"blowhole" poems
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.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Wind torn sails
and old wives tales
both tell a certain truth
like sailors forlorn
'round the cape horn
drowned or frozen to death
The waves and the wind
punish for sins
that frequently go untold
dare to begin that voyage to win
bring in the most liquid gold
Whaling was the name
of this sailors game
learned from my pappy before
when the tall ships call
you'll answer for all
the misgivings that you ever did
Swabbing the decks
like a beer hall *****
sickly from waves and decay
this is the life
for months at a time
from New England
to the ports of Biscay
First sign of a blow
shouts to below
from where the watch sits above
The decks come alive
thar be the prize
the deadly game awaits
Set sails to the wind
and get that boat in
harpoons and crew await
haul on the ropes
or abandon all hopes
the behemoth will get away
Hearts pound like the oars
sending us forth
Oh, how our quarry evades
better keep your eyes peeled
or your fate is sealed
if she comes up underneath
With a mighty hurrah
the striker lets fly
the harpoon sinks deep in the whale
it plunges below
taking us under tow
blood staining the deep blue waves
I cry for this sin
as we haul the whale in
and cut up all it had been
trade a shilling in the purse
for a life long curse
never to sleep again
When I shut my eyes
I can still hear the cry
up from it's blowhole it came
shivers my spine,every time
I bolt upright wide awake
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
My great-great-great-great-great-times-a-million grandmother
was a whale.
And although the Origin of Species never mentions **** sapiens
I own that.
Because just as I have my mother’s calves and my father’s hairline
I have my grandmother’s blowhole.
An evolutionary adaptation to keep me alive
It’s done well so far.
The tides come in and the rains pour down as a flood and monsoon and I feel my lungs burning and I
GASP
At the surface
And I feel my grandmother’s pain.
She is trapped between graceful fish and powerful hippos
Life and death
Lungs underwater
Each deep breath a risk that after diving into the deep
she won’t return
In time.
I am told that I am
The culmination of billions of years of evolution
Why, then, is my blowhole necessary?
I wish I had inherited gills
Because the fear of drowning
Is paralyzing.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
I'm no Pinocchio
Or Jonah don't you know
Stuck in the belly of this whale
How I ended up in here
Has never been made clear
Though it's clear I am by myself
Was I walking along the shore
Or a man overboard
No matter how I ended in the drink
The very next thing I know
I'm swallowed alive whole
Now this fish's belly is my brink
With its bones as prison bars
There's no doubt just where you are
No way out of this rib cage
How can a man find comfort here
Year after year after washed out year
All I do each day is plan my escape
I keep the plan inside my mind
With nothing here or where to write
Waiting for the opportunity
That this fish eats something wrong
Where a case of heartburn comes along
Setting this seasick sailor free
I whisper subliminal
Messages into his blowhole
Guiding him to the Mediterranean Sea
And to the tune of that tiny fish
The seas saltiest of salty dish
Pizza Pies friend the anchovy
While ******* tons of them in
Indigestion starts rolling in
Hanging Ten I surf the wave of burp
Landing on my two feet
To miles and miles of lovely beach
Of the Mediterraneans turf
And that my friend is where I still am
A life of tanning pasty skin
Paroled from my prison cell
Sure as how I now live
I'll never go back there again
That being the belly of the whale
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC
dragging around a corpse
what's the purpose
to be like a porpoise
a blowhole to exhale
a mammal that failed to walk on land
a sponge to learn through osmosis
to be like coral
colorful and floral
with no morals but to be selfish and keep myself safe
to protect this landlocked corpse with no guidance, no purpose
but to use my blowhole orifice
cause im just a porpoise
MY MIND CANT SORT THIS
No sleep and im losing my mind
cause of this court case. Who let a dolphin in the courtroom
The Judge is a Lion Seal and he is jealous Im not endangered
the signatures are fudged and mister whale is angered
cause us mammals failed to walk on land
and the witnesses failed to take the stand
failed to say what was planned, bribed and now the orca is in the can.
Imprisioned by Seaworld for being a better porpoise with purpose
leaving us a trail of corpses floating along
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
Dad was a blowhole,
Mom, a plankton feeder
Who never neglected the pod.
The hunters would come
In their little asinine ships,
Looking to stick our
Good sense with sharp points,
Harpooning us into believing
We'd be better off dead and used for fuel.
But Mom would read to us
Stories from books about high water,
And tip those boats right over.
Nothing dared swim in our wake on such nights,
She was queen to the waves,
Who in bows and curtsies,
Became her subjects.
Little did we know this long, arduous journey
Was driven not by kingdom, but by extinction...
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC