"tortoises" poems
Blue eyes, bald head, haggard skin...dead...
It was like a race
with a bet for her life if she lost
Her delicate figure encased by a
tortoises shell
but no match for the hare that
infects her blood
speeding through the race
...speeding through her life
But wait...
the hare slowed down,
taking a rest
letting her, the slow tortoise
gradually start to win this race
this fight
Steps from the finish line
steps from overcoming this battle
...whoosh...
She lost
Cancer won the race...and her life
Dedicated to Carol MacPherson
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
It's all my fault that I said nothing
But it's not my fault that you said no
It's all my fault that I always no
but it's not my fault they never say nothing
but at the rate that the world is moving
and despite this state that I'm in
I still managed to stop moving
long enough to be trampled by tortoises
and I somehow managed to be missed by the stampede
Sometimes I wish the turtles would get off of my back
because they crawl so slow
and time begins to ache
Sometimes I wish the stampede would target me
and the last thing I would see is a violent crowd
but I still imagine a mirage behind the mob
I have an invitation for the turtles;
they can sleep on my back.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 3:40 AM UTC
Safe from stormy icy cold
from stars sheltered too below
a wish I am
to my captive be
all this thou provideth me
The ice breaker tows us in
sweet lies lavished
beneath our skin
mothered
fathered
dear!!!
Dear ravaged
bitter sweet
lovingly deceived
tucked into sheets
from teddy bear
to milky squeezed
thigh soothing
the life that's oozing
**** a doodle
screeching out in fright
of little egg
earnest yearning
heeding calling
of thee other will
spontaneity
river spawning
No time for times sake
Not a one
would be
mistaken
Only the shrunken
fear forsaking
Run hare run
way out
out
beyond sight
of the knowing
knowing though
scent lingers
in the nose
of the tortoise
and tortoises
whom are stalking
Run run
has gotten far
hid from heaven
spinning faulty
stars heathen
tales of yore
which simply
just keep moving
But delight
is
a wedding cake
in a heart
you can see
taste
taste the spin
of spinning me
Dance too
to the rhythms
and beatings
of sticks
****** quick
to the depths
of your last breath
of the last breathing
Our hearts
the rhythm
Ones soul
The beating
of skin
On our drums
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
Let’s go to an antimatter universe
Where hot ice solidifies
Under the black light of the freezing sun.
A world where short giraffes hide beneath
The tall grass, amongst low trees.
See those high plains, watery deserts and low mountains.
Slow flies crawl over red skies
As turtles and tortoises speed around.
Here, hot sun is an oxymoron
And everything is downside up.
Or if you prefer we could visit a realm
Like on “Red Dwarf”
Where time flies backwards:
People formed from dusty death
To live and grow youthful
On the way to an inevitable birth
And death again
When parental **** parts from *****
Paul Butters
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
My sister dreams of flying tortoises,
cockatoos and parrots flapping in a
perfect randomness. She watches
from the porch of her cabin on the lake,
strangely grown into a manor, and recalls
the promise of someone soon returning from
a time on the water. The tortoises make her think
of portobello mushroom caps, frayed and black
against the stainless blue. She wonders what this means,
this tumbling opulence, this message in the night that my sister dreams.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
As a child, the 80 acres seemed like the whole world, with its ponds and streams and sunlit meadows.
It looked like Eden to my young eyes.
I chased the lambs and dragonflies, caught tortoises and toads.
The banks of the streams looked like cliffs to me, as I watched the suspended shadows of the bluegill in the water below.
With July's on broil, I found shade beneath a black locust tree, and tried to figure out, how I could use the thorns as fish hooks, to catch dinner for the night.
Evening set the sky on fire and the clouds were all a blaze.
Passion found me early, so much land, and nothing but time.
Then dusk turned gently into night and the summer Moon looked sad, like a giant porch light left on, for a lover that's never coming home.
As I lay in bed the cicadas buzz tucked me in, and from the pond came to bullfrog sad song, and I knew he was lonely like me.
May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 11:08 AM UTC
World book day 2018
All the children in fancy dress
Mums and Dads competing to be the best
Imagination running wild some of the themes are they really for the child?
Gruffalos, tortoises, turtles and bears
George's Marvellous Medicine, BFG and Hares
Darth Vader makes a show, Harry Potter, Princesses too
How much paper, material and glue?
How much time for the parent to make?
There's reading homework, maths too, extra curricular clubs, trips to the zoo
Then there's evening meal and bathtime, all of this before 7oclock
Just a few minutes for the parent to take stock
Before cutting, crimping, glueing around the clock
But on the morning all is worthwhile when photos begin to show
Of smiling children in their suits and parents all aglow
Beaming with pride in their eyes as they walk their little Minchpin to the gate not even one second late
Happy World Book Day
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
Ornamental graves set like feasts
for unfaithful lovers,
the broke marrow of virtuous phantasms,
now swaddled rapture
chanted as basilisk verses.
Scarred Alice wraps it around
torn limbs--
festering gauze--the cynical made anew.
"Creation moves," the gluttonous moper speaks again,
"to erase itself."
Alice's children blasts
the afterlife caboose
to the front of the freight
--saeculum saeculorum--
"Wake again and again
without ghosts and wrath,
dear children." The wind whispers their souls
back to her--"the molding of men
and women attend to sponge the graves dry."
They will raise themselves
--chanting the basilisk verses,
mother Alice
departs her children twice
to the corridors of rose fields
in her naked cloud.
"Come back, dear mother...."
"Come back, dear mother..."
they chant,
"Your salted epitaph
still lingers in our throats."
Not fit there
or here.
Nowhere, Miss, nowhere--
Sin is the party
that doesn't die
and neither does the health
of lyrical sand.
--Floaters like discontent
Alice,
recreate the world,
--our world with
pastels and finger-paints
doodles on Arlington headstones
--messages for our ear bones
--disasters on eleven
turning stones roll over--tortoises play dead
but whisper,
"Clergy cerebral
won't wisp away
beds of jewels.
I pity people who think
themselves powerful.
"Frost-bit devices dilate
like the hands of a watch
tearing time apart with
rusty blades.
"Counting fingers--useless freedom
--bothersome slavery."
Alice knows what the basilisk knows,
we would sacrifice
the only righteous heart in *****
& Gomorrah
to save
&n
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
In the sea of aged descension,
debauchery of tortoises and sea horses,
afloat bottoms up.
With fleeting corals,
wilted they wane,
a familiar millet stops by.
Seeping ashes I breathe in,
treacherous flames I shan’t squelch,
left nothing but void to differ the abyss
from an unfathomable surface.
Tidal deluge washes away.
Deprive me of thy momentum,
for I no longer swim.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
Again today
I hunted the wily morel, armed
with little knowledge
and dulling eyes.
I sought in vain through gooseberry
thicket, pucker brush,
cedar, tripping
on fox-grape vines, finding only box
tortoises and one sad
reminder of
an autumn pastime: the picked-
over carcass of a young
buck, bones and hide
scattered at the foot of a stately white oak.
I claimed the skull.
On the drive home
I collected six morels from a high bank
roadside. I took
them, leaving
the skull and rack of the buck. Balance
is important.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
1
Water lilies remembered her
as one of them, lotus buds nodded, jealousy set thick in their eyes
her fingers were white lily buds
she balanced on the big, smooth, round
pebble stones, like a danseuse in an
under water ballet,you are buoyant here than anywhere,
as if you live a life after death
your bodies pale and water caressed, create an illusion of 'unliving'
2.
she tickled my skin-
goosebumps appeared allover
as small bubbles going up..up till they burst above water
I can't forget her first kiss , underwater
my lungs were filled with her feminine fragrance like smoke of cannabis
an experience that sizzled the water, never to forget
(even if she would never come back from the unfathomable love, water gives)
3
I was naked, she too, like a lily in bloom that was raveling in love
as if it was the last season we had
she was magic in body and soul
I peeped in to the limitless with her entangling me and at the end,
I saw halo around her pointed *******
that have become lotus buds.
I couldn't take my eyes off them
after the magical transformation.
The lake was totally out of the world
the mossy patch between her legs
had a fluorescent glow intermittent,
she was transforming every minute in to a form of water life, I understood.
like a fish, coral, moss or water plant
I , for my dismay remained as before; nothing was to be done about it,
like many of the things brought change in a person's life.
4.
Sun, in the voice of light
called us from above,
his pranks tickled her and me
like ghosts of dead women,
found their watery grave here,
we played with tortoises and frogs
made for us crowns with algae and water flowers.
5
A silvery snake, thin, with some intent
coiled around her narrow waist.
eyes in its sharp pointed head,
intently looked in to mine.
she was now a dolphin without fins
then, I received waves of clear foreboding
time to return to the shores, I tried to tell
but massive sheets of water ate my muffled words!
Swimming up a water column, she smiled that detached smile
already, she was a mermaid , I could see
I stammered"You..promised..
to come back..
we have promises to keep,
that we exchanged..."
Under water time runs in a way we can't understand
one becomes a flow, one with altered time..
she was just a glow in the depth when I saw her last.
O
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 1:33 PM UTC
Life, a journey, a saga, and all the fuss
Of spotlight hogger's and the anonymous
Masters and puppets, tortoises and rabbits
People driven by wants and habits
Sweet thorns and dangerous flowers
The agonizingly slow seconds and fast paced hours
Unbelievable adventurous path
Few taking the walk, living it
Others spending time doing all the math
Some will's some wont's
Arguing the do's and don’ts
Shying away when times call
All but speculating rise and fall
To say nothing exists without its opposite
Good and bad, traditional or fad
Have you taken a dip in tranquil pool?
Are you sane enough to call others mad?
Destiny, fate, chance or choice
Listening or ignoring the inner voice
Careless whispers, raves and rants
The hidden agendas, a knowing glance
A friend’s betrayal, a foe's dance
Crayons, tree houses, kite flying and puddles
Reminiscing blissful past, entangled in present hurdles
Amazing paradoxes, shifting paradigms of thoughts,
Parallel truths and the lucrative lies bought
While most will forever be solving
All the how's, what's and when's
The ebb and flow of life will go on
With all its odds and even's
A path, a dance, an eternal hum or song
Will you be lost in the past or
There in the moments, in the chimes of life
Contented when the death rings its final Gong
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
Miles of roads with potholes,
and somber skies and silence;
upset my stern resolve,
and my sense of self-reliance.
Watch out for tortoises,
the sign ahead, did read;
the way was rough and bumpy,
so I had to watch my speed.
I never saw a turtle,
and nothing on the wing;
'tis but a fact I can relate,
I never saw a thing.
Just the wide expanse of desert,
and Joshua trees galore;
I was sort of disappointed,
I had expected more.
Then, from out of nowhere,
came the hurried, speeding train;
and stopped me at the crossing,
'till caboose was on the wane.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Moving On from Moving On
June 11, 2014 at 11:36pm
Musings by Vivvy Walker
When I got divorced people were helpful and understood
I was moving on.
They knew it was a BIGGIE
A big, huge, ginormous time in my life
I was moving on.
They helped me. I helped me.
Everyone was familiar with the process.
The pitfalls. The backtracks.
The wins. The successes.
I was moving on.
And now I am firmly entrenched in vague territory.
I have moved on.
And I need to move on. From moving on.
I moved. I packed. And unpacked.
All the baggage. Physical and emotional.
I am post-moving on
I am done.
I no longer need to work ridiculous hours.
Or raise my girls alone.
Or be alone.
I always thought it would be easy when I was done
Moving on.
But it is hard
To reprioritize yet again.
To reorganize my life & thoughts (yet again)
To adjust
To be laid-back. And free. And funny.
I have to constantly remind myself
I'm no longer moving on
That chapter has closed.
It is time for my voice
To be heard.
For my dreams.
To be realized.
For me
I think of the men and women who- like me
Have moved on
And I raise a glass
Coffee, wine, beer, *****
Drink with the little umbrella
I toast you
The changelings, the chameleons
The doers, the movers
And shakers
Those crazy laughing' probies'
Of life post divorce
I toast you
The tortoises
The 'long run' winners
Those plodding wonderful people
Of life post-divorce
I toast you
My fellow butterflies
My new wing-having friends
All those who cried
And then didn't anymore
Post-divorce
I toast you
For bravery
And audacity
And showing me how to move on
From moving on
Post-divorce
~Vivvy Walker 6/12/14
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
the panther eats a poor bunny,
the panther gets sat on a by a hippo
the hippo swallows a tortoise and chokes
the vulture gets fed
the tress grow and the grass grows and eggs hatch and get ate by tortoises
which the panther loves and the hippo tromps on
and still
the vultures feast
which fertilizes the grasses the trees
which makes them grow and the tortoises
fall in love a nd **** and climb onto beaches
hatch thousands of eggs that the panther eats and the hippo
wallowing blindly fat through the fertilized long grass munching
steps on the panther again
then breaks her leg in the muck and dies
again the vultures
feast.
and the smart bunny, who noticed, had run away to the country
where Brer Rabbit had founded a commune for poor about to be eaten Rabbits. There they raised together carrots in a field in a country where there were no panthers tortoises or hippos.
Only to find this place had foxes who feasted on well fed rabbits.
And the Fox found there were quick bears who loved a nibble of fox. And men, great men with guns that could take down many number of bears in one day. And the vultures feasted.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
A wedding band and
I
say,
'I do'
Blue sapphire,
the fire that lights on me,
diamonds that cluster,
must a
man always
make the first move?
I do and I will until death stills this heart.
A speech they beseech,
I defer to her,
'I will and I do',
she says it too.
Every height that we scale, every ocean we sail, every time that we touch means much more than so much.
Emerald and ruby, tin, silver and do we remember how long ago each anniversary was?
The band stays and plays on,
we still thrill to the music we make.
First moves are for amateurs and novices,
tortoises, though,
often win the race.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
So here we are another Friday night amd the routine will probably play out the same way it always has ..
I find myself lazing on the couch staring at some 90's television show waiting for my wingman to arrive..
I always get aggravated around this time , he is always late, but in the back of my mind , I know that he is in the red rocket hurtling toward Uitenhage , dodging buck and tortoises with Addo in his rear view mirror..
The minutes tick by slowly as I wait in anticipation for his arrival , I am sure I will start pacing soon amd stealing peeks out the window at every sound in hopes it is him..
It's Friday night amd ***** going to get real , honestly it's the way we always thought it would but living in a small industrial town like Uitenhage doing anything felt like a huge party at the best of times
Finally I hear the sound of car making an abrupt halt and park under the tree , just infront of my folks home.
Car door swings open and out climbs the dude i been waiting for .. Clad in the usual garb, flannel shirt , blue jeans and the complimentary steel capped boots, unkpet shoulder length hair and stubble that would make the hairiest bear in the forest jealous..
"Hey G" he pronounces " sorry I am late man, but had to catch up on some X-Files, before hitting the street"...
**** Dude you always late" is the best I could come up with . "Let's rock n roll man , I wanna get outta this joint and light up the night".. So after our front yard banter we both Hopped into the Red Rocket and headed off down the road still not entirely sure where we were off too but the night was still young and we had alot to get through
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
I long for
the sunburnt days,
freckled dreams and
scabbed up knees.
Ahh
to be a boy in
summer again.
My baseball and
**** dog close at
hand.
Fishing pole and
lily pad ponds.
I caught frogs and
tortoises.
The budding poet in
me saw sunsets on
the underside of
the shells.
The daylight, and
evening seemed to
last forever.
And when I finally
went to bed,
The buzz of the
cicadas, and the
symphony of the
crickets were my
soundtrack to youth.
I dreamed in green.
Dec 4, 2024
Dec 4, 2024 at 6:07 PM UTC
seagulls gruesome flock
young tortoises race to light
life's poetic mess
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
The days crawl by like
tortoises.
My purpose is obscured by
***** nights, and
raven-haired sadness.
Naked branches of
the maple trees dance in
the autumn wind, and
leaves rustle in
the dead grass;
all burnt orange and yellow ocher.
They're like a
little surreal sunrise.
Hope
is eternal.
Aug 28, 2024
Aug 28, 2024 at 2:39 PM UTC
Rock rises and falls
Civilisations of stone that flourish then sink into the ground
The strained breaths of an earth constantly at war with itself
Glaciers and mountains form frozen scars on its weathered skin
Crushed and worn and beaten down by years of elemental abuse
Beautiful structures remain when the dust has settled.
Old and wise as tortoises
Their shells are mottled with brilliant white snow and evergreen forests
They pierce the sky and send sunlight spiralling in new directions
Steady
Stable
Sturdy
They are a testament to transformation
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
Being of an outward mind I do myself pretend
That babies are Easter eggs and rabbits silver men
And white chocolate elephant and shiny ducky doo
All travelled on the sleeper as part of the night crew.
And when they got to Dainty- hop took a private plane
Flew across a poppy fields but they'd turned quite strange
Down they dropped with a flop, lay round under a tree
Suddenly came a swamp of bees and stung them quietly.
Although the world can seem quite flat and tortoises slow
One never knows what direction the north wind doth blow
So gathering up thought for the day and putting it in a sack
The family of chocolate friends took a speedy train back.
Love Mary x
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Green, black, and sometimes brown
Sometimes turtles can be confused with tortoises
Which is understandable
Considering that they have similar body shapes
But that’s not the point.
The point is we are still the same
even though we have different habits,
We still can all trace our blood back to ocean bacteria
Let that sink in for a moment
Your technically related to danger noodles
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC