"mollusks" poems
Orcas in Puget Sound
Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives
They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children
Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling
We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will
Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace
The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
Its former tenant long since fled
to wherever Mollusks go..
Its’ empty shell rests on my shelf
For years that has been so.
I took it down the other day,
intending just to dust.
A mote, or something, caused a tear.
Was it perhaps, a thought of us?
We walked along the Islands shore
As old, practiced, couples do.
We found this shell half buried
And I rescued it for you.
We had a fine collection
On the shelf above our bed
Until your former flame returned
And you, like summer, fled.
Triangles are eternal
constructs pleasing to the mind
But this one proved ephemeral
being the romantic kind,
I raise the Conch Shell to my lips
And give a practiced blow.
Its low sweet song a threnody
For days of long ago
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Ferry Me
Ferry me, but once more.
The last ferry rides of Indian Summer,
Always arrives on schedule which is
Always and precisely, too soon.
Then, the imprisonment months,
Sentence, indeterminate.
*A Grand Jury trial of months,
I, and my co-defendant,
My sanity, this time, the Oddsmakers say,
Won't survive the lockup.
The source perfume of driftwood words,
Very ferry distinguishing marks,
Sails and seagulls, diesel fumes and saltwater,
Sunsets and seagrass, flying fish and multi-mollusks,
The stuffing of my summer turkey, the currants of
Poems and dreams, sad-eyed longings...
Now,
Evidence used by prosecution,
Confession freely uncoerced,
I Am A Summer Man
Adjudged and convicted,
Guilty of Winter's Discontent.*
But it is these last few passages,
Not of words, but over water,
The absence thereof, crush, ravage,
Worse than any grey calendar captivity,
Forlornly, I mouth silently, repeatedly,
Ferry me, but once more.
The course, straightforward,
Voyager, but a few minutes, but long enough to
Love it deeply, need it like a fix,
The mania of the mainland left behind,
The island, thinly lit, more shadow than real,
The approaching dark, shelters, comforts, embraces.
Perhaps, likely, I deceive myself.
No matter how the island comforts,
The brain always rumbling,
Can never make stop questioning,
Prisoner of 24/7,
But it is lessened, left behind,
As I am ferried away both,
In body and in mind.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
On the mangrove bank of the tidal river
lie embedded the mollusks,
they appear mournfully motionless,
deceiving you to believe
they’re too passive to be alive,
are just displays of dead shells
in their muddy graveyard,
though the truth is
they are mystic monks
silently enduring their estuarine transience,
bidding in meditation the time
the return tides carry them to their marine abode.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
architectural mollusks
are falloping through
my brain
squeezing past the
instincts that
have kept me down
My instincts,
once brittle sea stars
that splintered
into cracked
peppercorns,
are now mixed with
the breathy liquid
of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
injecting Jello into bone
busting through
fiber and tissue like
fresh-skimmed
lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful
Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Let's taste the ocean water together
just you and I
we will dive into the deep blue sea
holding hands til our heads are just floating on top
riding with the waves
and let's dive in even further after that
until we're kissing the ocean bottom
gulping in copious amounts of sea salt and shrimp brine
lets just dive in
dive in
dive in
and sink with the mollusks and octopi
give up on living this sham we call a life
cloistered in our clam shells we don't have a room with a view
always protecting our pearls from those that are out to poach us for our inner treasures
remember all the gold memories we've collected in our troves
like we were hoarding them away for some rainy day
well it doesnt get any rainier than drowning in these murky depths
we're like treasure chests sinking to the bottom fast
lost from some forgotten shipwreck
we're collecting on the ocean floor waiting to be discovered
over centuries we'll rust and be covered in barnacles before we're found
Crumbling in the hands of those that try to rescue us
lets just give up
give up
give up
but we can't give up
Not yet anyway
Not while we're treading these waves
with sharks lapping hungrily at our feet
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
savoring the slow taste of our defeat
as we inch closer
And closer
With our heads fighting to stay above water
til we can no longer tread with these useless arms and legs
we take that last gasp of treasured breath into our lungs
and feel the water pressure collapse around our tired bodies
feeling the ache of our worn out limbs
we sink and we sink
We sink
We sink to the bottom of where we started
filling our deflated hearts with all the failed dreams and squandered hopes of all the shipwrecked treasures that came before us
And all those that join us sooner or later on these murky endless bottoms
We've been here before
And we're all destined to be here again
And again
And again
So let's just keep treading these waves for as long as we can
Maybe we'll luck out and find an island in all this oceanic bliss
We'll crawl on shore
Grasping for dry sand and a warm place to hole up in
Before we find ourselves back out
Lost in the sea
Treading water
With sharks licking hungrily at our feet
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
Savoring the slow taste of our defeat
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
She brings me coffee in bed.
I propose a violin accompaniment.
Some babka, with nice-crumbly-in-bed
Streusel topping,
A concerto we could make!
Her derision snorted so loud,
The mollusks on the beach
From their shells come out.
"Good luck with that,
Put that fantasy on
Your **** poetry site,
Cause that is the closest you will ever get!"
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
Living on the ocean as I do, I hunt fish and mollusks
my kin are otters and whales, wide eyed we dive
the night waves, soft in lullabies
in a sea dream, starlit and moon cradled
my lips are sparkling and salt flecked
my eyes wide awake from sleep
in a myriad of visions these sea colors
all my days, swum in a variance of blues
oceans deep and streaked in silver shoals
the day skies fade and die, into nights
plush and indigo blue.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:07 PM UTC
“a starless galaxy carrying gas and shrouded in dark matter”
a townless galaxy
rich in sulfur
a gas cloud plummeting towards the milky way home
you are reminded and now pale peels off you, shaved as ice
the implosion completes itself in four ways
replicated by the gravitational lens
of something heavier than itself
time in time in time rich in sulfur and algae blooms
everything beneath the meniscus
heavier than itself
drowning in algae blooms
purple mollusks, sardines
sea lions
swallowed by forests of kelp
guts full of domoic acid and forget
we eat the toxin-laced fish
and cannot talk about what we wanted to talk about
star matter, rich in sulfur
rich in
dark matter, heavier than starless towns
home
heavier than itself
toxin laced, eating and drowning
on matterless stars
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
I am a pearl
In the warm embrace of a mollusk
Something beautiful, glorious
But with its own secrets
I am guarded, walls up high
The mollusk moulds me
Thinks it knows every part of me
But alas, that is not the case
I was placed in the mollusk, a grain of sand
But the ones that know me better
Are my fellow sand grains
Hard, but smooth as one
They know everything about me
They know my past
They know my present
They will know my future
As I emerge from the mollusk
So do they, from theirs
We come together, to form something
Gloriously beautiful
While we journey with
Pearls who know our true face
We must never forget the mollusks
Who shaped us from sand
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 6:26 AM UTC
(Chiara, Francesca, Rosa and Pedra remained on the beach.)
Chiara and Pedra decided to take a look along
The coast to search some food; Francesca and Rosa carried
The boat across the beach to hide it; 'How can you be so strong? ''
Asked Rosa; ''I listened to Chiara when I got married.
We depleted a fortune and Lucca was very rich.''
''So, this strength of yours comes from your tristesse, '' replied Rosa.
''My inner emptiness became affection.'' 'She's a witch.''
'She's a good soul, but inside her, she keeps thorns of mimosa.''
They had to undergo that difficult time and to
Organize their lunch; Rosa stopped to sip some drops of water
From the canteen she carried, '' it's entirely up to you
To leave him now.' ''My father is ill; I'm his only daughter.''
They were tired after the grim events of the previous
Hours; meanwhile, Chiara and Pedra were sifting through the salty
Air of the beach. Chiara said, '' I don't trust Fargo, he's devious.''
''We have no other chance, '' replied Pedra. ''His logic is faulty, ''
Continued Chiara, ''they should remain here with us.''
Pedra stayed for a few minutes being caught by the sparkle
Of the broken waves; she said, ''we have something to discuss.
Don't you think that your ideas are too matriarchal? ''
They enjoyed the salty stink of the seaweeds and the clicking
Of the living shells that they had tossed together for the meal.
While eating, they cut off the mollusks from their sticking
Shells; dozens of gulls were wheeling over the waves. ''Pleasant peal, ''
Said Francesca, '' the chance of meeting another one while
Staying here is very slim.'' '' I really grasp the scale of our
Surroundings, '' said Chiara while giving her seaweeds with a smile.
Rosa said, '' eat some kumquats, figs, and pears; you need power.''
(Rosa brought some fruits to complete the meal.)
(To be continued…)
Poem by Marieta Maglas
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
By Joseph Childress
Shells
On the sea shore
Share sounds from the ocean
She tells deep stories
Of unknown territories
From what lies beneath
Where no man has reached
To the land of the beach
In my hand, you teach
The shortcomings of speech
I learn lessons
On how to listen
Admiring the mussels
Of mollusks
Their tongue
I cant I see
Yet they scream "I'm free"
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
That's where I found it, but it's not where it was,
so I'll pick it up and put it somewhere else just because.
This is what it looks like. This is how it walks:
like a quarter machine capsule on a pair of chopstick legs.
Cup it to your ear and you can hear the ocean lying.
Lie down on the sand and you can hear the mollusks dying.
A storm is just a bunch of sad clouds collectively crying.
This is the part where you float away.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
Scientists made a discovery fundamentalists don't consider great
The universe expands and contracts at the exact same rate
So we live the exact same fate
In an infinite state
The white light at your death and birth
Are one and the same
So with the rhythmic rotations of Earth
We play a counterclockwise game
Of repeating in vain
This wondrous maze
The theologians needed a recovery
From this revelatory discovery
So they formulated an alternate reading
To the biblical teachings
To continue preaching
And lost soul reaching
They say Jesus is the equality of man
And God is the impact of love on this land
Satan is the other side of love's demand
Guiding hatred's hand
So to hear God
Is love's nod
And ****
To bond
While to properly follow Jesus
Is to forgive those who beat us
For they'll be a fetus
Once the future leaves us
Heaven is the state of being in love
So when your soul floats above
You'll return to the one
Who fills you with fun
But you must live righteously
Rather than divisively
To plant the seed
Of immortal glee
Babies go to purgatory
Being murdered for the
Infinite story
Unfortunately
David is aggression
Judas is regression
Hell is the oppression
Of living in depression
With no one for confession
Private problems become obsessions
Forever learning painful lessons
The apple of knowledge
Is the invention of college
For the intellectual solace
We're insignificant mollusks
The theologians surmise
Our demise
Will be from our loss of faith
Which will bring a dark weight
To those with unclean fates
Filled with hate
Repeating slates
The theologians plead
To join their pious breed
To avoid endless punctures
And gain godlike structure
For living an examined life
In the land of strife
They can plan the fight
To get you through nights
They say the Bible uses fiction
To convey truth
To cure our addiction
Of being uncouth
And the deformed
Should be warned
That those unmoved
Will live in a tomb
Of eternal doom
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
Glistening in the sun,
Sand can be so much fun.
A towel on the ground,
My worries are now unwound.
Children always laughing,
All the while they are splashing.
Little Birds dart back and forth,
Eating mollusks they work to unearth.
Crisp, clear, blue water,
Always to be seen in this saltwater.
Shells upon shells.
From conch to cockleshells.
Hot sun always lead to ice cream,
To help let off some steam.
So many reasons different for each,
On why the beach is so fun to reach.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
you walk with me, my friend
hand in hand
away from the amort
delighted at a dulcet sound of a violin
an amateur that coalesces two hearts
come meet me at the empyrean garden
bring your lilt and your ebuillence
seeing the mollusks
smelling the jasmine
a fragrance to a dreamy memory
our eyes happy
my heart too
at the thought of you
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
He left it in bed care. Results: You can find one of the soccer players in the group. For example, John Carroll, a member of the office in New York, city and second. The ability to be all folks. Take it to your local life. USA 1. However, USA and other users. It will be the Trinity at the Russian court. The names of the seven demons. This is why physical depression and physical decay. Iran. And circulate your blood on the Internet and other staff. About the mollusks, and the pink, did not fail. But you know what we did in January and February, when a man knows, there is no darkness. Honestekue Egypt, Egypt Nordkart lib. I know I have installed one. The standard version of the well-known and integrated device is put in a bag. After fence. Third method. Thomas writes. The city, having a buyer. John attacks in the United States. | | ||
The administrator made the bed and set it right. Tip: To find a place for competition, you can stimulate your shoot, for example, Carl's role, and enter the center created in New York, buying the office, police on the other side is fast but to eat everything and minimize the consequences in the | areas. Make sure your quest is on your life. America and 1 in the United States. Previous user interface and accounts. At that time, the blood of the Trinity, the Saints, the Holy, the Russians, including the court, was the blood of the first. Name the name of the seven demons. This theme is very important in the evidence, but it is often a strong warrior who died. Through everything about Iran. Yes, the blood of Christ worked on the Internet, Paying labor to another woman. Rosa Ostair, she does not fall. She knew she was clean and black in January and February. Honestekue Egypt, Egypt Nordkart Cent. I know the phone is installed by email. The original format that created the bad bags and equipment was found. Post Wall. Trips for trips Three o'clock. Thomas was built. And the competition has many walls, the walls of the enemy keep safe. John's death is in the United States. | |||
He lay down on the bed. The result: you will find a group of footballers. For example, the Secretary of New York of the secretary John Carrell and others. Get life in your life to earn money. United States of America 1. Americans and other users. This is a Russian triple. Seven, therefore, body and body are depressed. I escaped Convert your blood into your blood on the Internet and other personnel. He is not meticulous and pink. But you know what happened in January. February knew he was not black. Egypt in Egypt. I installed the application to update the application on your device. After the war The third way. Thomas wrote. City, businessman. John attacked the United States. | | | |
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
Dogfish bait and a late teasing wind
slacks the line, the one binding
monofilament of time
and lost momentum
sagged from a raft adrift -
waiting -
and never enough
to sum the formulae,
the vagaries,
vicissitudes,
uncoiling from the reel
set with loose drag.
A stag in the sea still drowns,
still thrashes until the rack
goes down
one
last
time
one
last
breath
before the flounder is spitting
hair and bone
and the titanic hulk
becomes the soft stuff
of mollusks.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC