore all there is to see
While humans keep on getting lost
In their prison of infinite possibilities
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC
The jellyfish.
700 million years and it seems everything has changed, but them.
They are the oldest multi-organ animal on the planet and if there were an animal up for God’s first friend I would say it’s definitely the jellyfish.
I'd like to think God needed friends, and I'd like to think she explored this world as it grew beyond her grasp and perhaps as she swam these oceans she found solace in the steadfastness of her old friend. Always there, always the same.
I can't help but feel some kinship myself. Somewhere among the primordial ooze a part of me, knew an ancient, small part of them. Then, later, sometime before my evolutionary ancestors ever went on land, we swam together. We shared the oceans of an earth that most of us wouldn't recognize now. Forward still, as time tends to move, my ancestors went on land and theirs stayed in the rolling seas. Watching the world change around them.
If there is a God, I'd like to think she still visits the jellyfish on occasion. That aquariums are her favorite place beside the ocean itself.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
afraid of my sons I was born scared / I say sometimes to my friend of few words a few words on how a newborn looks like an undiscovered fish fresh from ghosting the underfunded aquariums of rapes that occur / at some point I’ll tell my daughter we’ve met / my father when he comes comes from another dimension to bear hug our dinner guest who’s arrived in a mirror / mother puts a gun to her foot
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
The Octopi Jars
by Michael R. Burch
Long-vacant eyes
now lodged in clear glass,
a-swim with pale arms
as delicate as angels'...
you are beyond all hope
of salvage now...
and yet I would pause,
no fear!,
to once touch
your arcane beaks...
I, more alien than you
to this imprismed world,
notice, most of all,
the scratches on the inside surfaces
of your hermetic cells...
and I remember documentaries
of albino Houdinis
slipping like wraiths
over the walls of shipboard aquariums,
slipping down decks'
brine-lubricated planks,
spilling jubilantly into the dark sea,
parachuting through clouds of pallid ammonia...
and I know now in life you were unlike me:
your imprisonment was never voluntary.
Originally published by Triplopia and The Poetic Musings of Sam Hudson. Keywords/Tags: Octopus, Octopi, Medusa, Sea Angel, Angel, Angels, Nature, Sea, Ocean, Aquarium, Aliens, Imprisonment, Prison, Ship, Ships, Shipwreck
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
a cat sleeps in my bed,
and cautiously i inspect
snake eyers in fur
as if that *********
tailoring skin with leather
for care of cavern canvases:
as i am minded to care for
twin skeletons of ape and man
and eyes of mammal and lizard!
i am the familial tie as egg as thought
engraving the study of wombs
like the study of space and time,
for this is where the equations manage
balance! engraving upon engraving
to a shadowy replica
that you might keep both fish
and spiders in aquariums.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
five thirty pm
drool
begins
fast life
zoom
seals in aquariums
burst world
is all
under water
just one small
hit and
i hear my heart
beat
feel the world
outside
every window
flash lights
it's called
geeking
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
she could never imitate a cat or a dog, woman simply scolded man enough that man can relate to the two former state, and state that the third party misguides a share of concern for the two silences in terms of what man says: i think, which to the woman translates as: i scheme.
being with a woman would only
make me weak,
i'm sure there are enough
pheasants to strut the colar purple
colours translated via genetics
into wings from the depths of
the pacific... as i am sure
enough serfs and aristocrats
simply love to **** in order
to then look at aquariums filled
with ants; come my puppets come!
my fingers are eagerly awaiting
strain for the puppetry of being strained;
the king killed his queen in a raging fit
of jealosy... he's my caeserean digit now -
lo! behold the gravity of a chopped off
head of a gladiator like the anaesthetic of
the apple in salival drooling off the tree to the earth
in a quasi-rubber spandex strap: ah, almost, almost,
ah, almost, almost... drop!
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
There once was a man.
His sole purpose in life was to put antiseptic and bandages on my wounds.
He read me a stories and gave each character a funny voice.
He took me wherever I wanted to go, and also, everywhere he'd ever wanted to show me.
He showed me the past, like
individual bricks on a wall,
and built me up to the roof
of a house.
Staring at stars and constellations and swirling dreams.
We played and conversed like equals,
alternating from being children to grownups, together.
We went to baseball games and aquariums and museums and beaches and parks and forests.
I danced on his toes, and sprouted his curly locks from my own head.
And when he died, I died, too.
There was nothing left for many years, until I held my own child.
My daughter,
who looks so much like my dad,
sometimes it hurts to see
the similarities.
The curl in her hair, the stars in her eyes, the magic in her shadow,
And it almost makes me feel like
Maybe he didn't leave me without love.
Maybe I didn't perish along with him.
Maybe he is still alive in me and in
the funny way my little girl scrunches up her nose when she giggles.
Or her preference of squash to green beans.
Maybe the world didn't end with my dad.
Maybe I would feel even sadder that she won't know him if I wasn't too busy soaking in her every moment like my father did mine.
And, one day I'll tell her,
"Eliza June, I once knew the most incredible man.
And he would have loved
to hear you call him,
'Grand Dad.'"
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC