"newt" poems
an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles
several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees
Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool
DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site
there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African
FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out
Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve
I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS
Who has a pet IGUANA?
Some people say my uncle is a *******
KANGAROOS have muscular tails
Obama rhymes with LLAMA
in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose
a NEWT likes being in a warm environment
some OCTOPI have black dye
baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly
in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL
RACCOONS live in rocky dens
a TAPIR has a very long nose
UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle
if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole
WOMBATS move in a very slow manner
an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel
the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS
Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule—
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE—out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters—lone and dead,
Their still waters—still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,—
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,—
By the mountains—near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—
By the gray woods,—by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,—
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,—
By each spot the most unholy—
In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the past—
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by—
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
’Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
For the spirit that walks in shadow
’Tis—oh, ’tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not—dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only.
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
4.9k
Motion, 'side-by-side,' -taste.
Tiny ridges, odd projections, scales
over a hunken-frame, -slide.
*Two Dead Bears; Red Eyes!
Two Dead Bears; Red Eyes!
Betwixt two bears; it lies.*
Cranial portholes, back out, newt,
shimmery black tongues array, -kiss.
Tail around the head; constrict.
*Two Dead Bears; Red Eyes!
Two Dead Bears; Red Eyes!
Betwixt two bears; it lies.*
Celestial space, taste the air,
Now slither wrap the eyelashes...
twist, pull apart, open, -see!
*Two Dead Bears; Red Eyes!
Two Did Bare; Red Eyes!
Betwixt two bears; they lied.*
Three rows of teeth exposed,
to **** out the eye!
A Dragon consumes a Hero.
It is not a myth.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
It’s All Hallow’s Eve and there’s little sound,
Except for a few goblins dancing around,
An old witch creates another evil spell,
Summoning demons from down in Hell.
The old hag stirs her boiling stew,
Adds eye of a newt, and another shrew,
The cauldron bubbles over the roaring fire,
The smoke rising up, higher and higher.
A black cat watches and suddenly screams,
It’s enough to haunt anyone’s dreams,
The old woman smiles an evil grin,
Her wart covered face personifies sin.
Looking around the spooky room,
Perched in the corner is a wooden broom,
Later she’ll get on it, and will take flight,
As she rides off on All Hallow’s Night.
Somewhere another victim will await,
Helpless to control their coming fate,
Another body that will soon be cold,
Another life that will never grow old.
Just another night’s work for an evil crone,
It’s what you do when you’re bad to the bone,
For another year, she will take leave,
And be back again next All Hallow’s Eve.
11-01-14.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
Deer loved one
Please bear with me,
owl bee with ewe as soon as possum bull.
Rhino that things have been on paws lately
bat remember I toad you;
Toucan always find me some plaice warm in your heart
if I'm not lion there beside you.
Giraffe nothing to fear, no one can break the lynx we've made.
Mine is a love that'll never panda, narwhal it
hound any other sole but jaws and yours alone.
You're the porpoise I wake up every morning.
Wren all otter things are bleak, you're my ray of sunshine.
You let minnow weevil always have each other.
With you, newt time passes but stops still.
Love you with vole of my heart
ant i'll never desert you.
Until hen Gobi good
Yours truly
...
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 6:40 PM UTC
I was daydreaming about the hoverboard that was promised to me
in the sequel to Back To The Future when you big-banged my mindset
with a universe of thought that I was not ready to comprehend.
All you said was, do you think koi fish were typecast?
As if some ancient Japanese fisherman noticed that that fish in particular
was more reserved than the others. I can picture him
paddling quietly across the Caspian Sea as he notices these fish,
looks down through his own reflection and says, you seem artfully shy.
You remind me that historically and geographically speaking,
my story makes no sense. And that the fisherman would not speak English.
I remind you that at the rate we're going, we'll probably die
before we find out how this life ends.
You remind me that we're all fossils in waiting.
This was on the back porch of the house you lived at in Santa Barbara.
There was a mountain to our right and an ocean to our left.
This was in between puffs of your cigarette.
I remind you that sometimes you throw yourself out there like propellers
so I threw myself down like a launch-pad-made-for-landing-
not knowing anything about trajectory- hoping to show you
that there are some people out here who know the importance of landing whole.
You retreat to your smart phone, search Google, load a satellite image,
point to the smallest blue pixel, See that? You say.
That's Earth. Everything we will ever know happened on that dot.
I thought about Newt's completely feasible moon colony and the first moon-born human.
I thought about illegal aliens and inalienable rights.
But I didn't say anything.
We just sat there in perfect silence
like two ukuleles wanting to be acoustic guitars,
perfectly tuned, painted in moon reflection, I said, what are we doing?
And you didn't have to ask.
You knew. When I said we, I meant the species.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
Liberal affirmative action!
Bill Clinton responds with the bananas of racist market economies.
Paula Jones holds meetings on the trade embargos of Republican controversies.
Thus Newt Gingrich has affairs with voluptuous filibusters!
Congress serves subpoenas to socialist health care.
Knowest thou how the Justice Department debates with Social Security's agony?
The Religious Right wants to impeach poodle ecstasy,
But it's known that Rush Limbaugh spews forth fundamentalist tax cuts.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.
firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--
stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.
"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."
this color is also one of spring.
it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.
before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.
it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.
now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.
it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.
this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
***** and
******
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.
do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.
it is not the color of singular definition.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
Hudson, Hicks, Vasquez,
Android crew on board. Ripley -
Didn't like cornbread.
Last survivor, Newt.
Evacuation cancelled.
You're just a grunt.
'Yeah, Bishop should go'
Sulaco dropship inbound,
Huggers roam freely.
One final rescue,
Push through the ******* airlock.
Escape. Fade to black.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
It sat on the tip of her finger
oh such a diminutive fellow
never knew how small and cute
was this sweet amphibian called newt
I had only seen them on telly
and I know it sounds rather silly
but to see one in the flesh
was a revelation and gave me the *******
The porous skin
of this silky thing
it's mouth would struggle with a slug
this adoring sweet micro little thing
It just sat there as cool as a cucumber
I told my daughter to a shady leaf put under
and as he slowly scampered away
my daughter and me did bid him adieu
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
I just can't, for the life of me
recall the proper recipe!
Was it eye of toad and ear of bat?
Or skin of newt and tail of rat?
I really don't know where I'm at
but if I get it wrong, that's that!
Nada! Zip! For me and you,
one smelly potion and no love, true
or otherwise, what's a witch to do
with a cauldron that is full of glue???
When I lift it from the oven
I'll be laughed out of the Coven
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 10:18 AM UTC
If only a little eye of newt,
or mandrake root, or hemlock bark,
could turn these loathsome suitors
into lovers handsome, tall and dark.
They paste their unappealing photos
next to profiles trite and silly,
and send flirtations cut-and-pasted
into the ether willy-nilly.
Don’t you know my time you’ve wasted?
I have no interest in your wooing.
Instead of listing your opinions
there are things you should be doing:
Learn to listen, read more books,
lose 15 lbs and use some manners.
Answer emails, learn to cook,
travel widely, study language.
Say what you mean, do what you say,
you’ll find a date without delay.
I haven’t found the witches’ brew
that will turn boys into men.
'Til then with dating I am through,
and bitter missives I will pen.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Oil of clove and wing of bat
Eye of newt and hair or cat
I bet she mumbles to herself
As she shops like everyone else
Rams her cart into everyone
A proper witch she has become
Wait until she checks out today
And sees what treats have come her way
For ramming your shopping cart into me
Wins a prize for you he he
The check girl is all a singer
For KY jelly and some rubbers
At 80+ you should know better!
Do not leave your cart unattended
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Long long ago
In a faraway land
Lived a frog named
Mr. Stikitung Grand
Near a meander
In his little mud house
In rain you could hear him Croak,
Looking for a spouse
Rains came and went
But he never got a single mate
He tried every trick a frog could
Still no one fell for his bait
He would keep
Harnessing his vocals
Polishing his webbed digits and
Perfecting his focal
While his efforts were appreciated
And some found it cute
The girls still went out
With the true frogs, the slimy smooth
With Mr. Grand being so different
All warts and moles
Others wondered how
He would ever father tadpoles
Mr. Grand with his huge eyes
And big mouth could do very little
All these hurdles made Him
Too depressed and shittle
While there were uncertainties
Looming large on his life
Fellow amphibians were betting
On his chances of getting a wife
For termites said the caecilians
Calling others to join the hoot
For worms said salamander and
For cricket said the newt.
On the fateful day Mr. Grand got fed up
And was waiting to call it a night
When he heard a hiss
Loud enough to give him a fright
Hello said the snake why are you
In such a spiritual gloom
Come let us find out someone
Who can help you groom
Frog was surprised at snake’s kindness
And overwhelmed at his warmth
While his kinds were busy ridiculing him
Snakes words soothed him like a balm
At first he was cautious and
Kept a safe distance from the snake
But the snake kept saying he was hurt
That Mr. Grand still took his efforts as fake
I have nothing to lose thought Mr. Grand
And reached out for the help
Yum thought the snake and gulped Mr. Grand
Before he could think or yelp
Salamanders, newts, all of his fellow beings
Saw this but not a single tear was shed
Guess this comes with living a life
So cold blooded
There was a crocodile, who saw it all
Hidden behind a pier
Some say he was the only one who
Did shed some tears.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 8:20 PM UTC
All my potions turn pink
Like my tongue
After too much candy.
I can't bring myself to ***** my finger,
Let the blood bubble in the mix.
I can't handle newt's anything.
I can't even balance on my broomstick.
I am a bad witch.
People are afraid of me,
But's that's mostly my lipstick shade.
My pale skin
And sharp teeth
Aren't seductive,
Or menacing.
I speak in tongues
And girls wink at me!
My hexes are beestings
I am beat.
Nothing helps rejection
Like a little hair of the dog.
Maybe cat whiskers, too.
Or apple cider,
If you can't handle
A proper witch's brew.
Spiders shy away from me,
Bats blow on by.
Cats don't cuddle up to me,
My broom can't help me fly.
And then I see her.
Hair like cobwebs,
Nails like fangs,
Candy red lipstick,
A sugar rush in my veins.
She put a spell on me.
She repressed a grin,
Barely bared her teeth,
Squinted her eyes,
Put her mouth near my cheek...
She whispered to me,
"Your hat is floppy,
Your elixirs- what rot!
Your call is sloppy
I like it a lot."
She gave me a kiss,
Turned me into a witch,
In supernatural bliss...
Now this is real magic.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Secretly sprinkle my dust over Newt Gingrich's high fiber breakfast cereal . Or placed in the air plenum of a ritzy hotel whereby the elite should get a minuscule whiff of hardscrabble living , thrown on the interstate so as not to feel out of place , run over repeatedly by people that were forever needy ..By all means please pour me liberally over the Baked Alaska at any tax payer funded high price , 'hob knobbing' government extravaganza ! Usher my remains across a green farm pond to be eaten by catfish and passed to the bottom , carousing with the snails and the worms forever seeking cover . Perfectly content , hiding in the mud hoping not to be discovered ..
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Hope here is dead. Man in a box, Cobain in my head.
Court me some love and spin on my throne,
Of brittle remorse.
Sick in the womb, the silver spoon pollutes.
Tiny tadpole in the pool, grows to patrol the Black Lagoon.
Devouring the newt it once knew.
Fearful men, conceal their worries, in tall tales of courage.
Ironclad, Iconoclast. Kings and heroes alike,
Plant their flags in fields of ash.
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 7:25 PM UTC
I’ve disturbed the senses of many
Does my conscience allow such?
It was not light I dwelt in
But sheer stagnation I call home
The newt’s eye never exposed to colors
The fungus of the darkness
Moist, cool and unseemly
Molds and mildews so foul
Yet not for the indigenous
I am but a proud mushroom!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
il colosseo roma in leather-scented dusk grips the night, marble hand on woman's thigh; these evening breaths are half-lit by awning lights and candle-flame laughter. waiters serve wanderers searching for home under the light of the half-moon – they don't tell us that these shores have too much mystery for us. some homelands are sun-steeped histories cradling darling secrets between ancient bricks, ancient tombs.
the amalfi coast whispers seashell lullabies to the old-souled man plying whiskers of melodies out of his tin-flute, traipsing in a pit-patter down the sandy road leading to the ocean beach. he watches drowsy-eyed windows blink pulses on the beach – they caress us to sleep in lulls and crescents.
the florentine memories are all mine - bacchan dreams; how you turned my head away from the window, wrapped me in whiteness like newborn's skin. you, the child of a mountain spring where gods were born - the softness in your neck betrays this to the doves. heartbeat an adagio in old italy, heather scent stirring the air like eye of newt in witches' brew. love, your body like a holy city – lamplit streets between dusk and dawn leave little to the wishes of the heart.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
I just took a wrong turn going to church
Ended up down by the old white birch
So I decided to sit down there at it's roots
And up to my shoulder scurried a little newt
I liked the little fellow
Until in my ear it started to bellow
Why are you doing that I asked
He said not a thing just pulled out his flask
He motioned for me to drink
And before I could think
I took a big swig
And before I knew it I was dancing a jig
The swirling and twirling brought me down to my knees
The limbs in the tree moved with the breeze
And before long I started to wheeze
What Mr. Newt what have you done
Don't worry dear with us you are becoming one
So scurry on up here and sit on the branch
By day we watch at night we dance
None of this has happened by chance
You wished for it, now it is so
Back to your life you no longer have to go
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
a ***** is a *****
rotavator is a palindrome
and my newt is very small
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
I am no beast
tearing thru the wilderness.
I am a newt
hiding beneath the leaves
trying not to get crushed
beneath the feet
of those destroying my habitat.
But sometimes
you have to be a beast...
so I am a newt
with poisonous skin.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC