"moray" poems
Thaw
Today I cause erosion
I angle sand once perpendicular
to a half frozen lake
to a beachy slide
softened with shells
with starfish three hundred
miles away in an ocean
warm as the lips of a moray.
Earth stills below me
ten percent snow
thirty percent mud
fifty nine dirt
and one percent soles.
I carry a stick
I drag through earth
like a rudder through waves
and a clearing I swear
looks like it once
housed a UFO.
Remember the summer
in a three foot grass field
we used plywood and a rope
to make crop circles
that nobody would ever see
and had a fire
next to a creek and listened to water
scratch and sniff the shale.
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 9:57 PM UTC
Here there little fella
Here there
C– l – o – s – e – r
Down the aisle
Follow the sign
Tick-tock
Teases a clock
In the shadows
Be brave hither
Heroic never
Trust your host
To guide you
Through an abyss
Of unprecedented bliss
Jack was a wimp
The Ripper I am
At your service
Hesitating still ugh
Never mind fella
Pray hang on
One moment more
Jolly and bright
The darkest alleys
Are my quarters
The austere grounds
On which I Rip Rip Rip
Gluttony is the name
Of my game
Instead of teeth
Dear Lord
Mine are grim lethal
Razor sharp blades
And my throat
A gruesome One-Way ticket
No wonder my stomach
Knows no rest
At your service
The Ripper I am
The infamous
Snowflake Moray Eel.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 4:56 PM UTC
I promise I'll be on my best behavior
But I hear a thing calling me for the keys
As lofty as I try, they drop into oblivion
Serious, I better come back to inhibit
The picture opens up sideways
And they single me out like a crusty chutzpah
The peeling pages ffffffffffffff nnnn
Coccinellidae attacks his family grave light
A nod to the growling and glistening moray next to me
He is big, and he is covered in my spit -- I tell him one
Find a better party whose postponed
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
when you're diving until
you see a big fat eel
that's a moray
when you're seeing a fish
too big for a dish
that's a whale
when you see a commotion
deep underneath the ocean
it's no seal
bells will ring ting a linga ling
ting a linga ling ting a linga ling
you're a meal
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 9:03 AM UTC
and the difference between
a higher tier whiskey
and a lower tier whiskey?
higher tier: pale amber...
lower tier:
tickling caramel bourbon...
and yes:
i like my alcohol with
a story of its own,
one of exploring
the palette...
yes... glen moray:
there's certainly
butter-scotch in it...
but the lemongrass?
not with every glass,
which is why
i find connoisseurs
suspect...
not from one
glass,
and certainly not
from a sniffing around...
unlike *****
drank properly:
shoved into a freezer
and then drank
smoothly like
a gômme syrop...
whiskey:
the profanity of
sipping it straight...
or mixing it like
some British WWI
colonel
with some soda water...
on ice...
one minute delay...
culls the bite
of any excess Smokey
Fitzpaddy left...
neck on the guillotine!
oh but i have drank
to the brain-drain
body numbing
stages of youth's exploits...
famously
Edinburgh's snakebite:
half a cider, half a lagger
topped with blackcurrant
concentrate...
what?! not lagger?
what then... lager,
i.e. lay-ger?
digger not dye-ger
of diger?
no via
no why as to why:
it's dein-ger
for danger
and hop-hop for
the dagger of Brutus?
et tu: tutti ******* frutti...
hop-hop:
Easter bunny softy,
as i...
et tu:
as an epitaph with
no grave...
and however
many maxims...
said puppet in
the fiddly tongue-tied
aspect of death's
philosopher stone:
the Hindu wild-eyed
traffic of reincarnation...
epitaph contra
maxims:
life's load
and a foot dent
on the earth like:
the one that they won't
take a photograph
of: as they did
of the one on the moon...
pointless going
to Mars...
not taking random
earth objects
to the moon...
to see:
funny-whacky
gravity do don't:
sample some
clock-ticking
on the father
to the daughters of
the tides,
the rains...
and all:
and they minded
the egoist...
while they shoved
the whole universe
in their minds with
cthulhu receptors:
and...
well... it wasn't exactly
1990s television static...
or... what the sight
of Belzeebub looks like...
the whole lagger
not lager "debate"?
i don't even want to bring
diacritical marks into
this...
and i won't!
first prize: silver sputnik
of brunswick...
now all i'm missing
is a banjo... and a toothpick...
as ever this medium:
concentrates upon the motto:
sequor lepus albus.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 8:19 PM UTC
I.
You say that there is nothing
To live for,
There is nothing
To achieve.
All is broken here,
There is nowhere to go,
All ways are not dear,
One can only scream, oh!
There are weak shadows of the fog,
There is hate, there are crimes,
There is all this human smog,
There is no sense to our lives.
II.
But I tell you that there is a better,
More wonderful and sunny world,
Where like soft songs, like a short meter,
We can fly, and this is not the last word.
I can tell you that this world remains,
This is on this... such dark earth,
On these streets without stairs
And heaven, if you still breath...
And if you still ask me where...
Where to go, how to have a life...
I will tell you that you can go there,
To yourself to find how rife
Not to be!
III.
And, there is also another world
No one alive has been there so far,
Neither Socrates, who was bald
Nor Plato, and any Judith Shklar!
No one was there and back again,
This is another air, another form of life,
And no one knows the time and when
One has to go there to fly, not strife...
No one knows but everybody’s so wise...
What we see here is real but material,
It is all teeming and brutal disguise,
But there are things there – unfamiliar
We are with them...
IV.
...yet.
Go straight.
It’s a net.
It is a bet!
Pascal’s freight.
Warm, wet...
The eternal bed.
Nothing left.
All left.
V.
You have no concept when you are born,
But when you die, much more is driven:
You see the light when the heaven is sworn,
You see the darkness when the hell is given.
Although during a life you often see nothing...
Like a bee, like a candle, like a batwing.
Like funny moray eels, we have to swim,
And funny is life, and later life is dim.
And, yes, a human being is a moth
That flies to the fire of the candle...
It is you and me, we are such both,
But in life we all want a bright spangle!
17.4.2021, night
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC
'
*Lulach Mac Gill, may your name
be remembered still
another thousand years -
Freedom's memory fill.
Let clansmen's voice
'round the globe, arise
Breathe in peace you bought
dear, for Moray and Alba's skies.
Law, equality and tolerance
the weak protect
Protectors of these ideals
allow us to elect.
Wield again with deftness
your claidheamh mòr
Speak truth, walk in grace
Be no one's fool, forever more.*
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May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC