"blowfish" poems
Even the bolt of a metal *****
will eventually erode.
Is it ironic to say that
a blowfish can implode, too?
The notion of wearing a mask
is an interesting one
Because nothing in this world
is meant to stand the test of time
And if you try to hide
you will fail.
Then, when you wake,
and try to see past your mask
you'll find yourself staring
at the wall behind you.
Even on a bright, sunny day
you can wake up feeling gray.
Making you feel out of place,
so wearing a mask compensates
Disguising blind eyes from reality
with a false sense of security.
The calm before the storm
is a deceptive moment in time
But it just goes to show
how quickly things can go
from good to bad
And it happens everyone.
Everyone has a shadow
no matter how you choose too see things.
It will never leave your side
Big or small, day or night
Your shadow is cast as a mask,
how you wear it is up to you.
Becoming comfortable in your mask
can be an uncomfortable task
As uncomfortable as a gullible mime
that is stuck on the outside
of his invisible box,
just trying to find a way in.
It's a queasy experience
that makes your stomach churn.
Trying to find the face behind
the mask
When you can't see past the facade
that acts as a mirage.
It's might sound easier to keep
the mask on,
put up a front and never look back
But that doesnt mean
things will be any easier,
just harder to hide behind.
Only when you choose to see
the reflection in the mirror
for its face value,
and not as a misleading mask,
will you begin to feel
how awesome it is to see clearly
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Look woman, you are my woman
as I am your man
And I fish all day
and sometimes nights too
and I come back from the dangers
and the labor and ****** ********* customers
who haggle over my fish at the marketplace
and they devalue my fish
and demean my labor
And then I come home with the coins
and I put them in your palms
and no doubt you cook me a sumptuous dinner
but come night, when the breeze carries the scents of the jasmine in
I’d expect a little fishing between us too, you know
You know, I’ve got me fish down my bottom
that’d I like to release, let it swim deep in your pond –
but this pushing me away at nights, and whispering ”You smell like a fish”
or “I’ve got a headache now” -
this will not do, cause you know,
my fish does swell much and that causes me pain and anguish
Because my blowfish really does want to move
and there you go telling me:
“You smell fishy” – what do you expect?
You married a fisherman, you know!
I’m not going to smell like a goat or a pig or an ox
cos I’m no butcher
And that makes me think
maybe you’re doing a bit of your own fishing all day
when I’m gone
so really you ought to
let my fish swim nights free in your pond
or surely I’ll bring my coins to a woman
in the huts at the marketplace
who’ll freely let my blowfish swim easy
whenever I put coins in her palms
And I can get me a change of woman too
So what will it be tonight? – does my fish swim free?
So, woman, you are my woman
as I am your man
And let us do what a fisherman and fisherwoman do together
when they are each other’s
and so let us add another chapter in the Manual of Love:
Fisherman’s Fish and Fisherwoman’s Pond
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
RINZAI BOX
Had to have a psych eval
at the box factory
a human resources workup
to make sure
I could handle work again
making cardboard condos
for little mammal prisoners
of the pet trade
who live on hot windowsills
until someone comes to love them.
I got too depressed once
when I found tiny bunnies
mewling in a dumpster
their only refuge
yes
a box I had made
you could tell
it said assembled with care
by Kevin
and I missed a month of work
and got written up
for just being sad.
The shrink diagnosed me
a cognitive distorter
a predictor of worst case scenarios
but I disagreed
since I saw the sad bunnies for real
and he puffed up like a blowfish
stammering you’re the patient
I’m the man.
Well I’ve been around the zendo
so I challenged him
smartypants answer this…….
Do bunnies in boxes
have Buddha nature?
Irrational and pointless he said
hmmmmm I said
how do you know
maybe you’re a narcissist
on a psychobabble fugue
echoing in a therapy box.
But I have Buddha nature
and I put that in the boxes I make
and the Buddha bunnies go in the boxes
and you here in your Buddha office
are not separate
just uniquely boxed
and the label on the bunnies' box says
assembled with care by Buddha.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
Hand in hand we walk thru the soft blades of grass;
our two joys skipping in our shadows.
We turn around to see little Aahana,
with her windblown hair and rosy cheeks
giggling at her older brother.
Making blowfish faces in the air,
he is humming a whimsical tune
to make Aahana laugh.
The early start of spring brings about
hopes, dreams, sunshine, rainbows
and giggling children skipping
in the shadows of their loving parents.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
I was told not to love another woman
I was told not to **** any man
so I thought about books when I laid in my hammock with lemonade
how I wanted one with a spine as long as mine
to finger in the dark of a moonless night, rather than myself
or any mermaid-girl who dripped with water like loose gemstones.
Her stories were what I would read and her body
I would imagine swimming to the harpsichord of a fantasy film song
effervescent, but never touched by anyone
even a fellow without blowfish thorns for fingernails
as smooth as hardback covers, as permanent as paperback pages.
And I grew up, and I did love another woman
and I did **** a man
but I still remember the mermaid-girl who had paper fins
and an all-consuming love for splashing ink like an ocean’s brine.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
Driving under these neon lights,
The wide open interstate makes for a lonely night.
Music drowning my perpetuating thoughts,
Blaring Hootie & The Blowfish, "Let Her Cry",
"I could not believe, she was the same girl I fell in love with long ago. She went in the back to get high..."
Which reminds me of the very first time I hung out with you,
That was your favorite line of the song,
I couldn't help but laugh because you sang it oh so wrong.
Thinking back on what we used to be,
I never wished you would've went overseas.
I can remember the knock on my door,
Looking so pale and cold,
Never forgetting the picture of your corps.
Yearning for what we would've been,
Letting you go away is one of my seven deadly sins.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Please! Wait
Feeling so low__
Like his (Blowfish)________ bait?
Jazzzzeeeey_____
Only temporary Oh! geez
Robin Razzamatazz
What!! All about Love
Candy Pez
((Enter me Expandable))
I need to fish
around so flexible
He
comments
You're quick______**
The Vampire Garlic
RIP I have young-blood
I will just relive again
To expedite
what remains
Love unconditionally
All hired with conditions
The restless young
outbreak
Native New Yorker
The busy talker
draw flush
In the Navy
Fleet week Baby
meeting crush
The Quickie
interview
Gift of gab
stalker
Or the hermit of Hermits
Languages
No demerits
Racing down
her wicked
thighs shower his
muscles
Sprinkle cone
Iced me
mortgages
get
me sick way to
quick to even sigh
Whats up with
patience
Include the Immigrants
Somehow American
women
Not very productive
They had Robot
watchdog like Gods
The money
where your Apple
Mouth I-Yahoo computer
And follow me
All followers
Kevin Quick morning
Bacon
Stallone Rocky_____
____ Expandable
In the native lands
Over the border
The Ventriloquist
Nesquik
Emigrant exhibitionist
Deviant outsider
The Spy Breadwinner
The I pod doing
the podcast
Outcast lady
The rain in Seattle
Hanky Panky
Snoopy hang on
Aboard love boat
so foreign
Her kitten tongue
was wide open
Eye wide but
quickly minds shut
Did it say?
((Too Quick))
((White Doves)) website
Riders of the Morrison
dorm
Ouija board storm
Him hungry
for her
smorgasbord
Stars flu
* Planetarium+
Miss Tory friend
Terry's mouth
of Sherry
Met all their lovers
Sweet Cherry wine
In the Sanitarium
Your words are
not to hinder me
Kiss of an angel
You compelled me
Such a coincidence
The spell too quick
No heart of
citizenship
Walk like a man
Talk like a
foreigner real slick
In another land
Dance like an Egyptian
From the Godly land
No man is
quick enough
To expedite
The quicker man
Beaten by the
bodyguard
No God this is a
Ladies Island
Pulp Fiction absurd
Vanilla milkshake
Saturday Fever
Cons
So many Johns
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
Dear Mary-Jane, thank you for always being there,
Making life's struggles easy to bear,
Letting me complain when life is unfair,
Pollute the sky with slumbering air,
I only smoke the loudest, hard to compare,
My trees can't be turned down the THC blares,
The only thing that can make me not care,
Render me oblivious but also aware,
Make me so blind I sit and I stare,
Leave the house sober? I wouldn't dare,
Mesmerized by your green skin and orange hair,
I cherish the crystals you wear with flair
Even the heat from your glare when you flare
Without I don't know how I would fare,
I share although I proudly declare
My love for you, I lay my heart bare,
Ensnared by this smoky love affair,
You show your love with the way you impair,
I swear there couldn't be a more perfect pair.
(HOOK)
Mary is a loyal girl, she never lets me down,
When I am lonely she can always be found,
She lets me be myself, she's what I'm dreaming of,
One kiss of her smoke and I'm sure I'm in love.
She's everything I look for in a lover and a friend,
This relationship will never come to an end,
The high I feel after I breathe her in,
Is like pure ecstasy underneath my skin.
I'm a slave to the strain, I'm insane,
When I blow out I become deranged,
Stay in the frame, maintain,
Tired of these lame games,
You're a **** shame,
I bet you pride stays in pain,
Soul feels slain when you see the stain,
On the mirror when you wake, it's your face,
The man staring back kicks your ***
Got you feeling like last in class,
Beat it up and pass it back,
Hit it while seasons just pass,
Hotter than a blowfish full of gas.
(HOOK)
I wanna marry Mary, make her my wife,
Only girl I want for the rest of my life.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
your sheets are layers of clouds
floating between our arms and legs
like a budding storm between crooked cranes
along the river just over the bridge
discover me in the morning, early and dark
before the cool rain spills onto hot pavement
your hand finding it's way up my thigh
like a blowfish ascending towards the sky
swimming through the breeze of cracked windows
catching raindrops with outstretched fingertips
i can feel summer between my toes
soggy soil and fresh grass inviting my nose
and for a moment the sky becomes clear
blue and bright, not a cloud in sight
then I feel the sun graze my cheek
it's warmth, the sweet bite of summer heat
and so I wake, morning sun peeking through
the shades covering your bedroom
I arc my neck to you, still half asleep
you pull me close to drift back into dreams
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC
multiple efforts and attempts got made
to communicate feedback sans the young spirited female - hoof from this hoarse neighing stranger - for bravery gives ye Top most grade
gena buza - whose spinal cord became frayed
thus, an audio file plucked inside me - i.e. loss one must not evade
though unsure if anyone of the heart felt emotion got conveyed
sorry to be a nuisance if inxs of umpteen copies
of my sincere literary endeavor might induce editors to up braid
me - cuz...life lesson encapsulated within that tragic automobile accident -
if me left quadriplegic - i would be afraid.
from n anonymous respondent who counts himself as a decades old penny wise
and pound foolish die hard TIME MAGAZINE patron -
whose own emotional travails evoke empathy
with another bound by barriers well he doth consider a worthy prize!
i became transfixed n enamored at your beauty
the wheelchair vanished to bequeath a duty
to commend you - from this papa whose sentiments
take wing and fly toward poetics somewhat fruity
yet...a tenderness prodded me - a blowfish who swims
in the cyber seas - without giving a hooty
that this dada of deux darling young adult daughters
can seemingly make a buffoon of himself
while cyber surfing the muddy waters
if only to bring a smile
to a complete stranger (whose captioned picture with an online archive file
posted in TIME, whereby these eyes saw an agile
beautiful nymph - preparing for a high school prom
as your mom
brushed debris from your wheeled golden chariot
to prepare your queenly debut with aplomb
knowing that no handicap
can undermine the maternal love - in whose lap
u suckled, nestled, molly coddled b4 your ***** trap
left thee paralyzed - yet the will to live fate did not zap!
from...matthew harris
postscript: my humblest apology for any duplicate messages. such redundancy can be attributed to uncertainty if this commentary in reaction to the JUNE 20TH 2014 ISSUE TIME MAGAZINE LIGHTBOX reached the above sublime in question.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC
Her hair was a thousand tiny ballet dancers
with eyes like the rings of Saturn
Her gaze was eternity unfolding
Biting teeth like a box of rusty nails
A mouth as wide as an empty cashiers till
Her tongue was a hangman’s noose
Her neck as long as an angry goose
She had shoulders as high as a wave
and her arms were old bunting in knots
With wrists that held patterns of scars
Long fingers were lost catching stars
Grey fingernails like stained window glass
Her chest was an overcrowded tent
and her ******* were upended top hats
Her stomach was a beached whale about to burst
With a bellybuttons descent into madness
An *** that is clenched fists wrapped in leather
Her thighs were slapped orangutan cheeks
She had knees that cracked like bad lightbulbs
And her shins were nomadic spears
Her feet were deflated blowfish
And her toes were fish heads,
Peeping out from an open can
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 4:10 AM UTC
She stood quiet, flipping through her moods
Like depression hunting through late night cable
Dutiful bloodhound digits sniffing out relief
They fall on the carcass of something that was killed in the 90's
Puncturing the bloated cadaver a noxious fume spills out
And lulls me to sleep
Nerves untangle, the blowfish deflates
The best self-defense is reason, but it's held me at bay
It's out there somewhere
Howling at the gates
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC