"turtle" poems
the river is
drinking it
sequins
blankets
the river runs past
hobos
unidentified
water fowl
two trolls
taking shelter under
the bridge
there’s conversation
in another language
fiendish brains connecting
fiendish yet
beautiful
thunder
tampons
a turtle
a naked boy
on the patio
rain
definitely
rain
unmatched
and the steam
coming from the
bridge
*once there was a troll
on my face
and I swatted it
with a broom
but it came back
it came back
with you*
laughter pounds
with the rain
laughter that wears
emotion like
skin
soft
elastic
still pink
bouncing
on the river’s surface
breaking
absorbed
sustenance for
the trolls
like fiends with faces
like minds with names
these two connect
with spark
and the rain
falls
the stillness under
nature’s
machinery
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
I watched the turtle dwindle day by day,
Get more remote, lie limp upon my hand;
When offered food he turned his head away;
The emerald shell grew soft. Quite near the end
Those withdrawn paws stretched out to grasp
His long head in a poignant dying gesture.
It was so strangely like a human clasp,
My heart cracked for the brother creature.
I buried him, wrapped in a lettuce leaf,
The vivid eye sunk inward, a dull stone.
So this was it, the universal grief:
Each bears his own end knit up in the bone.
Where are the dead? we ask, as we hurtle
Toward the dark, part of this strange creation,
One with each limpet, leaf, and smallest turtle---
Cry out for life, cry out in desperation!
Who will remember you when I have gone,
My darling ones, or who remember me?
Only in our wild hearts the dead live on.
Yet these frail engines bound to mystery
Break the harsh turn of all creation's wheel,
for we remember China, Greece, and Rome,
Our mothers and our fathers, and we steal
From death itself its rich store, and bring it home.
15.1k
Turtles swim swiftly in the sea
Its fins propellers from its shell
From the predators it can quickly flee
Because turtles can go in land or sea
Which makes this task quite easy
So being a turtle is pretty cool, you can tell
Being able to swim in the deep sea
And having a home that's a shell
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
We held hands as time's sand
passed between. Night chocked
the last sun beams. Our conversation
was pertinent to the dwindling
red wine bottle. As the moon glazed
shore began to roar, she whispered
"Let's cuddle." I dropped you, holding her,
and thought "Oh" and began to coddle.
I wrapped myself around her like a shell to a turtle
and she began to nestle on my chest. I guessed
the indigestion came from the Bordeaux bottom.
Boy, was I wrong. See, as I lay with her,
forgetting about you, I remembered
blood is thicker than water. The loves
we choose are stronger than ones
We've fallen into. I wasn't falling there,
underneath the stars, next to the parked car.
I was laying. I was contemplating
as the wind was spraying the lake
into the air.
I came to the conclusion
I was in an illusion of love.
Confounded by smoke and reflections
from movie magicians. She looked up
to me and I guess she could see
my reality crumbling in the breeze.
She asked if I was ok. My slight smile alluded
I was and we laid in love
until the sun's intrusion.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Who can guess the Masquerade of this Time
Such Event is a Turtle; Withdrawn to a Box
None is ever wasted; None is left behind
None is allowed to lick and tether a Fox
It is the Creature; Banned for a Reason
The Furry Red was no benefit to avail
You cannot bargain; Not even for a Season
Better if the Document is stamped by a Snail
At least it was Honest; And hardly Fraud
Shall my Letter then be sent with such Mail
Else cheat your Lover whilst he is Abroad?
Or perhaps better resolve this Bitter Alimony.
Neither you or I in this Picnic we enjoy
The Duckling Issue whose Exit we deploy.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
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They say there was once a bird,
The silent type always unheard,
Hovering up in the sky,
For all of eternity would it ever fly.
The touch of a human upon it was always forbidden,
Making a biological secret be forever hidden,
Due to the transparency and the height of which cannot be reached,
It makes another lesson of evolution not breached.
What is know, however very little,
Is the bird makes one feel rather belittled.
It contains an immortality so great,
That it is forever the same and never grows from it's traits.
However, even though the phoenix of true legend is made of fire,
This version is something that will always stay higher.
It moves ever slow, like a turtle moving its bare arms,
Yet it seems as if it forever sounds its alarms.
Our alarms we sound at the dark times, though,
As this phoenix creature begins to cast it's own shadow.
All citizens race to their homes,
Awaiting a closer strike from the phoenix within the clouds that roams.
The phoenix moves, but notices no one near,
Feeling the shivering of the cold and the town's fear.
Emotion shows as small drops fall to the ground,
For the phoenix finally screams it's thunderous sound.
The great ground pound hits with the force of the phoenix's body,
As if saying, "I wanted to be nice, but you hate me now, so nobody stop me!"
One human man walks out to know what's going on,
And realizes that the phoenix is blocking the sun.
The phoenix above continues to cry
The tears that do not heal, the ones that fall into the man's eye.
He quickly wipes them off,
And then looks all the way up.
A question to the creature, "Why do you cry?"
The phoenix responds with another tear out of it's eye.
The man explains, "Now, listen please.
I only want to be the one to appease."
The phoenix slowly stops crying its last tear,
Almost agreeing to listen the man's prayer.
The man continues, "Unlike your brother who can heal,
Your tears can do the same as the unreal."
He explains, "Your sadness affects us all,
As are our ears deafened by your great call.
Now, all I hope for you is to select a different place and find it,
So everyone, including you, will have some needed peace and quiet."
The phoenix slightly nodded, with one last drop.
It suddenly broke apart, with one final pop.
The creature broke away to seek it's next destination,
As it needed to go away and not cause more devastation.
The phoenix is seen no more,
Though I'm people have still seen it before.
Look out in the sky with the best possible sight,
And you may see the phoenix still hovering in it's slow flight.
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
He stretches his neck towards his own sunshine,
exposing, proposing his eyes be dried,
needing only himself and his water’s tide
rocking him gently through his own night’s time.
And in and under his carapace
he stores the secrets of his ways,
saving them for another day
keeping content- though lone he lay.
Any sorrows he has stay buried, small in his shell;
there’s no one to listen so no one he tells.
He hides it all and hopes all will be well,
he hides it all, and all is well.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
I slip under with a cry
and am lost to the depths,
sinking ever deeper
into the blue
as though bound by
ball and chain
What I pass on my way down
is not glittering schools
of fish
or the benevolent
sea turtle,
but a circling, snarling
mob of responsibilities,
a sight more menacing
than even
the most cadaverous
shark
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
A Turtle,
So Green Was He,
But Also Blue,
Turquoise.
A Turtle,
So Nice Was He,
But Also Mean,
Turquoise.
A Turtle,
So Human Was He,
But Also A Prisoner,
Turquoise.
A Turtle,
So Free Was He,
But Also A Shell,
Turquoise.
Tantara.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
That seashell
you gave me
that looked like a turtle
I threw away
That Marine hoodie
that was "too small for you"
My best friend hid it away.
The entire two letters
you wrote me
live at the bottom of my "junk" drawer.
I deleted you off my facebook
hoping it might help.
I don't bring you up
and walk away from others
if your name is in the conversation.
I fall off the wagon
sometimes
and look at your photo.
But have improved
I rarely notice if your name
is in any of my novels.
I laugh out loud
that your name is Frank.
Blunt,
Straightforward,
Honest.
If only you could live up to your name.
I cried oceans when you went away.
Appropriate considering you're now an ocean away.
I didn't leave my apartment for days.
I've been sleeping on my couch
my bed is stained.
It was a crush
It never should have been more.
But after four years
I only loved you more.
Once in awhile now
this depression sinks in.
And I can hide your things, throw them away,
I can delete you off my page, I can avoid your name.
But these memories will always stay.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 12:55 AM UTC
Alien among aliens,
Fanning delicate fins to promenade
A prim coquette and starchy cavalier
Trimmed and tined in ossein finery,
Sipping shrimp cocktails, dancing demure
Circles before blushing coral courts,
Holding hinds in groves of turtle grass
Until the paisley bodies
Bump bellies, and she imbues his pocket
With inklings marooned in dreaming Pegasus.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:10 AM UTC
It's that Stubborn Fever which keeps the Mood
And forced your Jewels to croak a relapse
Since a Year's Half-Pie you hoarded the Good
And denied some Peers your Fortune, perhaps
Are these the Charges we must Debate
And defend the Truth of such Falsity
It is a Blessing. That the Watchman was late
To keep him from salting your Dignity
Never again. Will this Harper reject
And cut the Strings which Truth comes to rely
To re-wire each String and play Respect
Then tie on turtle-shells before it dies.
Long-Distance Friend. The Black-Knobbed Swan's voice mute
Flies away bleeding; And left out my Flute.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
Slithery, slider, scaly old snake,
surely your body must be a mistake.
Your eyes, mouth and tongue wisely stay on your head.
It seems that your body is all tail instead.
You gobble your dinner, you swallow it whole--
a mouse or a frog or a turtle or mole.
Ugh!
Why don't you eat ice cream or chocolate cake!
Oh slithery, slider, scaly old snake.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
My mom sleeps early.
She isn't a night owl.
She lives in the day.
And everything around when
the sky is bright.
the streets are loud.
She leaves the house at 9pm. sharp
And went off in her snores.
My dad stays up late.
Until twelve.
And when the last 60 seconds
ended the day.
He'd turn off the TV
"Has been a long day"
he'd say.
Yawn.
And he'd go to bed.
And me.
I'm no bubbly girl.
or pretty.
cheesy blondy.
Maybe just a good nerd.
But I know the night.
And I love it.
1a.m. is free.
My private afternoon.
with cookies and tea.
And I'd turn on the lights.
Walk with my ankles light
off the ground.
Turtle hasn't sleep.
no he's like me!
He'd wiggle his tail and
swim
towards my face.
As if to say,
"heya buddie"
he should have eaten but
he knows.
he knows.
I feed my Turtle at
one
in the morning.
And he never says no.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
Daddy takes me to the greenhouse,
behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods.
Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey.
The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle.
The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze,
a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale
and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound.
Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven.
A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis
where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance
under mushroom parasols.
My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms.
I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly
or pale jade of perplexing geckos.
Daddy is a shaman.
He trims holy blooms that come from spirits
who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk.
Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe,
carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo.
I watch him inhale.
His breath
stiff
as a braid of mangroves.
He exhales a ligneous cough.
I don’t mind,
much.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
Spy the turtle-there!
Playing peek-a-boo with me,
loving the whimsy.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
7.1k
We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly ***** naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
We lay on our backs, looking up to the sky, watching the clouds drift and dance across the indescribable expanse of summer blue. Shameless, we shout the first things that come to mind, whatever we think see floating above us.
Turtle. Sailboat. Dragon. Elephant. Chair. Fire truck.
And we laugh, because we know they’re just amorphous masses of water vapor, floating without reason or destination.
And the clouds, they lay on their stomachs. They look down with wonder, pointing and giggling. They tumble and roll across the sky, watching our lives below. Shameless, they whisper to each other the first thing that comes to mind, whatever they think they see below them.
Mother. Leader. Writer. Musician. Son. Lover.
And their laughter thunders across the sky, echoing raucously through the air because they know we’re just amorphous masses of water vapor, wandering across the earth without emotion or purpose.
Who do we think we are?
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
Beyond your television
Lies vast hills,
along with many jumps and much thrill
Mario jumps
Zelda swings
As Kirby swallows
Donkey kong beats,
Star fox flies ever so high
While niko goes bowling
Roman started to cry
Meta knight stares ominously
As a goomba cautiously walks
A turtle shell turns blue
While the Mario kart racers get mad too....
We all know sleeping dogs don't lie
We joined a guild during an MMO war
Where we smashed every single one of our keyboards
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
Sitting here, I wonder
Maybe we aren't so different
Maybe there is good in you
After all.
My faith it grows,
Just a drop,
But enough for me to
Escape my small shell of hatred.
But just like that
My drop evaporates
And I am stuck
Back in my shell again.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
They want to hear poems about love
Because it rings a good melody in their ears and their heart
Tears of joy in all
Hence the symbolism of the turtle dove
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
They are green. And sometimes mean. They have a shell. If they bite u it hurts like hell.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
We went through the motions
Until all went motionless
(The otter frollicked turning everything
into a game of joy to being alive)
Touch became accidental at best to our ways
Once we could touch but now nothing more
(The otter nipped at the turtle
flipped about as it played)
Words dripped from our tongues
Heavy like molasses as the intent fades away
(Down the grass the otter slides into the river
Over and over like a little child)
Reason lost to accusations , accusations took it's toll .
Accusations took our time , creating false crime
(I watch as the otter swims on it's way
Dipping , diving to where I can't say)
Now I sit in the darkness with full moon fever
Wondering how could something turn so wrong that once was so right
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC