"sashimi" poems
*No stabbing pointy bits
Comfortably thin and wide
Yet sharp, so precise
Unchallenged dexterity, ranging
intimidating in-sight
hidden held secret
Interesting restful beauty, with
a swinging-kissing-singing bite of genius
The Chinese cleaver
used since Cambodia
Joyous Valley Girl’s hidden past
a poetic heroic fame
Travel companion to my
extended Sashimi blade*
.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 2:12 AM UTC
Speak to me in a Russian accent
sound all angry and mean
then buy me a puppy named Tobias
and cuddle fer hours et hours.
I like 'em gruff
and dorky and sweet
and badass and lovely
and secretly love to write poems.
Do they tear up during The Notebook
and still love mountain biking and rock climbing?
Can he laugh at my weird jokes
and tell some of his own?
Maybe.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
I saw a gigantic tree.
Uprooted and on its side.
The great roots forming a mane for the snarling ringed face on the stump.
But the fallen beast is taken, it’s husk a Home.
A vibrancy of weevils, ladybugs, frog hoppers, Cockchaffers that’s skittering, scattered like a smashed ant farm.
Around its base were prehistoric ferns,
Curled and scaled like sand lizards’ tales.
Reminiscing the demise of the tyrannosaur.
When dust clouds darkened the sun which warmed their claws.
The skittering skinks, slow worms and other small lizards, who need far less to survive, then feasted upon the monsters’ flesh and found a home in its bone structured palace.
As whale sinks,
Distorted into a globster of its former self,
It hits the sea bed hard in oil-Black darkness.
The hagfish burrow, starved for millennia.
Brutally tearing at the befallen banquet.
Mouths used to scraps choking on steak.
Getting their guts knitted as they squirm over each other to grasp some sashimi.
Dripping saliva as if we’re sweat in the ruckus.
Yeti crab pinch, as do isopods
But get only mucus insulting their jaws.
And they thought they helped to cut up the portions.
Soon all that is left is a skeleton.
Hanging in a museum for future generations to see.
Once again, dust gathers, from bombed out sand.
Erupting in the air as giants hit the ground.
We may soon again see darkness fall.
As the rayiys is skinned.
But no tears are shed.
We all cheer none the less.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
The forever-stench of hoboken
The most composed... undress
Loosened to a senseless smirk
Keep walking...
The prettiest eyes droop to a cool low
Posture is hard to keep with them shots!
Keep walking...
Messaging another senseful planet the boring absurdity of now
Watch your step!
Her fine italian dinner is inches away
Or is it fine thai...
It's vulgarity kills any sense of definition
Uh oh... now there are more puddles!
Keep away from those leaking lakes
Of sushi... sashimi... heineken... absolut!
Absolutely acceptable in this town!
Come on! We're almost out of it
Out of the town we were once so happy to visit just a couple of hours ago
When everyone was efficient, and not venturing *****
When communication wasn't fogged, but clear and easy
When men didn't dress like 14 year old boys trying to score at a house party
And women didn't give away their IQ so easily, heads slightly bent forward with a lack of direction
Maybe it was home, maybe it was danger, maybe it was fun
The zombie within arose with a wretched stench of alcohol
Yet this will never stop selling
People are sold this "treasure" of acceptance, rank, a strong sense of esotericism, all lies
Yet in reality, they are simple facades, regular people like you and me.
O Hoboken, you stink
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
Ashen flavored clouds
snow cones / sashimi pines
will melt from the mouth.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
O my little darling,
let’s drop by the coffee shop,
we'll have a quick hot-brew.
There's nothing like
a mug of strong Colombian!
Then we can head over to Kyoto’s,
we'll have some platters of delicious-sushi.
I really love the sashimi.
There's nothing like eating spicy raw-fish
coated with that fiery-hot wasabi!
Hey you girl,
I don’t want to sound too pushy,
but it’s getting kind of late,
let’s head over to my place,
we'll mix up
a couple of slow screwdrivers.
There's nothing like
those tasty midnight cocktails,
I love sipping them,
especially with you.
O you’re my prefect date,
so scrumptious,
so true,
I think I love you!
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
Blackbored,
Mockin’ my sin.
Off topic thoughts
Lost in clouds
Wait.
I’m day dreamin’ again.
Gettin’ a headache
Starin’ at this papermate.
Prayin’ for ink volcanoes
As papers lay waste,
Book bag graveyards claim
Tree sashimi
But wait.
I’m sleepin’ again.
Tan colored walls, I’m fiendin’ again.
Blue waters, clean air
Sand freckles on Brown skin
Time is not of the essence
White webs claim to be beds,
Only to claim time as a victim
Stop.
Lost me again.
Starin’ at a screen
Colorful words fill white walls
The desktops hardly seems like a substitute
Drones stare harder
Teeth cut through chain
Walls crumble beneath my feet
Halt.
Where are my friends?
A partner in crime
Trouble is requirement,
Adventure is not a doubt
But wait.
I’m only dreamin’ again,
Fiendin’ again,
Where is reason?
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Television cooks rarely do
Fish, chips and mushy peas
With spotted **** for afters.
No
It’s got to be
Creamy coconut curry
With Balingud Zalud
Soaked in Chimichurri sauce.
Or Jalapena Lime Slaw
Accompanied by spicy Sriracia mayo
And Rachero Sauce.
Plus a side-dish of fluffy soufflés.
The starter is a vibrant veggy ratatouille
With sashimi, tacos and tortillas.
But then there’s always vemuelli noodles,
Pommes frittes
Teriyehi
Thana messala
And Enchilada Casserole
Covered in Romesco Sauce
Or Hollandaise
With Falafels and couscous.
Then Neapolitan Ice Cream souffled Erotica.
All impossible of course.
But don’t we love
The sheer seduction of those Words.
Paul Butters
© PB 28\4\2020.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 7:25 AM UTC
Faces. That’s all I could see.
All of them, lined in a row;
hungry eyes and hungrier mouths.
One stab and I was open,
two stabs and I was empty.
Soon naked–skinned.
The pain stopped, but it still hurt.
Placed ‘pon a plate.
All was a blur but I could see–
See the face consuming me.
Hungry eyes, stuffed mouth.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
I bleed out stars from my eyes,
sniff out noble gases.
I don't do physics but gravity seems heavy
though I like gravy but I dish out the ketchup
tuna swahili sashimi, to me, I rhyme
with this chyme as you read this; I waste your time.
Oh how I wish I had more time, I'm going down
Six feet under in a few months.
A funeral with thunder and rain, sobbing and pain, a cursed chain message- pass this on as I pass on or else get hexed, but last time I checked those don't work, like she and I, we didn't work out
that's why we're fat, sad, dying, and alone.
Rich with perfume and makeup- is how I imagine a breakup,
I need the facade of contempt shooting out from your lips as you bury me deeper and farther away from the earth that failed to keep us grounded together, supposedly forever.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
sashimissingoldfish
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 6:39 PM UTC
like years of church functions
rocking back and forth on chair legs-
******* the back against the corner
shoelaces stained by the summertime.
lock limbs in search of abandoned public restrooms
windowlit and forgotten planter pots
legs shaking inside.. for want of dog teeth
flaking off. white as oxidized lead
beds. graveyards
for
generations of guilt titrating out of the skin hips
out
of us like sweat
that iso-stains
precipitate.
your
sashimi eyelids_
my
diorama for you.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
If you are lying on the railways, eyes shut and coiled as a newborn feline, life itself is flimsy as the wing of a moth, yet your eyelids assure oblivion to all visible threat.
Perhaps the fool by the rails who gleefully mimics the traffic patrol will tug on your sleeve with the curiosity of a boy in the zoo, or perhaps he will simply pass water on you. You’ve seen him **** by the roads twice. Once he received a kick on his glaring bottom by the patrol.
Eventually, he takes a triumphant leak on your body. Brisk as a sleight, your despair is now fury. It quenches your parched determination. You pull up your frame (ever since your decision to be oblivious to pain, you forbid us from stating you possess a body, how petty could you be), connecting your drenched, frictionless fists onto the fool’s face. His head drops to the side while you throw in a few more damp punches.
They are catching up with you.
You do not know where to go, possessing nothing but a few noisy coins. You ****** yourself towards the quotidian route that will never grow in familiarity, with the unsteady pattering feet of a wounded animal caught in pursuit. You know of nowhere to hide, there is no escape of capture,
especially when you are reeking of sun-baked *****
You abruptly recall your reasons for lying on the rails, yet what comes before impulse is the tedious task of stacking nerve. Your former wounds beat in harmonious agony with the new, chanting foreign grimaces. You understand this is why you create wounds, though you claim to be ignorant of pain. Physical pain is perhaps, to you, the most forgiving of all pain. You enter a diner, naive of opening hours, and order a bowl of sushi rice with sashimi.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
In the places where
the water moves swiftly
over rocks,
under sky…
While not cloudless,
it is perfect nonetheless.
The clouds present
are sparse,
scattered like seasonings across
the endless blue,
served up sashimi-style
raw, cerulean,
just for me.
There are ions
in these places,
released by movement,
mist, mineral.
They fill lung
and eye
with prisms,
a freshness not
consumed in
ages.
So,
I find a seat
at God’s supper-table,
pick up my fork,
begin to eat the air,
which is enough
right then
to sustain me.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
I am shattered by all of your apologies
Feelings flee as I give way to my tragedies
Transpersonal stories drift into allegories
I am never satisfied with your caresses
We are perplexed and defiant
We demonstrate lots of reticent compliance
And alliances to authorities we detest
You and I have a tendency to penetrate all the underbellies
We would filet the flesh only to inspect the viscera
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 3:38 PM UTC