"shellfish" poems
I wonder if shellfish are selfish
Or if the rain is already tired of falling
I wonder if the ocean is tired of being blue
Or if Mr. Cactus wants a hug too
I wonder if snows ever felt warm
Or if the words "It's cold!" ever came out from Mr. Sun
And finally, I wonder if God also prays
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Oh, Laridae,
all feathers and beak,
how we do adore your screech.
Granted, puffy, squawking bird, anything you may beseech.
Our sweet
Kleptoparasite of beach. House it anytime we meet,
with brute force and shellfish plea,
you'll be the king
of seas.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Sometimes
I feel a well
dug deep
into my heart
I try to stop it
but it quickly
becomes ocean
and overflows
into great tsunami
rises over all the levees
rushes past dams
breaks down tall
city structures,
edifices crumbling
in its path
all the squid and octopi
skitting forth
in wild pulses,
tentacles entangled
in doorways and rooves
slipping through narrow
window-openings
as they pour ink
in clouds,
shifting shapes
in cephalopod excitement
while blue whales
and humpbacks
breach over bridges,
phosphorescent jellies
light up
the dark streets of
my arteries
electric eels illuminate
the alleyways of
desolation's thick syrup
and I cannot stop it even
if I wanted to,
these darkened,
swirling waves
I am both floating and flying
like a jumping manta ray
curling around the ferries
bobbing in seahorse iridescence
weaving between buses
as if they were corals
And when the storm subsides,
colorful rockpools form,
rich in diversity
It is there,
in between the
multicolored ***** and
succulent shellfish,
in a mermaid's
voluptuous smile
and turquoise eye
that I see you,
so crystal clear
I could reach out
and bring you to me,
holding you tight
until the
gentle break
of
morning
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
The hearts and minds of our future selves weld,
And Melt into the ***
It seems hopeless to try,
But I can't seem to stop.
Until Father time says; "My clock will tic but not tock,"
Sorry Doc you can' cure my ailments,
I'm killing myself for you,
But I still feel selfish.
Only if I can hide within myself like a shellfish,
Maybe I wouldn't be so hellbent on understanding this Paradox.
I saw our future before I knew your name.
It pains me to say its presently driving me insane
I try to fight the feeling
Though I can't seem to tame it
Steady holding the gun to your heart
But I can't seem to aim it
Praying for something different
Though I can't seem to change it
I can't seem to change us
Like Love is the game,
And Someone is playing us
Framing us,
For murdering "What could be"
I don't know
If its what should be
Though I have no problem seeing
If what would be perfect.
Could really be perfect.
I may be delusional
Tho, I don't care because I know your worth it
Hallucinations of spending my time
With only you on this Earth.
I can't say if its a blessing or a curse.
At times its the best but,
Most of the time its the worst.
Trying my best to appease you
Until I leave this Earth.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
the sun slumbers
on the rim of a straw hat
same initials
i don’t have the time
to wait for dawn
who’s promised to meet me
address unknown
life in the open air
i’m listening to another sea
at the depth of shellfish
you play with the ball without doubting it
sometimes
the sun goes down not far
from the shore
2.7k
leisure up my friend !
weaken open your shellfish hinge
and wet your beak
it’s a marked holiday break
unmarred by family obligation
there’s freedom
to make the most criminal crown of mistakes
in the name
of some frown of liberal investigation
on the town
an eager squad of collaborators are on board
they have your back
desperate, sick and starving gulls
broadened to explore the deplorable
on and on to the next and the next
death defining task
a meandering stagger of a bar crawl
perpetually powering through
as the day spans a revulsion
the heat stays as the day sinks beneath
in place of the suns rays
the heat radiates
from the baked city concrete
stepping out from the shelter of the bar
the night swelter respires fiercely
not done with our steam of annihilation
what establishment would take our kind ?
city has already bowed over it's plumage
to our ******* pilgrimage
bark melts and peels in strips off the trees
(meat shaved off the strip pole)
our heels spark the pavement
vermin and jackals follow our movement
from shimmering dark spots
and our vision constricts
our aim has become clotted...
...what was it that we reached for ?
oblivions fruit seemed a doable pursuit
it's the usual downhill shambles from here
familiar yet barely remembered
a rambling guff of bad ***** comedy
there is no plucky legend
just an embarrassment
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 9:47 PM UTC
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
Anatomically sound, befitting a king
swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.
Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding
against the cavity of my chest, astounding.
V-Day arriving, and leaving without me
swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.
Satisfying love’s unique quality,
and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.
Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist
waves exploding above, below and amidst.
contemplating all that I ever wished,
remembering when, at first we last kissed.
V-Day, a special enchanting display,
lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.
Wishing you love in a happiness way,
throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
Have I told you about my wife?
Middle aged
Muslim woman
She uh
She uh
She a
Shiite
Catholic
No
Not quite
Not on Fridays
Only eat fish
On Fridays
Unless
Unless you forget
Unless you're next to lake Michigan
Have I told you about my African History professor?
Osumaka
Osumaka Likaka
Cotton
Cotton in Colonial Zaire
Not for the weak of heart
If he sees your ankles
He might mistake it as a personal attack
Or invitation
Too much rumble
Tummy tumble
Eat some shellfish
Eat some pork
God didn’t forget
But we did
Whoops
If God saw you break your fast
when you were ************
What does that say about God?
And if God saw you being intimate with Osumaka
What would upset him more?
The fact that you broke your fast again with the ***********
Or the fact that you weren’t wearing your burka?
You just wore the hood?
Good
Thank God for swine
Thank God for shellfish
And most of all, thank God for burkas
Because you are one ugly *****
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
Seafood stew
A basil, saffron brew
Sea Robin, Congre, Scorpion Fish
Pernod provides a hint of flavor licorice
Vegetables and shellfish help complete the dish
For authentic travel to Marseille
Ambrosia's put in play
Bouillabaisse
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
It is the taste of sea salt
On your skin I love the most
Eating shellfish from your hand
Sun, warmth, sea sand
Tasting sun oil
Through the brine
Capturing, encapsulating
Summertime
Licking ice cream of your nose
As we lay here both unclothed
Except for swimming pants
That make elders peer
And young men advance
As if to get a better glance
Shellfish swimming down our throats
Trickling on moist lips a toast
It is the taste of sea salt
On your skin I love the most
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
The sun is out in Jacksonville
Me oh my goodness gracious alive
Now that the Richter scale has calmed down
I'm happy to say, we've all survived
Hoping from the beginning we'd go extra innings
And that our side would win
Between the Suns owner and the fans who are moaners
We are now the Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp
So batter up you people
No need to be steamed it's just life
Though can you imagine the jokes from all of the folks
Might make us so boiling mad we could fry
And then there's the question of Southpaw
What's that mascot still doing here
I'm sure he can fetch but that's about it
Something smells fishy in this sailors beard
But I digress from where we should be
The theme is the name of the team
And I might be in hot water if I go any further
Without explaining what I really mean
Though you may not find
It very a-peel-ing
The way the owner did
In this fishy dealing
It might be to late but it's only a name
Try if you can to chow down on this
The teams still the same so come out to the games
No need for you to be so shellfish
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Quail eggs, duck fat
Liverwurst at its worst
Pâté is passé
Bulgur is ******
Shellfish emulsion
Widespread revulsion
Giblets and gravy, soured and skinned
Simmered, steamed, fried and ******
(order up)
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 2:57 PM UTC
Anatomically sound, befitting a king
swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.
Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding
against the cavity of my chest, astounding.
V-Day arriving, and leaving without me
swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.
Satisfying love’s unique quality,
and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.
Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist
waves exploding above, below and amidst.
contemplating all that I ever wished,
remembering when, at first we last kissed.
V-Day, a special enchanting display,
lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.
Wishing you love in a happiness way,
throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 3:23 AM UTC
pistachio nuts - or the clams of the the forest,
not among the helter skelter
birch tree scouting and marking territory,
but among the aged oaks
and pristine scents of pines among
the fallen pine needles in zigzag promenade -
indeed pistachio nuts like shellfish,
slightly opened ergo healthy -
clams or mussels, once opened then
healthy for the palette - still a bewilderment
to care with a hydrochloric acid cauldron
that the stomach is -
that's the prior bewilderment, the other
being this madonna-whore complex
that Anaïs Nin represents -
i've eaten a prostitute's *** (her own
anatomical definition) - indeed smothered
in creams to ease a professional approach to
a lack of relationship stimulation -
science says that eating the female *** is
like downing a range of antibiotics -
i can imagine - why is she suddenly this hailed
saint of scissors applied to a middle-class
straitjacket? what the hell is going on?
ah... i know, the longer a feeble secret is allowed
to ferment, it goes from being vinegar
to being wine to being a fruity ***** -
well shiver me timbers!
ever walk into a brothel with 7 prostitutes waiting
their bus for £110 an hour and not feel
intimidated asking for a glass of water?
i have... they eye you like hyenas,
a true spirit of solidarity that feminism forgot,
7 prostitutes eyeing you, then you say
'can one of your pick me?'
'you can't say that, it's not allowed!'
'oh, aren't you a talker, you'll do.'
every single brothel i've been too always reminds
me of Jack Daniels - i don't know why,
the burnt auburn sweetness of charcoal or something,
add the skin creams on the ****** smeared
like an insomniac creating a synthetic approach
to sleep with amitriptyline (25mg) and alcohol
and you've just bought yourself a treasure island
crucifix.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
A thought in process...
Imagery that tells a story....
I can see
the Prestigious School of Gills:
The Conservatory of Velvet & Blues.
In the process...
The conservatory will need to
hire the Ground sharks
to make sure there
are no shellfish or
Crappie fish laying around.
Once all the Crap is
swallowed up,
we can hire Dolphins so they
can share in their porpoise.
Even in the deep,
we have trouble with
Blackchin. We should consider
hiring Giant Wels to calm
the Blackchin. if that does not
work, we will get the Bigmouth Buffalo
to calm all the Bitterling.
I do need to get around-
I should Perch a Black Neon Tetra
...and find some Pumkinseeds.
I will need to hire an
Octopus to get the building
done sooner.
In one hand- I will use a Hammerhead.
In another hand- he should use a Sawfish.
I will need two arms to scratch
the Rough Scad from the floor.
Two more arms should
use Smelt-whiting on the walls.
We need Muscles to do the
heavy lifting.
Finally, the Octopus will need two
arms to lay the Velvet.
EEL!!! I have noticed Roaches!
I noticed the Roughy patches.
Hey look!!! We do not need to
worry about electric-
we will just use electric eels.
To right- I will place the lampfish.
Do not worry about the
evil of the Ghouls & Devil Ray-
I will be sure to Discus
with Alfonsino all
the trouble with the
Blue-eye, Bullhead, ***** shark.
We will have a Whale of a time,
omitting the Suckers & Swallowers
from the Red Velvetfish.
I need to cool
things off with icefish.
And to keep the roofs from
leaking, hire the seals.
Our Seahawk Security will
be watching for the White Shark.
If you see them please,
send out the Yellow Jacks
and I will use the River Loach
as backup for there is plenty of
fish in the sea.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
i loath that educational poetry that's intended to address you with scold or searching for a higher tier of morality, there are poems like that out there (rudyard kipling e.g.), with educational / instructional overtones in the way they're written, i always wonder though: did the poet remember the idea of solipsism and writing the poem as if to himself, a note to self, rather than for others to peer into the poem and learn something?
that's the thing though,
i'm a child of immigrants...
actually an immigrant
myself... no, wait, let's do
what the higher tiers of society
call it: i'm an expatriate,
a child of expatriates -
and they still talk with an accent,
me? self-taught english
from the age of 8, retained my
mother tongue nonetheless,
speak none of the two tongues with
an accent, unless i want to,
a friend of mine introduced me
to a greek cypriot, lovingly ridiculed
me as posh... and let me tell you,
sounding posh in essex is hard to do,
i admit it would be harder in
scotland or east london, but essex
is still a hefty mountain to climb -
it's like that crass joke i heard in
the edinburgh comedy club i used to
haunt once a week...
a guy stands up and with a mighty grin
announced himself with over-stressed
elocution: 'you might recognise my accent
(i.e. denoting where he came from,
a great conversation starter on these
islands)... it's educated',
and that really crushed the hazelnut
in his **** -
well if it was a woman telling the same
joke, it would be a crushed hazelnut
between the legs - missionaries
in positions of ardent prayer
and christmas wrapping paper -
because a woman's strength in the leg department
is like the lips of oysters, or any over shellfish
for that matter - insects of the deep blue
(exoskeleton).
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
I saw an old man walking by the side of the lake , he turned and whispered somethings not right ? I walk among the creatures of night , with the moon as my shelter the stars as my light I do not walk this earth anymore somethings not right , I am a ghost of many a year gone bye , stalked by women and children that cry , stuck in a cell were no light is seen , and the god I worship cast me down like a feind , I lived a life full of Ill repute , shellfish untold before now , there was no applause to my life no fairwell crowd , a lonley man stood at my grave , Lamentations and verse about this fallen brave , but I am not , nor never I find a bit of bravery a bit peice of mind , life is cruel rotten unjust to carry on is the question of must ? For who I am you lips should say this old man who's lost his day ? am no stranger for I am you , telling the tale of what life has for you . Change you'r ways or never youl find that bit of bravery that bit peice of mind .
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Nothing gets crossed out -
A collection of the worst jokes you ever told (something about LSD and shellfish) rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls into dust bunnies (whispering my secrets) snatched up and molded with vegan butter until a collective comet increase, increases, IGNITES into flames and is suddenly the rising sun you rose up underneath from six times in my bed where the butterflies in my stomach shivered and shook and made their way to the walls at eye level with your tiny ears
-
Tie a tin-can telephone to the door of your own personal world from my mailbox and I'll leave a message on your carrier pigeon (answering machine?)
I'm confused.
"Jennifer wants you to know that she wants you and her to move into a postage-stamp house in a postcard of Italy - she says to make sure you know that the house has no walls and lots of ladybugs."
-
I think we're breaking up - "What do you mean, you know what I look like without my face? Jesus, Jenny, you're ******* nuts."
-
It's okay though, I got like, ten cents for recycling those cans. Anyways
CRASH! From behind a junkyard ~
Sounds that I will drown out with my erectile-dysfunction pills.
-
There's a candle from something called (Ireland?) here and I can't ******* blow it out, there's like twenty, or twelve years probably, you are repeated here doing sunrise stretches in fluttering orange flames
Green slime oozes from the cracks in your shower tiles and I try to pin it back up with clothespins; just in case it helps you save the world. By the way - I will write my name in the unethical fog left behind an Indian-ocean's worth of water and say I fell asleep, wasn't me, astral projection did it (!!)
-
(Are you still with me?)
-
The last chapter - the Queen of England will buy your burial site under a fake name and I will fingers crossed decompose into one looooong-winded aperçu.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
We are all selfish creatures
shellfish lurking in the depths of the sea
wanting what we know is wrong
lying about the shallow depths of our emotions
signing forged signatures and forged lies
forging these words that come out of our glossy covered up lips
glossing our covered up stories
our tall tales of princesses and fairies
in fantasy land, these are whimsical creatures
in reality land, we are nothing but human beings
that forged signatures say are whimsical.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 5:45 PM UTC
THE NYMPH
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower- if you like women with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opened suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration-
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her thunderously satisfied indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And criss-crossing her piebald nose a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of her kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast-
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as in unexpected agony she died: “I thought, I thought, I was god!”
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
The floodgates
have opened
deluge rushing in
all the shellfish
are writhing
deep under my skin
******* out my juices
my heart bleeding
thick
my heart on the platform
in textures that tick
like time in a bomb
inside a box
in my painted ribcage
just waiting to blow
like a self-contained rage
and I can no longer hold it
as implosion ferments
my insides are bursting
in iridescent
s l o w motion
every one of my cells
a chaotic torment
As my body shudders and
shakes and splits
in the blast
I know that my mind
is free at last
my essence climbs
this final ascent
questions form into peace
as tissue is rent
I glance at the *****
on the sacrificial dais,
once inside this silken chest
It beats as it takes it,
as my soul rides the crest
It accepts the heavy,
on that stage,
stuck through on a spike
the world looking
through us
as transparency strikes
and I am no longer a body
just a traveling soul
a companion
of the timeless
going back to my fold
And suddenly, there,
peering in
through the tender
stained glass panes
an aura flashing its signals
in blood pumping veins
Its silence is fragrant
and wild
in fluorescent
screaming hues
voices that sway me
in deep strokes of blue
and as I willingly
splay myself
upon the vaults
securely fastened
to my own demise
my eyeless vision
grazing the glowing black
in swirls of
slashed ancient
language
I see now
so clearly
that the dark one arrived
the one here
to take my soul
with the ember
mystic eyes
melting what is left
of my lava tripped bones
lifting my abyss
to spheres above
yes that one over there
is actually
Love
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
*Breakup for the makeup, the *** is is poetry within itself. Loving you is bad for me...it's bad for my self esteem, and it's bad for my health. I feel bad when I see how I make you so weak...to see a grown man tear up, and do crazy **** without stopping to think. You love the curve off my hips, the scent of my hair and my soft full lips. The birthmark on my wrist, and the one on my ribs which you never miss to kiss. The tone of my voice when I'm grilling you, the sparkle in my eye....when you recognize just how much I'm feeling you. It hurts me every time when you doubt how much I love you, because you're not the only one strokin'.....but you're the only one I make love to.
And the passionate kisses tell it all. I got up from your lap and slid off your pants, then ripped down your draws. I worked my way down and started slowly, deep throated your love as I played with your.....You ripped me up by my hair so I can tell you're still mad, then you bent me over and slapped my *** as hard as you could, and then you put him in me and I gripped every inch of your manhood. And you know I can't take it. Your nails dug into my sides, and thrusted so hard thinking I'd run...but you know I can take it. We switched then I started to ride, the anger in your eyes became harder for you to hide. Repeating your insults to you "I'm a ***** I'm a *** and I'm so ******* selfish." And I gripped on your neck, just as I felt your legs clam like shellfish. Fast and slow, I like watching your face, so I switch up the pace...and ride fast then slow. "I love you." Now I got you, not a second too early, not a second too late. You flipped me on my stomach and I felt all your weight. You started to pant extra hard and I told you to wait. I wasn't done, you pushed my face into the pillow as I felt you *** Couldn't bring yourself to pull out.....fin.
But we know how your men swim. And I'm not on birth control so let's pray that I don't get pregnant again.*
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC