"scallops" poems
Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight
Splits through the rat's tail
Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning.
It is the Arctic,
This little black
Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair.
There is a green in the air,
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly.
I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,
I am so stupidly happy,
My Wellingtons
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.
This is my property.
Two times a day
I pace it, sniffing
The barbarous holly with its viridian
Scallops, pure iron,
And the wall of the odd corpses.
I love them.
I love them like history.
The apples are golden,
Imagine it ----
My seventy trees
Holding their gold-ruddy *****
In a thick gray death-soup,
Their million
Gold leaves metal and breathless.
O love, O celibate.
Nobody but me
Walks the waist high wet.
The irreplaceable
Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.
22.9k
The human mind is an interesting thing
Mine is very
As it tends to wander
I mean
Explore
I have been told by an authority
My wife
That she's never seen one like it
Although how she can see a mind
I don't know
She has seen a lot in her life
Both with and before me
She was a Travel Agent
She's been to Turkey
I like turkey
I made an interesting stuffing for turkey once
It was during my time in the seafood retail business
In a fish market
It, the stuffing I mean, had shrimp, scallops and crayfish in it
My wife didn't like it much, she's of Irish heritage
She's been to Ireland too
Twice
Once in college and once with her family
Ireland is where Delorian made his cars in the 1980s
Before he was arrested for trafficking in *******
I have not been to Ireland
I have been to France, Belgium and England
I stayed in Waterloo Belgium for two weeks
In the 80's
When I was 25
Waterloo is where Napoleon was finally vanquished
Beaten by an Englishman
They have a monument, the lion, on top of a big hill there
I had to climb it twice
The first time I forgot my camera
I got a new camera recently
A Pentax
I have had several since Waterloo
The camera hasn't been anywhere interesting
Just my back yard
I use it to take pictures of birds
At our feeder
In the big maple tree
On the ground
There is even a turkey that comes in our yard
My wife's been to Turkey
She was a Travel Agent
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
It made scallops on my shirt, dried like salt
in seashells —
the final appearance of our love.
I
could have mourned it
as if it were more than the possibility of life
disguised by a million tadpoles. A whole
day, it took him to get home
it may be even more
miles than my body fluids travel in a week.
His, still on my shirt. Hits my knees
(always the knees, have built oceans on them)
He thinks he left, but it was I
who cleaned sand castles from all my crevices
he thinks he left, he
the snail
I have
caught up in years of needing to be ******
He thought he left, but white beaches
are still in my dresser —
it is what remains.
I am so tempted to say, "your *** outlived you"
but it would not be the
first time his **** did the work for him.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
Buy me chrysanthemums
Not lavandula or geraniums
Or phalangium with their low hanging bulbs
Why don’t you know I love chrysanthemums!
Chrysanthemums, Dahlia…Hera…Willow?
Lillian! Lillian,
How could I take chrysanthemums from Lillian?
You should know. I shouldn’t have to say anything! You should know.
Buy me Viognier
Not Muscat or Chardonnay
Or Furmint with its corky taste
Why don’t you know I love Viognier!
Viognier, Vionnier…Vienne…Vienna?
Dalmatia! Dalmatia,
How could I take Viognier from Dalmatia?
You should know. I shouldn’t have to say anything! You should know.
Dalmatia, near Sibenik
From where I dine on scallops,
Or do you not know that I love scallops?
If not then you should know that I love fickle, false and fair
It’s my nature and you are my nurture
If you did not know then know this, love’s a hapless farce
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
with the lust
of a 14 year old ***** boy
playing hooky
eyes blink orbs
riding the bumpy
**** grind yields
a mental representation
*her ***
a Coney Island ride
reciprocity of tongue and groove
a big dipper
and a hot dog
in a bun eating contest
i eye the shape of her legs
brahmana of form
**** cake butter scallops
with a prune skin ****
***** dark little sister
going along for the ride
with hidden talents
*om shakti om
holy donut with a zit*
rubbing myself
a peripatetic command
like I had the junkies itch
in a bearded clam sea
of black nail claws
like musical notes
that tear flesh
hegemony of *** art
*make me bleed *****
Tangula The Exotic Shake Dancer
moves infallible hips
and dancing hands like octopi
tickling bloated *****
ta-ting go the finger cymbals
smiling she called pip squeak
colossus of her dreams
flick tongues the meringue
licking the
shimmering tantra pistol
finger up the **** hole
brings a prostate exclamation point
and a throat gag lyric
for a wagon train
of wrap around lips
zooming spit and spray
wet like scungelli
her *******
like cloud cookies
****** my mouth
gasper boy
chokes on
a marshmallow fire
i kiss her feet
and work my way up
the slippery slope
a starved dog
…
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
softly
and deep
and
infinitely
and on and on and on
the night yawns strenuous nude limbs
uncoiled precisely fingers splayed groping the
hillocks. and loves the land with gentle laps
of the moons tongue. refreshed wholly with pleasure.
pale towers undescent pillaring dully.
and the flaccid dawn scallops the piles of mountains.
or about the lips, whom the (day sprays dew), glistening
on the cheeks. and i go quivering between its ivory legs. kissing
her flexing belly. exactly arched. lip biting.
emoc
rehtih; hither coming
giddy mystery.
pumping string. gasping on my stomach.
naked sliver grin for me.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 3:07 PM UTC
On a white conch shell
like flowing teardrops
her name was written,
in his heart's blood;
this is the only record
hitherto, of his sacrifice.
On a coral reef
with every imaginable color,
his name was sculpted;
a real marvel that belies
the labor of love of long days,
her final dedication to the love of her life.
A deep sea diver, exploring
a long time after, strayed
in to this chamber of love secrets
by chance and finds
the relics of a mysterious love affair
that got lost to the human world for ever,
but found an abode deep down
in the ocean depths
amidst crowding scallops, calamari and mussels
The explorer's eyes brim
a stream of tears,
though do not know
for whom, it was shed
adds salt to the ocean floor.
Love makes heroes out of
even timid and docile persons
let me tell this. it is difficult
to predict the ways love treads.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
our part of Guintarcan
where family and relatives resided
was called, Li-og Li-og 1
a very large boulder at area’s end
resembled a disembodied head
lending the name, “small neck” 1
before the war
a peaceful private paradise
miles from town
beautiful birds
coconut trees
all sorts of seaside foliage
young married women
walked barefoot and *******
wearing only a sarong
wound at the waist
they carried round, flat baskets
atop their heads
full of food and other things
early morning, noon or just before dusk
men would be out fishing with nets
sometimes signaling each other
by blowing into conch shells
Father would come home with large conch
baby conch called bucawil
scallops and oysters in their season
he kept a jar of large black pearls
and small white ones
harvest time gathered us all together
Father would go fishing
to bring home a good catch
Mother, aunts and Grandmother
would prepare the treats
sweet potato, cassava and other goodies
men would bring chicken
and pigs to roast
and plenty of tuba to drink
they would build a big bonfire
by the shore
to light up the festivities
women would roast newly harvested palay 2
men would take turns pounding it
in a large mortar and pestal
starting slow then faster and faster
till they had to rest
and let someone else take over
onlookers cheered them
hooting and clapping
it would get so noisy
as the children watched in awe
after the pounding the women took over
shaking and shaking palay in flat oval baskets
tossing husks to wind with movements like artwork
what remained was placed in earthenware bowls
for all to enjoy this delicious 'pilipig'
singing and dancing into night
revelers went home drunk and happy
supporting each other as they staggered
waving goodbye to host and hostess
with a heartfelt and hardy
“Salamat!”
2 - rice with husks
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Gnats-eye lace scallops over
whisper-skin lady mounds as my free
range gaze, three thin sheets
to the wind, spies her midriff eye,
and tiny star-burst lines invite
tonight's tired sigh to imbibe life.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
The scallops squat
in their queer little cesspool,
small moon-white
skulls, vulnerable
like bare flesh
and hissing and spitting
in their juices,
gelling on the edges
like late November lake ice.
Dumpy little membranes,
they're applauding! -
percolating and foaming
at the mouth, and quickly,
now roaring - ecstatic
in a watery grave
that looks and feels like home.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
In dreams I see her blonde hair
always in a pony tail
She walks along the shoreline
Scouring the sand for treasure
Light blue shorts and a striped shirt
She quietly wends her way
Bare feet in and out of foam
In her hands, she holds small shells
Delicate and colorful
Orange, pink, yellow and white
These were wampum long ago
Gone now, all gone from this shore
But there she is, eight years old
Golden, tanned, happy alone
Treasures, wampum in her hand
She slips them in her pocket
Stepping into the water
She sees something moving there
A scallop! So carefully,
She reaches down patiently
Leads it with her hand until
The live mollusk slips right in
Clamping shut as she lifts it
It is beautiful, alive.
She knows they have many eyes
A bright blue like no other
If opened, they look like eggs
Cracked, sunny side up inside
Return it to the water
Watching for the many eyes
It hesitates, then opens
Jets away, ever backward
She lifts her face to the sun
One must notice those blue eyes
Then they cloud, time is short now
Soon the sun will leave the sky.
She runs for her red bucket
Half fills it with salt water
The water to her ankles,
She twists her feet, digs up clams
Chowders and some Cherrystones
Digging clams with little toes
Fills the bucket, off she goes.
Wednesday’s child is full of woes.
© Lin Cava 29-August-2008
I grew up on an island. Clams and scallops, ***** and flounder were plentiful and available for the taking. No one took more than they could eat. I had bay fishermen in the family – and they earned their living from the bounty of the waters around us. This poem is about a girl growing up in just such a place. Children this age are often not left to themselves. She thrives in solitude, happiest there. Notice there is no running or jumping or laughter. This is meant to be a somber work. The child knows that she is older than her years, yet she takes her happiness in those simple things that children do. So might we all be awestruck at the beauty of shells, the feeling of a living creature with its own beauty, in our hands. If only we could take the time. In whatever life holds for her, the girl takes her childhood in whatever way she can. Gazing over the water, whether it is the ocean, the bay or a lake, she often sees a woman there, a projection from within. I often see the child in my work. I am a Wednesday Child.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
. During the summer, cats, two mothers and two mothers were very large. Hungry animals. Take care of the bat. Fishing is the main shoe. He died in Africa. And then he burned it into it. I have a golden ribbon in his hand. After play, plants, animals, wolves. I'm going to a temple. I have not followed your orders for many years, I could not find it on the cattle farm and killed my friends with a greasy calf. Great vegetation. From that day until night and evil. Is he the soldier? Flowers often clean the products scattered. Joseph Joseph Martin, 1790 Eastern Greece desert. All Martin Nantes is a high-quality black group, city brothers during the day, musicians, music awards, buying acid. "But in my anger, I washed the river from the pit Blood and sugar in the blood Blacks Tahitians Do not trade with money please Brittany Milk Italian smile Smile Another smile is born American girl ****** purpose Dejang, for example, Russia and the ideas of children I have to do what I need to meet my lover. "Christian Danger: Public Secrets Mysterious secret windows, windows, windows and windows and translations and tattoos, goats, scallops, squirrels. The new square is an awesome helper. Friends of young children and Japanese night performances are full of books, aircraft, gypsies and gypsies. We're full of sweet liquor, toys, regular reefs, rifles. "Leaves are my first job, what is the reason for the clothes? . During the summer, cats, two mothers and two mothers were very big. Hungry animals. Take care of the bat. Fishing is the main shoes. He died in Africa. And then he burned it into it. I have a golden girdle in his hand. After the game, plants, animals, wolves. I enter a temple. I have not followed your orders for many years, I could not find it on the cattle ranch, and I killed a fat calf with my friends. Major vegetation. From that day until night and bad. Is this a soldier? Flowers often clean products scattered. Joseph Joseph Martin, 1790 Eastern Greece desert. All Martin Nantes are high quality black team, daytime city brothers, musicians, music awards, purchased acid. "But in my anger, I washed away the river from the pit. Blood and blood sugar Black Tahitians Do not trade with money please Brittany Milk Italian Smile Smile Another smile is born American girl ****** purpose Dejang, for example, Russia and children's park ideas, I have to do what I need to meet my lover "Christian danger: secrets of public opinion Mysterious secret windows, windows, windows and windows and lintels and tattoos, goats, scallops, squirrels. The new square is a terrible help item. Young kids' friends and Japanese night shows are full of books, aircraft, gypsies and gypsies. We are filled with glory liquid, toys, regular reefs, rifles." Leaves are my first job, what is the reason for clothes?
. In the summer months, cats, two mothers and two mothers were great. Take care of the lost विच, witch in Africa. And then he burned it. There is a golden movie in the hands of O. After the game, no plants, animals, wolves go onto church that do not follow their orders for many years with no one taking over a beef farm and killing their fat friends with a pistol. Great vegetation from that day to evening and evil. Is he a soldier? Flowers are often deserted in Greece; Martin Nantes is a high quality black group before scattering products cleaned up by Joseph Martin, 1790; Brothers City, City Buy, Nusicians, Music Awards, Acid "But with my rage, I do not do business with black blood and blood sugar washing with Black African मनी," Britney Smiles, Christian At Risk»: Public Secrets' Your Ideas include hidden windows and window translations and tattoos, kids, cocktails hidden in shadows, new class of helper and a large gypsy. Sweet drinks, sports, regular Shelves, Bulldog "Gender is my first job, what is the reason for clothes?"
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
El Niño scooped the sand
clearing every scrap of driftwood,
every construction playful of a summer’s dayful
the slapped-together forts, dinosaurs, castles
now launched to Mexico, to Tahiti, who knows?
replaced by fresh fragments of forest
twisted logs, battered beams
shed by Oregon, by Vancouver Island and Alaska
bobbed by current
to this windswept cove.
Beneath swirls of sunset
as Van Gogh might render
among scattered scallops, kelp,
sandpipers by the hundred,
one joyful dog
dances the landscape
expressing with his grin
this vast chaos
of delight.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
O'blessed Darkness cover me
Blanket the rushing words & flashing blurs;
The disjointed fragments of blinking walls,
Lights crashing off and on,
Blue, red, green-the marionettes dancing,
So many together and all alone.
It is all a show.
The hiccup of life, the vomiting dream.
I see my life before me;
A slush of goo,
The stink of this world,
Or is that the scallops & escargot?
What have you done to me?
Everything I do myself-
This dream, this life...
Why do I hurt myself so?
Punching mirrors, ***** on porcelain.
Dark, thick-
My throne for many minutes...
Time ticking, time ticking-
I was unaware.
My wooden box was silent,
My wooden life is tragic.
The voices through the walls,
Through the fog and haze-
You okay? You okay? You okay?
I croak a positive.
I have no steady legs-
When have I ever?
I have no:
stable brain
clear thought
decisive moment
steady action
fruitful journey-
All slipping through my fingers...
Like the vomitous goo of tonight.
Everything we have, we lose.
Owning anything is an illusion.
Holding on is meaningless.
I want to go home.
(Everything is nothing)
I want to go home
(there is no sense in anything)
i want to go home.
Please, hold me now.
©Lesley Wood
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC
I
wonder
what happened to our love
for
nature
was told new ships get old
now I look up
enterprising scallops
trepidation
us
you and me
immature encrustations
at
the
bottom of the sea.
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 1:34 PM UTC
This time last year, I was waking up on a Sunday morning
Late, you brought me home around midnight the night before
It was our first date as an official couple
You took me out to Madeline's, before it burned down
I was so uncomfortable, I didn't know what to wear or how to act
I wasn't use to it
You laughed at how bashful I was acting and ordered the scallops
This wasn't the usual for me
Eventually I warmed up and loosened up
We left and hadn't decided what to do yet, you thought about taking me to your house
Little did I know it was right down the road and soon I would be there at least once a week
We talked and smoked for a little
You told me how much you liked me and it made me nervous, I didn't know what to say
Then we drove to Reading, to save my friend and take care of Zach
We were good at it but we didn't want to be there
So we left and went to Blue Marsh were we sat and talked for hours and even fooled around
When we left I feel asleep, sitting next to you as I would many times in the future
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
No light weight pick up sticks or childrens game
these streets of age all look the pain we travel on
and along the way
that road of well versed stones speak to me of
skeletons and dead men's bones
and harlequins that never win the coloured robe.
Global warming swarms
more food to feed the flame
that leaps and shouts out 'who the hell am I'?
no wings, can't fly
can't feast on clouds that rule the sky
no name
more pain
more streets and terraced vol au vents
more wants than needs
the fire's feeding well
and who the hell am I?
The game of jacks and random court cards
highway tightwires trapped in backyards
tripping through the cabbage patch
match this if you can,
the cooking *** that will not get hot
the trying man that does not try
the winds that wail but never cry
a merry go round
but why?
A rest,
the day I test the temperature and paddle in just to be sure
it covers me
and the sea that doesn't see will take me
to the place where blind men congregate
and wait for..
..but it's far too late for me
whatever was meant that I should have seen
has been and gone.
Sticks more stones
no lack of mobile phones to spread the word of this disaster
stifling an insane desire to laugh at my own misfortune and already five before the hour of noon, when the Sun scallops lightly across the other sea of sky
I pull my socks up,don't know why they ever fell
who can tell?
Not I.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
Perhaps I will have love made to me
soon by a kiss that sloshes like sewage
and feet hung limp over the carpet:
our entrails laced in its plush, a spiral.
Mine tried so hard to reject yours –
as you sipped my pink flesh, coral hit
a very funny part of us I thought I
would bleed. But it was just me
opening, closing, opening & shutting.
The words were local: I need I need,
still enveloped an umbrella above
our pea-shaped, wintery things.
And spherical as scallops or stone,
I had mind enough to breathe in body
air, dust, slivers of your bedroom –
the corner where another love
will be warped & coiled inside of me.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
i.
you were petals i once
submerged —a fistful i let
go of under a foggy sea
when i was succumbing
to myself
you were the surface tension
screaming my name;
a diaphragm’s lullaby —
old thunder in the rain…
i’ve been fond of storms
ever since
ii.
no one told me
how slow clouds would be —
i would have held my
breath a bit longer…
charted constellations
a bit better before
i spoke of love in light-years
and there you were
on a shoreline,
carrying salt in your palms
iii
how many times
will I walk here, —
a wreckage of bramble
in my side?
“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…
and the wind was salt
on my brain
it left a hole;
a stain,
and i felt a burning
behind my soggy
ribcage
can stars erode
in the tide?
iv.
night adorns it’s veil —
scallops tug at the lace
and i toss inky petals
in the sea
nocturne’s dreamboat
a dead man’s float; —
how i’ve internalized
my hatred for romance
“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…
and i realized my
lungs could speak
for days about sunken
ships returning home
v.
i ignore a
distant moon — inertia
rocking my cradle
but she stays there
all the same…
there’s stardust
on her breath — whiskey
on mine
“you’ve grown much too old,”
i heard her say…
so i closed my eyes,
and felt sand between
my toes for the first time
it will be eons before
i swim here again
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
I and my colleague got out of our car,
We, the two men with a trench coat wrapped around us,
Walked down to the alley on that cloudy day,
A ****** scene it was, across the river bed,
Where once the pearly white swans swam.
There lied a dead young woman with a stab in her chest,
Through the heart,
With luscious red hair lied a beauty,
That enamors a thousand souls,
A blooming red rose aside her right arm,
A necklace made of scallops around her neck.
A blonde winged child crying profusely
With an empty quiver around his back,
While whistling doves hovered over us,
And a purse containing letters from the shepherds,
And a commander.
And a man and a woman standing
Besides the body, were crying
And with sadness in their voice,
Saying about how without her
They will forget how to love in time,
And will never be loved anymore.
In such wailing times,
All I could do was to shed some pennies,
And I said them here are pennies,
To plant some myrtles in her memories,
Across these riverbeds,
And hope the swans swim in these rivers once again.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
As humans we close of our hearts,
As though your worth is by your shopping carts,
Nothing that really sets us apart,
As though money is where life starts,
And the richer you are, the bigger your heart.
A world where worth is measured in income,
So blinded by the greens and its sum,
That as humans we eventually succumb,
To the phrase
'The bigger your car, the bigger your penis',
Never enjoying anything green or scenic,
Swapped value for profits,
And pray to prophets in the office,
We have been blinded,
By what is inside our wallets,
As though our appetites exists of expensive scallops,
And everything we know is,
only about money.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Portobello mushrooms, I use them all the time
No matter how topped they always taste just fine
From cream cheese and crab to chicken fajita
No matter what you just want to eat ‘em
Philly beef cheesesteak, they’ve also been topped
So many possibilities, I’ll never stop
Bleu cheese and steak makes a hell of a filling
Portobello themed restaurant, I’d make a killing
Chicken Alfredo, or coconut shrimp
How about spinach artichoke dip
Turkey and dressing or how about pulled pork
You’d want to eat those with your fingers or fork
Taco, or nacho, or enchilada
How it gets better, I got zip, zilch, and nada
Or I don’t know how about spinach frittata
You could go Greek, lamb, feta, and Kalamata
Mediterranean, flavored quinoa or couscous
So many options, man just turn me loose
Lemon pepper, scallops, or Oyster Rockefeller
Or Chicken Rice saffron, it would be yeller
At this point, I feel like Bubba from Forrest Gump
Going on about toppings, oh well over the ****
Buffalo Chicken or Asparagus turkey parm
Just about anything you can get at the farm
Goes great on a mushroom I think you can see
Most people wouldn’t, but, hey they’re just not me
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
You crave me being big, the way you make
The bottom of a bag of food look back at you, hungry
For bigger loaves of bread, ******* and bellies,
And for grander cities.
Sit and lean into the future: We’re on a balcony,
No, a cliff -
It’s a city in Greece and the moon is shriveled over
Fluorescent stars, relentless day.
Billy Joel’s older stuff rings around us,
Yesterday’s collected pounds and we stop talking about her
Right then and there, never reminisce again, just
Us, ivory and scallops, ocean breeze and sixty degrees - only.
The daydream city along the Mediterranean smells like Manhattan at the
Right angle, for we dance anywhere, we eat and drink
Everywhere - make no mistakes for the whole day,
Ask the cashier when he last cried and why,
Origami myself into the sky with the look on your face,
Order one more drink if it’s still before 3. If it’s after,
Walk with me, sew cobwebs into blankets,
Pressure morning into holding its breath,
Trick the waves into taking off.
Here we are, the home stretch of having, the needle just above
The running plastic, never touching it,
Nobody noticing.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC