Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Yenson Jun 2019
Those cosmopolitan provincials sorts
the chavs, yobs, yobbesses and oiks with semolina for brains
them retro-grade grade-less sub-humans bottom feeders
who think Cardiff is in East Angular and Magaluf is Eden
and Higher Education begins in Borstal or a stint at HM Prisons
found by happenstance a tin of Caviar
something they'd never seen before
with the curiosity of practiced thieves
they proceeded to examine its worth
'its a tin of hair gel says one'
'No, no, no says another, I think its something you eat'
'it says Caviar Royal Beluga, observes another'
'throw it away, anything with a name like that is *******'
'Beluga...some foreign muck, it look dark and oily'
'yea mate, look like ****, throw it away'
One of the dis-advantaged rabble with one O'level in Carpentry
took a closer look  
'look he says, there's sticker on the bottom that reads
Caviar Royal Beluga – 1kg £3,780.00'
Hahahaha they all roared in ceaseless mirth, hahaha
'some joker is having a laugh, pull the other leg, fancy...
a tin of black gunge in some slimy stuff cost three grand,
must think people are born yesterday, Beluga..fuckoffluga'
And with that, they tossed the tin away and walked off
laughing like *******.

Ignorance is a disease, ignorance is bliss
will vandals extol the sheer magnificence of a Constable
or see anything other than a chair in a Chippendale ribbonback chair,
will Barbarians shed a tear on hearing the sensuous notes of Chopin or shiver at the graceful notes of Debussy or melt in sheer
adoration as Tchaikovsky's romance soars in magical resonance.  
Will cosmopolitan heathens gape in mesmerizing wonder on
seeing Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel and praise God for being alive
So who has great expectations of our dear cosmopolitan provincials sorts
those chavs, yobs, yobbesses and oiks with semolina for brains
for in disparaging excellence
and rubbishing  the noble and the exceptional
they make us appreciate more that we are blessed
and privileged
and do not have
semolina for brains

hey!
who would like some caviar
Clem C Jul 2013
I am a beluga stuck on the ground,
My covered water body, sounding,
An echo to the sounds around us,
I move the water that moves, us
I am not shy, of passersby,
I love being me!
appetite for life,
devoured at my whim,
though I am a baby, small in this place.

©ClemC072013
Clem C Jul 2013
I am a Beluga but stuck on dry land,
My thin skin the fish tank, where I feed,
On music,
On wonder, always aware of danger,
On dance,
On water, afraid of drying out like a stick,
On swimming,
On life, bring it on...baby!

©ClemC072013
JAM Oct 2021
Oh, my name is Jack Stewart,
I’m a canny gang man
And a rovin’ young fellow I’ve been.

I’m a piper by trade,
I’m a ramblin’ young blade,
And ‘tis many the tune I can play.

Now here’s a simple song
To say what they done.
I told them about all those fears
And away they did run.
they sure must be strong,
And they feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun.

Their mouth is open wide,
The lover is inside
And the tumults done.
Collided with the sign,
They're staring at the sun,
They're standing in the sea.

I’ve got acres of land.
I’ve got men at command.
I’ve always a dollar to spare.

Note the trees because the
Dirt is temporary.
More to mine than fact, face,
Name, and monetary.

Put money in my hand and I will do the things you want me to.
Vanity overriding wisdom, usually common sense.
Should I delete it? they said they'd read it.
They promised they would never ruin it with sequels.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.
Whatever it costs, I will pay.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day.

Now picture this, I'm a bag of *****, put me to your lips
I am sick, I will punch a baby bear in his ****
Give me lip, I'ma send you to the yard, get a stick
Make a switch, I can end the conversation real quick
Okay nobody speak, nobody get choked
You wanna here a good joke?

The comedy of man starts like this:
Our brains are way too big for our mothers' hips,
And so nature, she devised this alternative:
We emerge half-formed and hope
whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough to fill us in.
And babies, that's pretty much how it's been ever since.

Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address.
Like, say, that half of us are periodically iron deficient.
So, somebody's gotta go **** something
While she looks after the kids.
She'd do it herself, but what, is he gonna get this thing its milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt, we can switch.
It's hard not to fall in love with something so helpless.
Ladies, I hope we don't end up regretting this.

That was then,
this is the twenty-first century,
And there’s too much aggravation.
It's the age of insanity,
What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem?

This is the age of machinery,
A mechanical nightmare,
The wonderful world of technology,
****** hydrogen bombs biological warfare.

There used to be a guy for this type of thing,
An underwater guy who controlled the sea,
Got killed by ten million pounds of sludge from New York
and New Jersey.

Water dissolving and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Under the water, carry the water
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean
Water dissolving and water removing.

Then there’s the creature in the sky
Got ****** in a hole, now there's a hole in the sky
And the ground's not cold.
And if the ground's not cold, everything is gonna burn.
We'll all take turns,
I'll get mine too.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the cold again after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.

So I ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned.
I'm a twenty-first century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me,
She can't see my motivation.
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twenty-first century.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical.

Then I had visions, I was in them.
I was looking into the mirror
To see a little bit clearer
The rottenness and evil in me.

You know I think my schooling was phoney?
I guess it's hard not to agree.
You say, "It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree."
Right (right), you're ****** well right,
You got a ****** right to say.
Right, you're ****** well right,
You know, you got a right to say.

Been around the world and found
That only stupid people are breeding,
The cretins cloning and feeding,
And I don't even own a TV.

Put me in the hospital for nerves
And then they had to commit me.
You told them all I was crazy.
They cut off my legs, now I'm an amputee,
******* you.

I don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control,
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teacher, leave us kids alone.
Hey! Uncle Sam! Leave us kids alone!

We wanna grow up to be
A debaser.

“Look at me, look at me
Hands in the air like it's good to be
Alive and I'm a famous rapper,
Even when the paths are all crookedy.
I can show you how to do-see-do.
I can show you how to scratch a record.
I can take apart the remote control,
And I can almost put it back together.
I can tie a knot in a cherry stem.
I can tell you about Leif Erikson.
I know all the words to "De Colores",
And "I'm proud to be an American".
Me and my friend saw a platypus.
Me and my friend made a comic book.
And guess how long it took.
I can do anything that I want cuz

Who gives a **** about an Oxford comma?
I've seen those English dramas too; they're cruel.

So, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth.”

“Look at me, look at me
Just called to say that it's good to be
Alive in such a small world.
I'm all curled up with a book to read
I can make money open up a thrift store.
I can make a living off a magazine.
I can design an engine
sixty four miles to a gallon of gasoline.
I can make new antibiotics.
I can make computers survive aquatic conditions.
I know how to run a business,
And I can make you wanna buy a product.
Movers shakers and producers,
Me and my friends understand the future.
I see the strings that control the system.
I can do anything with no assistance because

I give a **** about the Oxford Comma!
I climbed to Dharamsala too, I did.
I met the highest Lama.
His accent sounded fine to me.

Now, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth”

Comedy, now that's what I call pure comedy.
Just wait until the part where they start to believe
They're at the center of everything
And some all-powerful being
Endowed this horror show with meaning.

Now, Uncle Sammy, did you hear about this one?
Tell me, are you locked in the punch?
Sammy, are you grinding on a pelvis?
Hey baby, are you losing touch?

If you believed they put a man on the moon,
If you believe there's nothing up his sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Moses went walking with the staff of wood.
Newton got beaned by the apple good.
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp.
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask.
Well I took out my dogs and them I did shoot,
All down in the county Kildare.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day

And in the Twenty-First Century
From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
Two dogs, dead in a field,
Glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
They rose up, rose up when whistled at,
their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
Getting into games through a whole in the fence,
For the owner of the blue tarp tent,
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
In the privacy of the last three,
Skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
And us undeceased, and our new cds,
Dippin' on goodies, oakland
it's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue.

But you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

I’ll say they secretly long to be some part of a car crash,
Long to see their arms stripped of the tendons,
The ****** of swelling exposed veins,
Webbing the back of their hands,
To be a red tendoned dog,
To be red tendoned dogs,
Blood breathing by the side of the highway.

Oh, their religions are the best.
They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks.
These unbelievable outfits.
And they get terribly upset
When you question their sacred texts,
Written by woman-hating epileptics.
Their languages just serve to confuse them.
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure.
They build fortunes poisoning their offspring,
And hand out prizes when someone patents a cure.
Where did they find these goons they elected to rule them?
What makes these clowns they idolize so remarkable?
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being thoughtless animals.

See the dwarfs an' see the giants,
Which one would you choose to be?
And if you can't get that together
Here's the answer, here's the key.
You can freeze like a a man of century thirty.

I'll save my breath and take it with me
Till a hundred years and so
Shame you won't be there to see me
Shaking hands with Charles de Gaulle.
Play it cool an' Saran wrap all you can
Be a century thirty man,
You can freeze like a century thirty man

So I live like everyday is my last,
But I plan for tomorrow as if I will never pass.
A Pharoah on the subway
Who never had dreams of jets but fell asleep on run ways.
I just know that one day, that anything I needed I could mold.
Get everything you want it ain't always good for the soul.
A mix of self-worth, some help, a little control,
And I don't know the rest, good as mine is your guess,
The recipe ain't the best, to make it though is our quest,
And if you choose to accept, the meaning of life is yes.

So, we ain't going to the town,
We're going to the city.
Gonna trek this **** around
And make this place a heart to be a part of, again.

That’s the dream but
There are times when all the world's asleep,
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned.
I know it sounds absurd,
Please tell me who I am.

Is this my starring role
Or just a cameo?
Who am I living for?
Well, I can't take no more,
'Cuz when it rains, it pours
What am I living for?
I don't got much, but I got heart and soul.
I found myself through all the highs and lows.
Oh Will I drown in the pain,
Or go dance in the rain?
What am I living for?

So, I can lead a nation with a microphone?
And I can split the atom of a molecule?
Look at me, look at me
Drivin' and I won't stop
And it feels so good to be alive and on top
My reach, is global
My tower, secure
My cause, is noble
My power,
is pure.

And it’s the end of the world as we know it.
it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid
In the eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don't mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down my neck.

Paranoia, paranoia,
Everybody's coming to get me.
Just say you never met me,
I'm running underground with the moles, digging holes.
Hear the voices in my head,
I swear to God it sounds like they're snoring.
But if you're bored, then you're boring.
The agony and the irony, they're killing me.

I’m dead but the world keeps spinning.
Take a spin through the world I left,
It's getting dark a little too early.
Am I missing the dearly bereft?

Timmy, Timmy, Timmy Turner
He was wishin' for a burner
To **** everybody walkin'
He knows that his soul in the furnace

Young man walkin', wishin' for a burner
Four, five, six, ten ratchets on 'em
Ten men with 'em, ten clappin' on 'em
Dead men with 'em, dead men, get 'em
Four-five rip 'em, four-five zip 'em
You talk money, young men get 'em
Beluga, beluga, beluga
he fell in love with the Ruger
he fell in love with his jeweler
he fell in love with the mullah
It's all about the rule
It's all about the move
It's all about the rules

That was then,
Now I am a man, man, man,
Up, up in the air
And I run around, round, round, round
this downtown and act like I don't care.
So when you see me flying by the planet's moon,
You don't need to explain if everything's changed
Just know I'm just like you.

So I pull the switch, the switch, the switch inside my head.
And I see black, black, green,
and brown, brown, brown and blue, yellow, violets, red.
And suddenly a light appears inside my brain
And I think of my ways,
I think of my days
and know that I have changed.

So, be easy and free,
when you’re drinkin’ with me
I’m a man you don’t meet every day.
a lyric poem
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
The finest singer in the sea
I heard upon this morn
And in that strange sonorous tone
A universe was born

The low melodic wailing touched
And roused me from my sleep
As the humpback lithe and languid
Made a turn and sounded deep

And as my mind awakes it turns
To whales large and small
To the snowy white beluga
The canary of them all

The clicking bursts of ***** whales
And the California grey
The fin whale speaks across the sea
To those a world away

The short and longfinned pilot whales
With whistles quite complex
The striking graceful orcas
Speak in different dialects

But it is the great blue whale
That makes the loudest cry
Though it is far too rare today
With such an awful why

But on this wondrous morning I
Am filled with joyous glee
That God has given life to whales
And gave to them the sea

Cori MacNaughton
24Oct2000
I have read this poem in public on several occasions.  This is the first time it appears in print.
Sjr1000 Jul 2015
I
remembered you,
you
remembered
me,
I believed in you,
You believed in me,
We were both sea creatures
traveling
uncommon seas.

We had taken to that
unconscious ocean
to see in the sea,
What we could see.

It's been a strange journey
of that there is no doubt.

Where everyone walks with
their insides in,
We travel these seas
with our
insides out,
We don't know any other
way to be
when you're swimming through
these
uncommon seas.

It's often a desert
out there,
But inside here
all kinds of musty
characters
drudged up from
anxious memory
inhabitants of this sea -
Sponge Bob Square Pants
has
nothing on you or me,
We are all travelers
in this uncommon sea.

Our bathing suits left far behind,
the temperature sometimes
too hot
too cold
depending on our state of mind,
There's strife
confrontation
character assination
often
uncommon seas
are far from placid.

The joy of traveling
though
you and me,
Sea creatures
feeling
the longing,
Finally belonging,
Where somewhere
and
sometimes
out of the blue,
A Beluga whale
speaks
your
name
so
perfectly
and
swims alongside
you and me
in
uncommon seas.
The symbol for the unconscious in dreams has been known to be the ocean.
zebra Dec 2017
**** men
predatory *** hounds
chasing skirts and tights
aching **** idiots
disciples of Eros
Christs of fetish
reconciling nothing
veiling that principled demeanor
of feminist culture
"of don't objectify me".....translation
sensual form is not natures ruse
machine Eve must
override override override

well the id does not negotiate
the superstructure
of affected political tele-reality
starring
the liberal chattering class
who speculate male motives
to be some vainglorious power trip
while corporatized media personalities
feign out of control lust
as a mental disorder
and
sit up like shuddering Pekingese
yessing the lascivious
as a fiction

no ladies
its not just power
theories are not testosterone
it is pure unadulterated
relentless
irreducible
urge to merge
like the beluga **** channel
sea world as you've never seen it before
where male dolphins
batter and *******
the weaker ***
in search of feral harmony

in an overbuilt society
yet to become a civilization
are we
scissored between a wild ****** id
of the damed
and the Victorian sacred
of the damed

oh you silky damsels
makin men moody and humid
pure **** heroine
a poison ivy of ***
like a rash
givin men folk the itch
cant stop the twitch
rubber *******
in a rubbing frenzy
from your soaking heat and odor

we are  a rumbling of muttering torments
for the forbidden taste
of you
oooow
oooow
we are pan in a mad dance
for glistening shanks
and buttery kisses
we are the early bird looking for the worm
hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell
a constellation of infatuation and lechery
mad with adoration
love slaves in a raging furnace of desire
*** addicts
that just say yes
turgid dogs
hole sniffers
voluptuous monsters
all johnny apple seed
and sometimes your salvation
as you are ours
knowing that sometimes
real eroticism eclipses morality

and yes my darlings*

NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
Ms Levinson Apr 2015
Blue whales
Killer whales
Beluga whales
The biggest mammals on earth
***** whale
Pilot whale
Bowhead whales
My favorite clouds of water
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
beluga whales surfaced, floating ghostly white
ferocious tides ripped, sands sinking

cowslip tripped the cloud's crashing sky
sunbursts cracked storm walls, with fire yellow light

rain far-off sheeted, poured - hillsides weeping
fireweed bowed, bent heavily sleeping

the rutted road curved swerving narrowly upward
leading me to the sweet summer of Girdwood
Emma Hage Jun 2012
Hello, little god,
cornered in this world of insignificance;
between sips of too-cold raspberry tea
create your own brand of madness
and label it "art."

From the blueberry stool
that is your throne, conduct
symphonies of beluga whales and
daisy chains molded together
to craft another colorful beginning.

Papercuts and calluses
are your battle wounds;
a diligent ballpoint pen
is the dog that marks its territory.

But then--

White knuckles
crumple mistakes,
transforming them into carpet-coating origami.
Your fingers keep the beat
that defines disincentive:
bmm, bmm, bmm.

Possessed
by antagonistic demons, tug
at the noose that is
a favorite paisley tie
and admit defeat.

Take another bite of your
overpriced Reuben sandwich.
Jon Tobias May 2012
She is salty lipped ocean throat
Warm morning fog
Mixing with her overcast

I want to place my head on her treasure chest
Listen to her wet ruby cascade and thump
A metronome for people who dance lightly

She is a mildly ******* mermaid
Born with the deformity of legs

We were all born a little bit broken
I tell her

I know you’re a body of water I want to drown in
When home feels like it’s so much bigger than these four walls
But not much stronger than the skin I’m in

So here’s to jumping off cliffs
With the hope to land a little painfully
So evolution might give me the wings I was meant to be born with

She walks like a riptide
Often risks drowning in the off chance

Nature might be kind enough to understand
What it really means to have sea legs

This is for the soft shelled crab
Who was tired of the heaviness of home

For the mockingbirds who never studied music
So they copy sound
Sometimes really annoying sound
But they hear the beauty regardless

For the Dumbo Octopus
Who clearly watched too much classic Disney

The beluga whale who can crane its neck
When its sonar song of home is not enough
To know their kids are coming back to them

For the penguins
Who are fine being flightless
Because they’d much rather swim

They didn’t think it was stupid
When they wished they could be different

And she is the ocean
Hips sway like a high tide approaching
Hiding sirens’ secrets
Skeletons in her closet
Lovers who have lost
And drown in her pitch black

She wears the water like a second skin
Smiles like the wind is pressing back her cheeks

She chokes on sea water
Drowns a little
With the hope that this place might feel more like home

Sometimes home is the hardest place to get to
But there’s nothing wrong with going home
This will be the summer where I will actually go to the beach regularly.
Taylor St Onge Jan 2014
You planted galaxies inside me when we met
and now they're pouring out of my mouth,
stretching their curled limbs skyward from
the abyss of my stomach; they travel
up and up across the expanse between us
and down your throat like some sort of
invisible (and magnetic) parasite.

One:
Brown eyes remind me of Chernobyl,
                        but on you,
I see the Wilson Park Ice Skating Rink where
my mother first taught me to skate.  I see my
tiny hands wrapped around my first dog, Kelly, and
the Beluga Whales at the Shedd Aquarium
in 1999.  There’s a six foot deep hole between us
that makes me wonder if cataracs eclipse your
perception of me like they do for everyone else—
I wonder if you worry about
teetering over the edge
                                          like
                                                   I do.
Two:
If I’ve learned anything from math class it’s that
a negative times a negative equals a positive so
I guess it’s a good thing when it comes to you and I, because
how else would two equally bashful people ever work
together in harmony?  But then what about science—
positives and negatives attract, so I must
be the latter of the two in this electrical charge
         electrical attraction
         sparks fly
         fires rise
other cliched forms of saying that I just like
when your hands are on my hips and your
lips are on my neck and somewhere
in the back of my mind, I hope to God
that this new age romance is not all for naught.

Three:
I met the devil when I kissed your lips.
God was pushed out when the space between us
shrunk and shrunk until there was not enough
room for air nor biblical commandments nor morality nor logic.
We fell together, tumbling over the clouds like the
awkward first steps of a child, unsure and panicked;
our clipped wings, like birds in captivity, did nothing to
prevent us from ripping the pages of His thick book
and mixing and matching His words—
“burn[ing] with passion,” “two shall become one flesh—”
we folded them into fortune tellers.

Four:
When you first told me that you thought I was beautiful,
I did not believe you.  You looked so unsure of yourself—eyes
downcast, bottom lip tucked between your teeth—that I thought,
“How can this this wide-eyed boy think that he can
spot constellations that the Greeks and the Egyptians overlooked?”
Then I realized that the words that spewed from your
blood stained lips were stars of your own creation.  Somehow
you compressed and fused your perception of me with
interstellar matter and birthed a new stencil in the sky.  You
created a cynosure of me.  You look at me like you’re
gazing at Polaris, a perfect doll like Helen or Marilyn;
something I am not.
But I like it.

Five:
We make up Sirius, the Dog Star—
you, the primary, and I, the companion, we are
the brightest in the heavens.  Canis Major would
be nothing without us.  Circling one another in a far,
spread out pace, we take our time in dissecting
one another’s intentions.  You are my horoscope and
I am your zodiac sign; both born in the year of the pig
we display the raw, open wounds of altruism to one another.
I wonder when you look in the mirror,
if the reflection that you see is that of the Milky Way;
the barred spiral that contains
our solar system
our planet
my
      home.

If being with you would mean spewing galaxies
from my lips for the rest of my days, I would
gladly regurgitate a whole new universe
just to hold your hand.
about a boy
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Listen to Time to turn the tide by Millpond Moon  global warming is affecting this gift....writing this made me cry ....for our sacred Earth.  This is a meaningful piece I had to dig deep in old studies and in my beliefs this was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful Aurora Borealis a few years ago. This is about stars, this place- Vermont, Heaven, angels and death or coming omens. Peace - Vermont
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
Glen Brunson Feb 2013
he fed his best words to
a beluga whale
in the boyish hope
he could sail the beast
over salty horizons,

to mirror the world
in perfect halves

but he drowned
in the blowhole blast
after realizing
they were not enough.
Oran Gutan Dec 2012
what is a telescope
-a tyrannosaurus skeleton
-a reluctant birthright
what are *****
-a state line
-an obsolete receipt
what is a wave
-grandmother says: she will never forget as long as she lives
-a forest trail in thick fog
what is sea sick
-he ran over a dog
-wettest March of the century
what is an hour
-no smoking allowed
-the fuming face of a buffalo
what is sunburn
-inedible black toast
-I think she slanders me
what is wine
-overnight contact lens solution
-a humble canal
what is a mirror
(child | beluga)
~(ham):o + ¥ineapple
what is travel
-a last minute thing
-warmth within a windshield
what is revision
-a slow explode
-milk in coffee
what is antacid/calcium supplement
-a bottle cap
-handy clutter
what is a fist
-something to try eating when in circles
-flour, 1-to-20 eggs, some ennui, expiration dates
what is a sigh
-a fresh seismograph sheet
-sound mechanical in early morning
what is skin
-a shoelace
-child labor
what is a workshop
-scalpels, piñata bats
-a lunar module
what is that shiny dead thing in the green eyed river
-New Year’s Eve ball drop
-otherworldly return to beginning
Clem C Jul 2013
Black ink squirted in my eye,
Too close as he passed by,
Crusty barnacles, reachin' up and out,
Scratch my beluga belly,
swimming distracted,
always on demand,
dump me in the deep end of the ocean,
off of dry land,
Is the only solution, IF
you put me in a bind, with chains and anchors,
then I could escape the twenty four hour me, baby.

©ClemC072013
We're not here to represent the people that were meant to do,
what's the point in that?
We, the boys in Parliament are here to stuff our faces with Beluga,(booyah)
and have a pint or two,
represent you?
not a chance.
Milushka Oct 2010
~Sailing my Beluga*

Today, the day is crying
All night,
And since early morning,
Filled with melancholy
Waters
Up to the brim.

Slowly overflowing
Streams and rivers
Under my bridges.

I am adding
My tear or two
Of the salty liquid
To the mill.

We will
Finally reach
The sea,
The ocean blue.
There is no
Rush,
No haste,
No hurry.

Easy does it.

Life is just
An accident.

It may take a while,
A year or two,
A day
Or a week.

Who is counting
The hours,
The minutes?

Not me.

What's wrong
With just sailing,
Going
With the flow?

There is nothing,
Nothing,
Nothing wrong.
~This is not my Poem; this belongs to me Lamushkia; (Milushka) who is no longer with us.
Check out her other poems in her collection here.
She deserves to be remembered.
~Anna

~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~

Prior Reviews:
Patti Masterman-Heterodynemind   Aug 25
Exquisite in every way. I could read this a thousand times and gain something new with each reading. :)
~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~
Yelena M   Sep 20
'adding
My tear or two
Of the salty liquid
To the mill' - quite beautiful. Poetry from the soul and for the soul.Thanks for sharing, Anna.
luna Nov 2018
fact: the beluga whale can live for around 50 years.

i see everything
i feel as if i have eyes
we all have eyes
but my eyes see it all

i wish they didnt see it all
i really really do

fact: the patients of nervosa probably can't live for around 50 years.
good ol' pop is a series of poems about my struggles of seeing others suffer, inspired by a loved one's struggle with anorexia, good ol' pop is a collection for the bystander, and for the observant.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
yes... cold-turkey for a day...
the one will do it...
i just smoked a second one...
and the "hit" is not as benevolent...
simple arithmetic...
a carton is 200 cigarettes...
that's 200 days...
if i stick to this "pattern"...
no pointless cigarettes...
with coffee first thing in the morning:
on the medical "fast"...
after a grand meal...
cold-turkey throughout the day...
one balanced with a generous
amount of bourbon: surfing
the night-cap...
this could work...
      no... no point paying homage
to the romance of rolling tobacco...
a single marlboro will do...
esp. if it comes from eastern europe...
to have to start to treat it
as homage... something...
sacred... that's better than simply
quitting...
much... much better...
this late pseudo-caffeine hit
in the day...
first day... 2 cigarettes in a drinking
session is unnecessary...
one will do...
receptors become blunted...
and now the gratification from
"over-stepping" the mark...
and the gratification of...
not bound to a tarantula numbing-bite...
something has to make sense in
this world: let's begin with this...

i.e. thank god i do not make videos...
writing doesn't really allow
for... what happens with
a video... there's the preserved:
address to the writer...
and the medium of the reader...
rarely will you find yourself
bound to read two readers
competing: for the crown
prince of echo chamber...
not that i'd reply... no higher power...
a laptop... no mobile device...
the internet access is static...

2 is a "magic" number...
after 2 i imagines the gateway: fully opened
for the orc horde of dwugs:
      i'm standing: upright... content...
to tease the addiction...
as if: "as if" for the very first time...
cold turkey my ***...
because of covid-19 "discrepancies"...
no "black market" cheap cigarettes
from moldova...
or romania... poland, ukraine or
bulgaria...

            checked the feed-drip...
cold-turkey for a day...
complete the day with a cigarette...
200 cigarettes in a carton at...
£35... that's what... per annum?
       365... we're talking about...
roughly... 50 quids worth...
of: taming this beast...

                 for a year...
                              yes... this could
very much work...
            and what is the perfect sandwich...
of... extravagance?
a bagel... or some toasted rye...
english butter... smoked salmon...
cucumber... dill... mayonnaise...
and... rainbow trout caviar...
is caviar "all that"?
     it's like marmite... you either love it:
or... hate it...
it's not a luxury... if it was...
a luxury... it would be universally sought
after...
it would be a luxury... for both the rich...
as it would be for the poor...

minor note: how were oysters treated
in Dickensian times?
weren't oysters the food of the poor?
and now? suddenly they have become
a luxury product...
something only the rich are supposed
to enjoy... cods-wallop!

caviar is not a luxury...
but... if you're asking questions about
a palette...
rainbow trout caviar balances out
the smoked salmon...
truly... the fish retains its status as fish...
and the smokiness is tamed...
almost subverted...

the cucumber the dill the mayonnaise...
auxiliary details...
but of course the cemented base:
toasted rye works as many more:
lazarus resurrected miracles as a bagel...

caviar is not a luxury...
in st. petersburg there's this pancake
fast-food outlet... where caviar is dripping...
there are copious amounts of this
**** dished out...
not everyone buys the caviar panny...
because: caviar is not a status symbol
of luxury... it's in the category of marmite...
it's for oddities...
       it's equivalent to... a concentrated
taste of fish...
burst a pill of shark oil fat... omega 3 etc...
perhaps...
    
  once upon a time... TRAN...
was forced upon children in school...
so they could harbour a strong immune system...
tran? cod-liver oil... no... not in capsules...
on the end of a teaspoon...

can i imagine eating caviar...
beside the zenith of the above described
sandwich? well... yeah...
but it wouldn't be rainbow-trout caviar...
beluga / caspian sea caviar...
on the tip of... a slice of...
a napoli pizza...
    anchovies do not have a taste
of fish... salty shrimp whittle wichards...
the best fish: are ate...
with all their bones intact...
sometimes even their heads and eyes...
like...
           smoked... sprats...
nonetheless: caviar is not a luxury product...
nor is blue cheese...
who doesn't have...
a taste for... the "obscene"?

   peanuts and beer in the grand hall of
the west...
in st. petersburg... beer and dehydrated
shrimps... fish...
same ****... different cover...
i much prefer the extra guise of protein
over the fat of nuts... with a beer...

as a warning: oysters were... in Dickensian times...
eaten by the poor of the east end...
and caviar... that's like marmite...
or... salt & vinegar crisps...
you need to appreciate the piquant
detail of the food...
champagne... for example?
i can't drink that fuzzy-brain
anorexic ***** juice of cat... whiskers for
a violin... snarl... shreek...

caviar is not a luxury...
a luxury would imply: a universal...
translation... that... all those who could:
would want it... as much as those who
can't: would strive to also want it:
with enough savings to begin with: could...
but... caviar is marmite...
then again... smoked salmon is marmite...
a steak tartar(e) is  marmite...
i'd call a slab of beef: well done
to be... a doubly-butchered piece of meat...
others... are fond of... fish-fingers...

this can be done...
i can keep track of this choo-choo-train...
200 cigarettes per carton...
that's beyond half a year...
     cold turkey the day...
no... 2 cigarettes is too much...
after the whole day done cold turkey...
it's a beneficial ferris-wheel "dilema"
at the end of the day...
oh... esp. with the bouron...
yes... the matter is not going to be
approved for dialectical concerns...

i call for the advent of "sanctimony"...
         the "superiority" coming from the depths
of... not the cold-turkey lot...
nor the: 20 per day...
and zinc and copper licking tongue
numbing at the end of it...
this one a day...
                     and the bourbon...
ogh! mein gott! come to think of it...
the money?!
money comes last...
so much for "saving" the money from...
not smoking...
where to: a vinyl collection...
aaah... a weekend trip to Prague...
you really need a woman
to spend money...
           given that one can become
very... very... satisfied with
the basics...
esp. when one isn't a gambling man...
these days... gamble on what?
well... save up...
and have *** with a bulgarian *******
once a year...
or pretend to...
            that's probably best...
aim at... salvaging... the most...
wortheless maxim of a translation
of value... in the flesh:
the inanimate concept of money...
the guillotined head
of ol' lizzy the II charming
the heads / tails science debate...
          not getting richer...
not getting poorer...
                   playing a sleeper...
beside the essentials...
it's there... but... it's not there...
it's hardly spending...
it's hardly saving...
      it's a cushion... it's not avarice...
it's not...
beside of note:
the veil that's not in iron...
but is... like...
being paid in peanuts...
peanuts... pebbles... the common
denominator of: one-hundred copper-pence
coins in a brass pound!
i'll settle for... just that.
Sienna Luna Feb 2021
Fatso
You are and you aren’t
Whale
You are more than the labels they give you
Cow
It’s over now
Their insults cannot hurt you
Giant
You are not in middle school anymore
Ugly
They cannot hurt you anymore
Lard
You are a grown-*** woman
almost thirty,
unapologetically queer, hairy,
with curves and ******* and wide hips and pretty dips and
They cannot cypher their words,
syphon their insults by
relating you to a beautiful big creature
Cow, Whale, Lard, Fatso

What is a Lard but a singling
A bright beige soft nosed creature
with brownie eyes and long lashes
like a taper with a hooked nose
soft and long like an elephants
Flappy points of ears
that hear well
with tiny sharp teeth
like a land-locked manatee
or a furry caramel Beluga whale

Their insults only refer you to necessary creatures who give their life to feed you and their intellect to empower you

A Fatso is a bright blue animal that has shimmering rainbow wings (like a dragon) and thin curly white horns and milky grey eyes with a fabulous feathers and a fanned tail of royal purple that soars through the skit at light-speed and can bring the rain with its melodious cries

When they or you or they or you or
They are you you know
Insult you they are not insulting you
because a Lard and a Fatso are both such intelligent creatures
mystical and fervent
glorious and gargantuan
Large, yes
But beautiful all the same
They have sharp teeth and move through the earth or skies whenever and wherever they like
These animals have freedom
Just like how you have freedom
in how you think about yourself
which is
to think of yourself as
the sexist, prettiest, cutest
person alive
now isn’t that great?
now isn’t that grand?

You are gold plated and steel incorporated and glass blown and light shadows thrown and haggling heights and shaved delights and a hairy symphony and a harrowing city of sparkles that twinkle in the night.

You are beautiful
and might
just
save the world one day.

You are a mystical creature of the highest creed
and no one
can tell you
otherwise.
Trout Aug 2019
Not anyone who makes a fool of me
Can make me a searing crown

My soul is hardened
Go to the brow
Pedantic and cry without a smile
Go to mans or hands
With a squirrel environment
And a couple rings
For a god in ******* land
Never once had a second chance

I’m a civil ensue
A piece of beluga
A ginger without ginger ale
The findest of truths
The point of my sorrow
There’s no better telling it’s you
My suit is a core
I’m missing a secret to tell you that we are not here
This suit
My gender and neutral and carving a bub with no ail-
-ment too
It’s singing in higher octaves than a court from the sun
Fishbowl
But wise are the ones who respect you and me
The pagans and flattery

Can a man be wiser
Than those who pray?
The lipstick is not a mental state
You’re a kind of world
With the eyes of cartilage
Cartridge melting hands
Pornographic documents
But I wish I knew
How to fill the atom bomb
Without being too
Strange reflections on the phone
Can I save you with just a tone?

Will you give me some time
No man is a wizard
Departments of you in dis-spine
Fill rule
A garden of hoses and rubber paints everywhere
Saint Jude
A willful illusion of knowing what’s not really there
Car tool
A pinning of car down of soup pool and ******* the dog
Last rule
I’m thicker than fool
Same tears are the ones who reflect documents
Align to the ones who spend
Pin to the eyes of rejecting a kiss
On purpose, they will not split
My soul is bleeding
Above the sky
sandra wyllie Dec 2023
hung out to dry
on a long clothesline. Blowing
in the ***** wind and pinned
to a memory. I was

just a tight rose bud before
the rain turned this to mud. I
was white as a beluga. And he
even smoother. The only

ties were the ribbons around
my chestnut tresses, long before the lies
he dresses up in pearls. The years faded
this baby girl. And I cannot say I miss them

any more than I miss the leaves
that hastily blown off the backyard
maple trees. All shall bloom, as flowers do,
when spring sees this winter through.

— The End —