"jellies" poems
We sit on the beach and smoke,
Secrets drizzling down our throats,
Drilling for oil on the ocean floor
Where the neon jellies live.
The words get caught up in our throats,
We slither like eels in the coral reef
Where the neon jellies live,
And mate by swimming in paint.
We slither like eels in the coral reef
And ignore how wet we are,
As we mate by swimming in paint,
Greens and blues melting together.
We never care how wet we are
Or how much sea we swallow,
Our bellies swell like open eyes,
Bursting and spraying our faces
Where we can't help but swallow
What we spit at our faces,
From the oil we drilled from the ocean floor
Where the neon jellies live
And die while washed up on the shore.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
Pink and said to be mean
Your tentacles tend to scare me
You're often alone, are you lonely?
Drymonema larsoni... don't worry
We can be friends, just don't sting me..
Native to the Mediterranean, Caribbean, and The Gulf of Mexico..
Searching for Moon Jellies and feasting once they're found
They wrap their tentacles around- them and drag them in
What a cruel fate? you may think that but we do the same thing.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Hey, remember that time at the dock?
The jellyfish floating serenely beneath our feet,
Their pinkish hue, transparent in the black water.
My feet dangled off the edge, yours dangled further,
But the gentle waves caressed the jellies below us still.
They drifted by, not knowing nor caring of us,
Yet we watched their careless path.
The cool night's wind ushering them along their way.
Hundreds of blush-colored jellyfish just out of reach,
Sliding silently out to sea.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Sometimes
I feel a well
dug deep
into my heart
I try to stop it
but it quickly
becomes ocean
and overflows
into great tsunami
rises over all the levees
rushes past dams
breaks down tall
city structures,
edifices crumbling
in its path
all the squid and octopi
skitting forth
in wild pulses,
tentacles entangled
in doorways and rooves
slipping through narrow
window-openings
as they pour ink
in clouds,
shifting shapes
in cephalopod excitement
while blue whales
and humpbacks
breach over bridges,
phosphorescent jellies
light up
the dark streets of
my arteries
electric eels illuminate
the alleyways of
desolation's thick syrup
and I cannot stop it even
if I wanted to,
these darkened,
swirling waves
I am both floating and flying
like a jumping manta ray
curling around the ferries
bobbing in seahorse iridescence
weaving between buses
as if they were corals
And when the storm subsides,
colorful rockpools form,
rich in diversity
It is there,
in between the
multicolored ***** and
succulent shellfish,
in a mermaid's
voluptuous smile
and turquoise eye
that I see you,
so crystal clear
I could reach out
and bring you to me,
holding you tight
until the
gentle break
of
morning
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
Late at night when I'm trying to sleep
I often picture myself curled up; and
being cradled inside of a Chrysaora's
bell.. From time to time I'd glance out
at its tentacles drifting along with the
oceans waters as it carries me along
I eventually fall asleep, it holds me in
my dreams. I'm dependent on Jellies
they help me forget the bad things.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
please come flying.
Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.
Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
please come flying.
Bearing a musical inaudible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
so please come flying.
Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please come flying.
For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.
With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
please come flying.
Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
2.9k
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
I see it in
shades of
liquid coal
slaking
my aching
thirst in
black ocean shoal
onyx crystals
washed up
in tides
of barely
peeking,
night-lava eyes
silently spoken
and through
the waters of deep
my soul is
waking up from
eons of sleep
weaving garlands
of darkest green,
seaweed tips
that I tenderly keep
strewn, in chlorophyll strips
across the stardust glow
of my naked skin
as I liquid float,
spirit whirring within
eyes bright
in illuminated
moonstone glow
picking up signals
of halted flow
This is needed here,
in this darkest of dark
waters abundant
with tight, broken sparks
shards of the living
and fragments of souls
a luminosity of darkness
making us whole
And pulsing next to me
in beauty's surprise
phosphorescent creatures,
a feast for the eyes
loving, gently brushing
my outstretched fingers-
bioluminescence divine
on my body lingers
from jellies to squid
to jet -hued sharks
knifing through layers
of dark on dark
within the
lush waters' quiet force
a dance in faded flicker
conjures the source
within the depth
of the depths
of my endlessly
wet
in my darkest of dark
between blood and sweat
penetrating the mysteries
that quake through
this heart
filling it up
as it tears it apart
smashing it
to smithereens
creating sutures
of ironic healing
until through the cracks
both wide and slight
shoots up
the flare
of my own
inner
light
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
I ain't afraid to tell the world,
That you make me,
What I hate most.
That the jellybean drops,
Slippin' from your lips,
Spread like,
Dollops -
Sweet butter,
On toast.
Can't hide my sticky fingers -
Drippin' your,
Candy residue.
Though, I plan to make,
The best of it,
Before the moon is new.
My sternest strategies,
'neath the night's eyes,
Light my ***** little schemin',
My plot to watch,
Your every step,
Before the moment,
That I steal you.
--
I've been eatin' jellies,
Since I was little -
Today, I've tasted so many,
But, the ones that slip,
(And, sometimes, skip)
From that head,
Drive my thoughts,
Out, much,
Too selfishly.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
Turnips & Silver King,
onions & string beans,
carrots & radishes,
lettuce & potatoes,
yellow squash & bells,
the brown eggs
sure look swell.
Honey of all shades,
homemade jams & jellies
& wildflower arrangements
made to glorify God.
People here smile & nod
their friendliness
& what matter
if they have any teeth or not,
they will never be forgotten
for their gifts to mankind.
And if it were their last penny
& you needed it,
it would be yours.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
she wears a set of keys
on a chain round her neck
one for each of the nights alone
unlock my heart with these she whispers as if it were obvious
but then she casts her love letters into the river
saying that nobody ever understands her point of view
so we might as well all be blind
there are no real desperate words
on her tragically trembling lips
but what dose come out jiggles like a carnival crier
to the harmonica players thoughtful song
she used to sing it in the coffee shop she loved
back in one of her yesterdays
now her days are an egg shell blue patchwork of plaster fixes that
define the destitute box and its failings at life's tiresome money game
its trail of paperwork attempts to find a prophet
who could give us a defining moment and photo op for time magazines cover
somebody to tell us that we are on the wrong road
she spends her days taking care of me and
sweeping up the dusts
of all our yesterdays
and neatening up the lines of mason jars
filled with jams and jellies
the sunlight falling through them makes a rainbow she smiles to me
as she settles into a cup of coffee to stare wistfully off into the morning
i ask what's shes thinking but she never dose say
she just runs a thin hand through her auburn hair
and laughs that its snowing somewhere far away
that some field in a distant wood is peaceful and filled with the grace of innocence
that one finds in the stillness of fresh snowfall
that one finds in a newborn child
or a newborn day
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
you reeled me in from
the aegean's slow murmur,
my gills covered in algae, my jaw
chomping rhythmically under
the hollow tree of my mouth.
didn't anyone ever teach you that
fishing for nymphs is more painful
than comb jellies, slower than marlins and
as safe as the glowing earring of
an anglerfish mother?
on the deck of your vessel
you cradled my skeleton gently,
fed me crispy hard coral and
begged me not to eat you in
the night, when mars made his way
toward the fiery backdrop of our
natal charts. how intrigued i was to
find that under your beard hid a
chain mail of scales, the map of
your palms was drafted in plasma,
and your iris is not pigment, but
a distant reflection of geysers
snapping like scorpions out of
the ocean floor.
you spent the nights dancing to the
howl of sirens like no man i'd
ever seen, and somewhere between
our fingers, where you passed me
the whiskey, i threw my arms up
and remembered how to move.
you spent the days following the
wind's hips, you didn't care if she
changed her mind, you said.
you are like the belly of a sea
star. slowly in the twilight
i uncoiled my fear of wandering, i
threw the pit into the open ocean and
the rope followed, slithering down.
now all we have is constellations.
all we have is moon fragments and
bird islands and my hair flying
like a compass, like a shining battle flag.
i can't smell land for miles
and i am not afraid.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
****** One
I carried your being on my back,
Had knees like jellies under your weight,
But I kept going despite the pain.
You strangled me with your legs
When the ride got a little bumpy
Because you didn't want to fall off,
Unaware of your own strength to walk.
Your weight got me drowning;
Your weight had me short of breath;
It made me lose focus on what's ahead
Because I had to measure every step
And you kicked your heels into my ribs
Despite my biggest, sincerest efforts.
I was happy to have my feet moving
And my shoulders bending
Just in the name of you.
But you were a ****** one
And left me behind
Like ship wreckage after a storm.
You left me bruised,
Purple, ripe only for the dead.
The arrow is stilled in my chest,
Scratching my heart but not piercing it,
While you hop onto a different throne
And make a different shoulder your home.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
for every night we giggled on the floor
and every cigarette we smoked in your house without your parents knowing.
for kissing one person good morning and another good night
and every yearbook scribble about living together.
for matching haircut,
for matching eyes,
an every freckle on your perfect body that i told you drove me insane.
for every lunch you ate on the bathroom floor.
for every person i told you were a dropout.
and every minute i spent yelling about the jellies in the sea where you got stung.
for being into typewriters,
for being into talking,
and ever golden lock of hair i pointed out,
for the things you wanted added and
for the things you wanted removed.
for the holes we put in our bodies
this is just to apologize.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
Bomb shell
She is hard to quell,
Lost in her eyes
You will find dark skies,
Raining on you
Answers few,
Who would have known
Your heart would have flown
So high so far
Bottle her in a jar,
Like the sweetest of jellies
Peanut butter on breaded bellies,
Find no harm
In her sultry charm;
Glossy lips
Hypnotizing hips,
**** temptation
Make us all rise as a nation,
Amazing overtures
Praise her curvatures,
Such is this flora in a faraway Terra;
For her you'd cross any Sahara....
© okpoet
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
rainbow grocery,
a couple bait shops,
novelty trap parlors,
all dotted south fork.
everything was made in
old-timey, wooden cabin
fashion,
and the town knew no symmetry.
we pulled into the grocery store parking lot.
the store’s awning welcomed customers by
sagging without mercy.
we crossed the threshold,
entered into another time, space, culture.
the first sense to be stung was smell.
it smelled like cancer.
the kind that eats our grandparents
everyday in their stale, locked homes.
the woman at the register was ancient.
too old for retail.
she was clearly bitter, but
well polished in rustic hospitality.
and if i wasn’t already uncomfortable enough,
there were basketballs above the jellies on
aisle 8.
who does that?
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC
Some days,
I wish I were
A jellyfish.
Brainless,
Spineless,
Speechless.
Floating
Along the waves,
Through the seaweed.
Feeling everything,
Yet not caring
About a thing.
Focused
On that motion:
Push, glide.
Not getting
Anywhere important,
Just here.
That sounds nice.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 11:48 AM UTC
Not even the purest of Jellies could save me now
okay, maybe if they stung me or caused me to drown..
I'm fading away inside and out all I wanted was to
w o r k t h i n g s o u t
but now.. I just want to make the pain go away
even if that means that I cannot stay- all of you
are better off without me anyways I'm just a..
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Sitting round a camp-fire in the middle of a wood
I spied a dozen vampires eating treacle pud
Upon their bloodless heads they shrugged a ***** cowl
While pacing werewolves at their backs let forth an eerie howl
The setting moon was empty as was their heinous bellies
Before them lay uneaten heaps of pies and sweets and jellies
‘It is no good’, said one, ‘I am sick of this malaise.
What this pudding needs is a spot of Crème anglaise.’
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
One wonders why in this Lonely Heart's Wake
Walks one Sore Moment by his Thoughts relieve
And that one Sip their Tea's Fusion did make
Forge this Growing Beverage many will believe
Such by this Night - the Moon flaunts at the Rain
Then change all Emotion by that same Sip
Families smile; Youth jumps their Play's insane
Anxious for another Cool-Flavoured Dip
So Pearls and Jellies do induce the Spice
Which could sum this Key Recipe unique
I'd come for more; If their Smiles suffice
And place Mint Experience upon their Peak.
Plomb your Employees; Earned their Best Salute
Service so Simple; Yet so Resolute.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
Yes, I've had a kiss before,
But never a kiss like this.
Never a kiss, if you get the jist,
A kiss that gives me bliss.
Yes, I've had a kiss before,
But such a kiss I've missed
That jellies my bones and makes me this.
So, really I've not been kissed
From my chimney to my spout
All my senses steam about.
All the while love is in style,
I know nought but this beguile.
My walls tumble, boundaries crossed,
Wicked wiles, innocence lost.
Yes, I've had a kiss before,
But never a kiss to list
Till I gained from your two lips
A kiss that gives me bliss.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 4:04 AM UTC