"lemur" poems
We're on a train
in London's subways
and everyone stands
with a dead-eye peer
down the carriage, so
please, hold my hand.
They're all like apes,
hung on bamboo poles
and strung vine-straps,
hunkered over the small
space I have to myself, so
please, hold my hand.
I think you've become
just like them, Daddy;
a ringed-eyed orangutan
or narrow-staring lemur.
You've become much less
human it scares me, so
please, let go of my hand.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
August, the Red Line,
connected tanks
of bolted plastic vertebrae.
Every seat gone except
five rows up, where a sea lion
sprawls across two,
stuffed backpack, yellow jacket
spread out like caution tape.
His grunt a wet bark
at the glow of his screen.
Middle-school deer slip into the aisle,
chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past,
their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut.
Not a predator- just a gelded ox,
chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed,
chest rig clattering with blanks.
Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder,
her shell steady against the sway of the car.
She shepherds them from the surge of riders:
loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks,
moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air,
a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches.
And one gray bear
muttering alone,
arguing with her reflection.
Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park,
somewhere the sea begins to breathe again,
then, feathers forcing through my skin-
an alley gull knifing into this clamour,
scavenging inside its exhaust.
The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters:
museum wings open to no one,
‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script,
flu shots promised by smiling ghosts.
A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words
See something, say something.
The warning lights glow
like eyes hunting in the dark.
From its flanks the train
unfurls iron claws.
They rake
the tunnel walls,
the city’s bones,
the dark itself.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
His new jacket,
Hot off the hot-sale shelves.
Strangely decadent - in the
Personal sense - yet straight,
Reserved, almost classy.
An honest facade, clean-cut
Hides within itself
A rich tapestry of ambiguity.
The lemur paws a jungle-vine,
From whence hangs a
Broad-winged and exotic bloom,
Rich with the complexity of a man
Whose aspect is honesty,
Simple integrity; but whose
Inner workings are ever more vivid
And complex, like the lush petals
Sewn through the lining of
His new jacket.
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
(I imagine)
I am a moth circling around
the same beautiful flower
that a hungry lemur found
I land on the petals
entranced by the sweet smell of the nectar
and the comfort of the weather
I hear the snap of a twig
and every time I have heard that sound
I cease to exist
then a cloud appears and I begin again
my heart is in the right place
but I am not sure where that is
from my childhood
I recall seeing a cocoon
and that strange memory
makes me think of you
I can not explain the feeling of
watching something about to bloom
all the while hoping it will fly home to sooth
a paranoia that my life has seemed to have proved true
I try with all my strength to hold it
but through my fingers it always seems to slip through
I will just turn away and head on back home
I am tired and that road is just too long
to walk with these poorly healed broken bones
I seem to be better at being alone
but I seen that rainbow
I swear I did
appear in front of us
but we did not know
that we will always be kids
and it is just a myth to be grown
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
There was not much to do down at the zoo
They were all getting bored, wouldn't you?
The keeper was called, we're out of our minds
Help us out, if you'd be so kind
The keeper said, so what can I do?
I'd like to help but give me a clue
Well, said the giraffe it may sound daft
But I've always wanted to play the harp
You know what, said the baboon
I would like a big bassoon
The emu said, I really do feel
A hankering after a glockenspiel
The lemur requested a violin
Certain he'd coax a tune from the thing
The elephants stood all in line
Already they could trumpet in time
The gorilla said he could use his thumb
To bang away on a big bass drum
They all got their wish, it was quite a scene
And proudly they played God Save the Queen
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree
In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo
They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive
On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line
What a comical spectacle
However solemn their purpose, they must find a home
The little one abaft of the line
Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind
Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees
Beyond, just yonder
Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight
A new forest with new opportunities
It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers
They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession
High up in the trees they mark their territory
Males call out to females and they howl in response
The young ones frolic in the underbrush
They mate, they eat, they thrive
Another forced migration
There they go again in that sideways march
More deforestation for infrastructure
There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other
One must wonder now
What future lies in store for these that have no place in government?
Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem
Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction
Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate
The extraordinary feats of agility they display
The gymnastics they perform from day to day
On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday
Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations
In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns
Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to
Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history
At this rate since erecting urban jungles
Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day
They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur
In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one
Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil
Nellie Nkosi
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
The artist chose concrete to sculpt The Kiss.
Playfully made the woman taller than the man,
his gaze uplifted, filled with total captivation ---
lemur eyes, mustached smile, desire unmistakable.
Her arm about the nape of neck, hand caressing cheek,
certainly she cherishes him, intentionally stokes his passion.
Concrete the perfect medium for immortality.
This image implanted firmly, as I take my morning walk,
when it hits me, somewhere between Key Bank,
7-11 across the street, and John Deere lawn equipment,
why it is, women place such importance upon relationships,
why they love us, despite flaws numerous as wharf rats.
They have an unremitting need for romance.
That's what the sculptor knew and finally I do too.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
The Lemur is enthroned on the heights of an island
In a luxurious villa, complete with a sauna and a pool
The Dormouse holds, modestly, a small pharmacy
Where people can buy necklaces, gemstones and pretty threads.
Every Monday morning the lemur fixes
His hair with a delicate ivory comb
Asks about the stock market in overflow
Swallowing a pure white powder in a row
His orange eyes threaten to explode
So he sits down, eats lobster and sated,
He doesn’t have a care in the world as descends the evening
His paw resting on a black jade cane stolen from the dormouse
Monday morning, the lemur, operational
Goes fast, pick and pickaxe at the mine
Extracting, sweaty, some beautiful spinel specimens
Hoping that one day at the Lemurian’s he would dine
For a trifle, the latter bought him
His most beautiful crystals and this without paying taxes
He became the leader of the island thanks to his kinsmen
The exotic animals knew something was wrong…
His only friends were the rich and the bohos
Under the yoke of this monkey, the island was a hellhole
Their chef was addicted to coconut powder
Whoever dared to say it was put in irons
When finally, an evening he overdosed
Nobody buried him among his friends
The Dormouse humbly undertook to do so
At the hole where he dug, he found a stone
The moral of the fable, listen to it then,
Who shows compassion exists with reason
Do not judge too fast, because we're leaving too early
Nature often rewards us in her own way.
September 11, 2019
Nancy, translated on November 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
wander abaht atter a home
as av no bairns ad Tek us in
so the living hereabahts
rush inside
early doors
afore sunset
lock doors
pull down shades,
turn mirrors to walls
do all to stop me seeing em
for if I did
I'd carry 'em off.
*** named a monkey
after us, the lemur
cos we big eyes
are aht at neet
and mek ghost noises
so bairns bang *** lids
howl like wolves
joined by tarn dogs,
to frit us away
while nannans spin abaht,
splash boiling watta
rahnd rooms with a wooden ladle .
Am one dead al not find a home.
I'd carry 'em off.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
.
Ivory
Billed Wood
pecker Amur
Leopard Javan
R h i n o cer o s
Northern Sport
Lemur N o r t h
ern Right Whal
e The S a o l a-
Asian Unicorn
L e a t h erback
S e a T u r t l e
Siberia T i g e r Chinese G i a n t
S a l a m a n d e r
T h e L I t t l e D o d o B i r d
A m e r i c a n D I c k
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
its a blur.
I enter the video club and so does my dog after me.
the whole god **** place has been screened by monumental steel animals equipped with cameras down to their ******** monkeys, giraffe, flamingo all ruled by a lemur.
the video club holds an exit.
they require some german skills which somehow i avoid. we drink some beers.
a rabbit whole- thats the way out of the video club
from digital to analog. they say a new system came but their cassettes keep them safe.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
You told me you loved me so much
no matter what you felt or where you were
you told me you would be my lovepug
my birdie, my lemur
and now seem to have no hesitation to leave
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Don't hate the Playa,
hate the game.
But do you believe in a brave
new Gaming World?
A Halo sheen,
sheathing ancient veins,
pulsating, and spurting
forth the same old sins to love,
while we saunter and strut,
pointing at taunted sinners to hate.
It's hard loving Playas,
cuz they smells, and cuss like a ************
Dumb ***** singing
beautiful Indri morning
wake up gospels from an old extant
lemur memory trace.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
there is this chick across the street walking her lemur—
wow I wonder if the lemur likes to roleplay as a bird.
on the street, i am not alone—for i have my chicken McNuggets
and i can hear the translucent ocean through a floating **** cheek
have you ever seen a young fawn in a window?
Yeah, me neither. But i do like to eat wooden tables.
i want to blog about how the sky is filled with clouds
that look like the inside of a pillow.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
Most people get a thrill
Me, I just get a chill
Yes, it’s true, I used to love it
But bit by bit, I came to dread it
I didn’t really have a place
I often thought I was only taking up space
Still, there were many good days
And those were thanks to others’ praise
I’d do anything for those around me
Those people who brought some glee
I also had my good friend the “lemur”
She helped me to become a believer
Believe in the system they said
However, I think we were being misled
Instead, I embraced the presence of others
Especially that of the mothers
They would say let’s just chat
And forget all about that
I never knew what Saturday’s would bring about
However, I’d always have plenty of time to see it all play out
Sometimes I’d get a smile or a squeeze on the shoulder
One told the other, “Oh, it surely consoled her”
All in all, I’m glad I was there
Times were hard but without it, I’d be nowhere
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
Zephyr winds bade me follow
To the black coolness of the night
Do bear my souls sum
Call forth the God Apollo
Upon his lyre strum
Pray the voices of nine muses
A lullaby to soothe me
As a willing soul
I open the box of sleep
May the son of Hermes
Lively cloven hoof centaur Pan
Join me in sweet slumber
Birds song on pipes
Of hollowed stem reed
Through shadows of Pluto I pass
As I sail into Neptune's blue green oceans deep
Hear the wails of the lemur's sorrow
Song of poor Orpheus love and plight
Gently wake me on the morrow
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
I didn't used to have a favorite color
My grandma, her name was Mimi, her favorite color was green
She was a gardener, her garden always abloom with the most beautiful flowers I'd ever seen
Her favorite color was green
A plant green, bright and vibrant, just like she was until fourth grade anyways
She had an infatuation with monkeys, she had monkey lamps, monkey stuffed animals
I still have the one she gave me
Two years after she gave me Leme the lemur, she died
It was a heart attack
As I looked at her at her funeral, I thought about the monkeys, I thought about her flowers, I thought about green, that shade she loved, reminded her of the plants, the flowers, reminded her of life
Ironic, her favorite color a lively green as she lay dead, the only time I saw her without a smile
I think that's when I decided green was my favorite color
It reminds me of the monkeys, of the flowers. Of the lady I love
And miss
Almost every day I see her green
It helps, almost like I still have a part of her
She gave me her green to help me
She knew I'd need it
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
"Yeah, that's 'Almost' with an 'A', yup, kind like
'John Amos' but with a 't' on the end, also with
an 'l' between the 'a' and the 'm'..."
"Huh? Who's John Amos? jaysus feckin christ,
'Good Times'? The guy with the wide nostrils?
Bad example, sorry, let's move on..."
"...that's 'a' as in 'aardvark', 'l' as in... no no no, only
one 'a'... 'l' as in 'lemur', 'm' as in... 'murder' (this
person knows how 'aardvark is spelled?) 'o' as in
'o my god', 's' as in... 'seizure'- yeah, that's 'seizure'-
S,E,I,Z,... no no no! not 'c'! 'z' as in 'zoo'... 'u' as in
******* christ) 'UNICEF'... yeah, UNICEF, I think it's
an anagram... huh? ANAGRAM! with an 'a'! 'a' as in..."
"Okay, so that's 'a'... where the **** were we? NO
I WON'T WATCH MY LANGUAGE! Anyway where
the **** are you? Mumbai? As in former Bombay?
(why'd they change the name?)... and why do they
only train you in English cuss words? What was that?
What I just said or how do I spell my name? o crap just
never mind."
"...'o'? What's after 'o'? You mean you're actually keeping
track?!? wow! Forget what I said about your training-
you're a ******* genius... O... no, not 'o'! Only one
'o'! So, one 'o', not two, not..."
"In fact, **** it, I don't give a **** anymore, add an 'o'
to my name, call me "Almoost" call me "Bitchface", huh?
You wanta know how I spell Bitchface?"
"Where were we... 'o'... NO! NOT A THIRD 'O'!"
" 's' as in **** **** **** and 't' as in um, Tel Aviv
... hello? HELLO???"
"O my god o my god omygodomygod I just got
disconnected!"
"NOOOOOOOO"!
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC
The ravens catch wind of my secrets,
Hidden words veiled from light.
A ghost wandering through the yard,
A frantic hand scrambles for his pen.
Specter that drifts among all,
The sleep walker slouches with
The rest, but life had long lost
It’s interest.
Eyes of lemur, tilted to the side
As if to inquire the dark.
Inward voice and scattering wind
Dry leaves blown down the empty street.
Ghost man with his ghost hands
Greek warriors in their horse, invading Trojan Lands.
Thoughts reaching sky and the stars
Sending their replies, condolences.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
**etymology... darwinism on a comprehensive time-scale... past the psychologism of rationalising the onomatopoeia of uh... ah... of a, ******* monkey to a man speaking... and which one to begin with as worthy an origin? chimpanzee? gorilla? lemur? where did bio-diversity disappear to, to state, man, uno? i'd prefer the story of the origin of eskimos... than of africans... i honestly can't be bothered in placing my heart into africa... i want the eskimo story; i'm just tired of the narrative in the current zeitgeist... it's just tiring.**
the etymological basis of the science is prefix-based, or suffix-based, considering origin? i.e. do you begin the origins with -on, or na-? na-tive, or informati-on? past the pentagram variation of vowels (+h, to catch)? it's a genuine question; does tha study of etymology begin with a prefix, or a suffix? tail to a monkey, coccyx to man? head to either as prologue?
oh we're dead, oh we're the dead;
hello!
fish sappings worth of a tails'
waggling?
you "alive" people are,
******* & boring me with your
"aliveness"
when i'm dressed to mention
the existene of newspapers...
stop being boorish with my eyes,
i'm scratching them too much!
the european version of the ***
associate... i just opened a can of
sardines...
oh, fair enoguh... you just had
raw salamon, wrapped
in mini-rice-"breads";
to be honest?
i really prefer the ethno-centric
collapse of cuisine...
the herrings! the herrings!
the baltic "sushi" of pickled herrings!
sometimes i can't say squash
without squirming, adding to the act
the word, lemon: and chin chin... china;
a humphrey bogart ask, of:
kiss me, dear.
you're about done,
either you're faking it...
or you're staging a **** of other cultures,
which means they're justifying, attacking your
"culture", with due precedence;
what's that like, expressed, justifiably? ha ha
let's just say, the ******* can
start screaming,
i'll still prefer baltic pickle herrings over
sushi. i'm no western european *******
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
I stretch my tiny hands into the sun
extend my legs to be neighbors with roots
flutter my eyes like a hummingbird's wings
open them wide as a lemur
duck and roll out of my fortress of blankets
clunky feet stamp across hardwood floors
I search in the wooden box of treasures
strip the adornments of my slumber
step into my cozy black attire for the day
jingle my keys as I close the bars to my castle
reach one foot into the world
forgetting my place
I am a rabbit caught in a trap
cars whip by, my brain starts to hum
I slip my headphones in
hundreds of heavy bodies barrel into one another
flickers of flames lick my boiling skin
crescent moons indent the rosy lines of my future
my lungs are charred and shrinking
this foggy place is still
metal on my temple
the silence is submerged in the echo of a bang I will never hear
my body whimpers and wilts
why does His hand always crave the trigger
I whisper a curse like a hymn
to the yellow orb that laughs
at the hundred steel links scraping against pavement
like His personal symphony of madness
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC