"salamander" poems
Lollipops to cigarettes
Cooties turned to pregnancy
The cute little girls and boys we once knew at recess are no more, some are drop outs, some are on the news for ****** and others have seemed to disappear from existence
How did this happen?
How did the life we knew so well as children, filled with jump rope and four square, turn into the monstrosity of modern society
The drama now is about boys, drugs, and flunking school, the only so called 'drama' back then was when someone else had the blue crayon you needed to finish your color by number
Computers, televisions, and phones take over the lives of children nowadays, the big pass times when we were kids was to go back in the woods behind our houses and catch salamander, play hide and seek and cops and robbers when it started to get dark
Now?
It's lying to your parents to go out and get drunk, skipping class to go smoke **** and and turning the lollipop in your mouth into a cigarette
Did you ever consider that the lollipop tastes better? That maybe this sticky strawberry mess gives you a better outlook on life?
When you're a kid and you're happy with your crayons and hopscotch you don't care what problems you're faced with: if someones lost; find them, if someone's feelings are hurt; say sorry, if you wanna lose weight; lose it
This lollipop of yours has turned an upside-down world right-side-up again creating brighter perspectives and healthier pass times
So instead of curling our fingers around disgusting cancer sticks and pregnancy tests, maybe we should grab hold of that lollipops taste and lever let go...so the only downfall to life, is cavities.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
The great hanging weak **** of India
on the map
The Fingernail of Malaya
The Wall of China
The Korea
Ti-Pousse Thumb
The Salamander Japan
the Okinawa Moon Spot
The Pacific
The Back of Hawaiian Mountains
coconuts
Kines, balconies, Ah Tarzan-
And D W Griffith
the great American Director
Strolling down disgruntled
Hollywood Lane
- to toot Nebraska,
Indian Village New York,
Atlantis, Rome,
Peleus and Melisander,
And
swans of *****
Spots of foam on the ocean
6.8k
She embodies a
yellow-backed salamander,
only violet.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
banana skin salad in
artificial lemonade
peacocks salivating
mushy rooms belly aching
Oreos are okie dokie
ocean breezes open up me
analyzing any eyes
evaluating coffee grinds
a manifesting apple in me
apple in the Snapple leaking
sticky salamander fingers
static on a broken speaker
attics over broken theaters
salmon eating taco teachers
teaching choco taco preachers
preaching at Chicago creatures
opal rings and oval things
are focusing on yodeling
a social need for opening
in total global offerings
and in a soup or telephonic
happiness in playing sonic
gently speaking thick Ebonics
sickly tonic
Let's be honest, boys
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
age 6
you said “this is what friends do”
and placed a kiss on my lips
tell me how a kiss on the lips
became hands in pants
became “you can’t tell anyone”
when you saw my nervous excited scrawls about what we did in my diary
age 6
shame?
but I thought this is what friends did
I know now I’ll never tell my mother
age 7
you said you’d catch me a salamander
“okay”
I slip away a little more each time
age 8? 9?
these years are a blur
I know your brother touched me too
still never got that salamander
age 10
your fingers still ghost my skin
year to year
“i won’t bully you anymore if you be my girlfriend”
enough is enough
i slam my full body weight on those ugly hands
age 12
“I know what you did”
says your friend
I haven’t seen you in two years
yet you still come up to haunt me
age 14
“hey, you still live down the street? We should date”
how do you not realize what you’ve done
age 22
“Was he hot?” an old friend asks, probably on drugs
I show him your picture, shaking
later on I break an 8 year silence to ask you why.
“it didn’t happen again after that”
“it had a lot to do with age”
why can’t you just say sorry.
age 24
I still think about the things we did
you did
friends don’t kiss
friends don’t put their hands in each others pants
And I’ll still never tell my mother
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 2:18 PM UTC
Postpartum epiphanies
I'm shuddering against a stonewall
taking into myself the smoke,
snowy hills and the quiet of the
pine trees
I feel awake as the noise in my
head starts to dissipate
I go under water between thoughts
and comeback up for air once a
conscious realization dawns as
sentences
blooming in my third eye
The solitude in these mountains is
medicine for me like lighting sage
it mends the holes I possess in
my aorta
This large Earth is turning soft
I can't trace it in the swift grey clouds
or the suns hide and seek game
I'm tongue-tied on the ecliptic orbits
I trip over the luminaries movement
The trees whisper faint
stories but i am
ear-less to their memories
I wish I could close my eyes and
fall asleep to their song-tales
like a child at bedtime
I'm faceless to this circumstance
I feel like shattered glass
The future seems at once
both short-sighted and vast
I'm getting through on faith
believing my time is precious
and too rare to spend it in a cage
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
Madame Salamander
With her small, speckled spots
Spread smoothly over her
Skin, similar to the sun.
Tiny toes tip tapping long treks
Through tough terrain.
Madame Salamander
Grand and glamorous, great gales
Of green-eyed ganders give her
Gosh awful grabs as gifts, gabbing
Gleefully of gross gourds.
Madame Salamander
Feel her filmy eyes on her
Flat facade furrow into a feverish
Gaze as her words fan further
And farther whilst she fabulates.
Madame Salamander
Let her linger on her long legend
Of little lizards lipping to large
Lions and licked away from
Their lovely lives as lizards.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Righteous soul
Emerge unscathed
From fires of temptation
Ignore the Hydra
Study the centaur
Link the division between
Destruction and creation
Goddess, queen, princess, witch
God, king, wizard, demon
A demon’s in the way
But the animals are on your side
Says Francis of Assisi
Observe the three in OM
Chant till you come home
Oh, righteous soul
Emerge unscathed
From fires of temptation
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
Wherein without a mouthful of air,
He spoke of materialism with
a judge’s
Merciless verdict.
His eyes so glazed yet passionate,
He threw his thoughts to the ceiling,
Like rocks in a plastic bag,
To see if it could make a bang
And his speeches are so angelic
Amongst the ignorant giggles
And the frayed songs of yawns,
You really had to give him credit. For, you
See, he stares out at a whole different cosmic
Sect in a wanton orchestra
Filled with red wallows of
Flags and pride.
Scared jumbles strewn like flowers across this dying opinion-land,
He’s seen it all despite his accent.
He’s strummed cold and excited to be here.
His life is a rusting metal scrap
Tossed to the side of the masterpiece from whence it came.
He thinks that everybody must have been a spy…
No, wait, two quirks tossed in to
Hear the Man talk. It’s all a
Meandering walk from where
The toads squat.
He describes it as a war for the value of academic standards,
Which are now expiring before his eyes, and how we’re all
A bunch of rotting worms dying as we speak. The hope is
That the people from your life will be defeated by you,
Right? That’s how it goes in the war of everybody
Against everybody. He desires to make all of life
Into a dream… but that would result in economic
Impediments.
Give him the $1 million, also known as “the cool mill.”
Everybody must have been a spy.
You couldn’t look for this logic
Beneath a rock
Or stuck in your lover’s hair.
He’s depressed because he is not asleep – he’s acutely aware.
He speaks like rapturous nuns,
throwing themselves on to the cross
And begging me to ready the nails.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:42 PM UTC
uttering that tenor growl
that only we salamanders know,
I will stir from my salamander bed,
slide from its clinging preservative oil
into the eerie orange of tonight’s hellish glow.
Then we will meet at the shore
of the black stagnant puddle our home,
like a monstrous bootprint
stamped in the mud of our forest.
We’ll slink towards the woods,
slowly gyrating our limbs over leaves twigs sticks
roots and stones five times our size;
a struggle to heave ourselves before
the looming, glowing trees.
At last the heat of the ash trees,
the entire forest swirls in flames,
crackling at our feet,
engorged by the unbothered blaze.
We’ll wait a pensive moment, then take
our first few steps into the burn.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
I'll killa chawawa
Sell it for a dolla on Alibaba
Exchange for a Kawala
Black range red impala
Rocking nirvana pre Madonna
A Chubby monkey eating chunky monkey with ice cream and a banana
Bo bama Ina pajama spinning a spammer after a root beer slammer an alabamer and a cheese platter I slide off in a subtle manner like a salamander to empty my bladder in a place that doesn't matter
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river
You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver
You know the song I mean it always made me shiver
Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore
Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more
Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv *****
If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo
I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju
There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo
I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo
(banjo music....deliverance theme)
There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander
They own the rights on everything, on every salamander
If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er
The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit
But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git
No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit
It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?"
( banjo music...deliverance playout)
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
I Am A Tiger Salamander
I am a tiger salamander
I've been through lots of tanks and lots of animal centers
My mouth is full of acid and my body has little bones
I yet lurk in my tank for someone to play with.
I still wait here for someone to play with 24/7
Maybe waiting for that one true love
“ They call me roger named after my father,
it is very nice to meet you.”
I wonder what you are
You don't look real
I am a tiger salamander
What about you?
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
Pollywogs and dragonflies
Salamander slime
Some are dreamt and summer schemes.
Mud Daubers on the cattails
Catfish on the hook
Crawl daddy in the cranny.
Crickets with backward knees
Buzzing honey bees
Poets of a summer dream.
Martin Hunter
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
There is a corrosion/a groove
In the persona I've come
To believe.
The mirrors in my eyes are shattering
Around a turquoise salamander;
His laughter made his presence
Known:
(Orphaned in the depths of the
Alabaster forest;
Came rebirth, at the foot of the petrified tree.)
Shadow puppets;
Constricting the shards of shattered mirrors.
Never relinquishing.
Never tireing.
Fracturing my skull as memories try to escape.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
If I could be a pure mammal
Upon the sun-blessed earth
Then I would be a tiger
And live in constant dearth
If I could be a free-flying bird
That lives in floating sky
Then I would be a falcon,
Constantly diving to survive.
If I could be a careful insect
Who fears an empty spine,
Then I would be a honeybee,
A small piece in a grand design.
If I could be a scaly reptile
Devoid of female affection,
Then I would be a chameleon
Hiding myself for protection.
If I could be an amphibian,
Who laughs at single worlds,
Then I would be a salamander
Sneaking onto forbidden thresholds.
If I could be a splashing fish
Who is fickle and lost,
Then I would be a goby
Who seldom comes out when flossed.
If I could but be my true self,
I'm rather sure you'd see
That I'm no longer passively
Waiting for death to be free.
© 3/8/13
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
As the salamander was strolling through
the hot coals beside the wall, he noted it
was made of brick. Going around the
edge of the wall, he realized that
salamanders do not fly, yet soon he was
coasting through the air, high above the
place where the birds were flying. It was
through the clouds.
The amphibious pile of rags, he agreed,
belonged as a stack of books leaned on
shelves against the bricks. The birds were
hoping feathers would protect the words
from the rain. The salamander continued
his agreement; the virtual world of the
pages was another place he could breathe
in a medium not intended for general use.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
bristle cone pine, a wine-stained, burgundy -
conniption of green fires, yellow tinged. sunset.
a fresh net of spun gold, roasting fecundity -
a bristling of midnight at day's end, thundering.
a harangue of unyielding pattern
her hair down; now as always... conquering -
all of me.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
i sit
wondering
if
Fahrenheit 451
is called
Celsius 232
as my moleskin burns
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
I'm trapped in my own perspective
It's not good for me
I'm bored with hobbies
Seeking out the old me
Where was she
Aimless for sure
But insanely curious
Don't know for sure
Where is she hiding
Behind a table maybe
Underneath a cool
dark rock like
a salamander
trying to find her
vocabulary.
The late night settling
trying to catch some sleep.
Where is she.
Where is she.
Looking around longingly
I don't have time time
to look anymore
I just gotta live
and forget her.
It's so sad
she is like a stray
cat lost forever
her bones lie
in the forest
in the trees
she was second guessing
climbing.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
What miserable circumstances these are I must say,
All seriousness awaits every young mind,
Dust turns to dirt,
And thy dirt turns to slime!!!
Lying in the state of orient,
Thine place of buckeye hatched Nazi's!!!
Thine place where flies stay nutritious,
And gamblers turn to yahzee!!!
Turnaround,
For pickaways thy decadent view,
Just as Shawshank there's no escape,
Just white t-shirts ,
Straps replace laces and mindrapists of me and you!!!
Such colorful words used in a slander!!!
Falcons to replace birds,
Snake's here to smell out every tasteful salamander!!
No dancers,
No lovers,
No swings,
No palliation!!!
No invitations to weddings,
No wedded rings!!!!
Constitutional rights,
Forgeteth them thou reader of ohian laws,
Thy bloodcells extend,
Muscles bend to flex thy own callibur to thine jaw!!!!
Miracles of dark and lighted angels appear in sequences,
No recommendations,
Just case workers to fill bus help stations!!!
Proverbs to psalms will open to eyes that have not yet seen,
Where pearlied gates are out on display,
No movie theaters,
No freak like scenes!!!
All reality, no aura in the Catacomb of unknown kilter!!!
Pacification leads me successfully with a peace of minds own capture,
Prevailing to Sentiment,
To Amour ever after!!!!!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
She wore a Golden Salamander (brooch)
That's quite a lizard you got there, I said
"Lizard!" she replied quite affronted, "that's no lizard, that's my Golden, my Golden Salamander",
So what does it stand for then this, this Golden Salamander, I asked
" What does it stand for, my Golden Salamander!!! ", she almost shrieked, " it stands for Strength, Courage and Fortitude, qualities you've probably never even heard of! "
O! I replied, I thought it might have meant you were just one slippery customer,
"Well, what creature would you have to encapsulate your qualities I wonder", she said, "I bet you have none".
O! But I do, I said surprising her, and then...then I whipped it out, hidden behind my shirt, a necklace, I showed it to her.
" It's...it's a Scorpion ", she said,
No! I corrected her, it's...it's a Black Scorpion
She gave a little gasp, and then she started to stammer
" You... you're... you're not Him, are you, you're not the... the real...the real Black Scorpion "
Guilty as charged I answered with a little bow, at your service Mom,
Well suddenly her glass, it fell to the floor as her hands they rushed to cradle her face
And then she let out this fearful roar
"It's!... It's the Black Scorpion!!!"
Suddenly the whole room it went quiet, all the music and chatter coming to an abrupt halt as every head turned in our direction
Then the next moment... Sheer Pandemonium had broken out
As glasses were tossed aside, tables and chairs overturned as a hundred frenzied guests scrambled toward the door to get out
But...but it was too late, Me! I'd already...farted
You see I wasn't really The Black Scorpion at all, I'd only been pretending, messing about
Secretly all the time, all along I'd really been just...yea!
I'd just been The Blue Skunk, The Blue Skunk in disguise.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 4:56 PM UTC
Darkened doorways to the outside, bright wide doorways to insides
My insides, spilled on the linoleum over the smell of oleander
I stare into your black cracked eyes with a loving smile
It’s a gaze in the fog where your thin fingers stretch
You are all the hills, all the ditches and fills, the trills
Of nightbirds and coyotes looking for the ****
You are ruthless, ruthless, ruthless…
And I fly every mile like a salamander slides.
And I must, hush, say this in a whisper, whispering cobwebs
My morning glory, sweet sunrise through black curtain.
I could have learned to live a long time ago
With a gaze in the fog you touched and taught me
You are all my fatal fear, your mind is clear, all here
Your legend floating in a perfect tear
It is endless, endless, endless…
Your crystalline flow on the uncertain ebbs.
How many, many eyes do you have? How many sighs
Drift through your rafters like your own vortex of laughter?
I remember falling in love with a light from beyond you
Your gaze in the fog like the fire from your head
Eggshell lead paint, no complaint, breathe in till you faint
With all your soul that of a stenciled saint
Songs so shameless, endless, ruthless,
Cannot fly through this shell until after it dies.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Danimal Dan was Green, reusing every hand-me-down
the dumpster offered.
stipend half our middle class allowance, so the Danimal
could get his fix in unison with ours.
slab dual twenties in his oily callous hands.
while sluggin N’ sloshin’ his cheap wine,
the Danimal returns heroic, with red lips
and pink teeth, handing us “licka” boasting new
apocalyptic theories
the sky is full of creatures,
deys plottin’ yessir, pilots
known for years, but Big
Washington Wiggies, keep
Uhmmmm zipped, yessir
hired dem creatures, “population
control” to **** eat America
leaving only the Finest.
the Danimal’s vision flashes, giant winged
Salamanders kamakazie dive from the sky.
fat white collar Cons offer bribes as they ****
fantastic fear all over their linen pants.
some auction children as the Danimal
arrives with an army of America’s finest
staggering out of
back alley bars & soup
kitchens
they shake Salamander hands
Slurring welcome
with Bourbon breaths
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
Salamander crept
under the feet
leaking
moist from his glossy
back
as a leaking love shack
dwelling alone in
the greenest
vivid jungle
Tarantulas judged
tiny moves from their
dusty corners
Furry, black,
inconvenient
for the intimacy
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC