Man weds cockroach in church ceremony
Guests munch on freshly grilled abalone
Pastor upholds his sworn duty
Lectures bride and groom on infidelity
Barely two months into marriage
Tiny baby cockroach appears in a carriage
Headlines shout out the bad news
Seems Mrs. Cockroach was groped and abused
Minister contacted Planned Parenthood
Lacking precedent, post-full-term abortion approved
2025.1.28.
Chinese New Year Eve.
Tonight, all Chinese and Asian,
Busy to celebrate the lunar new year.
The entire house has been thoroughly clean,
From floors to ceilings,
In the cupboards, and on the benches,
New or freshly pressed blankets, linens, clothes and shoes have been chosen.
All these were performed,
To serve as their wishes have been granted,
To receive good luck for the whole year.
Tonight, all the family members,
Come home from all the globe's corner,
Gathering around to share their reunion dinner,
Happy and luckily to meet each other.
Share the nicest meal ever,
The abalone, fish, and a soupy desert,
Made of flour, round in shape...
Writing up to here,
All of a sudden, I feel unease and lonely.
I have had a lovely family.
Which I have already lost for many years.
Happy new year to all Chinese.
I stay awake; I am like a solitary bird on a roof
Psalm 102:7 CSB
lone bird,
wings claustrophobic, abalone-gray
sans dandelion’s glory
surrounded by seeds
rainbow abalone
shell upon the sand
starfish
To Avalon! To Avalon! Twenty-six miles from door to door.
The Catalina Channel Isle: my destination off the shore.
We sail a wide and glassy sea, arriving Friday evening, late.
The Grand is seen from far away, guards the harbor, silent waits.
To stroll the boardwalk, drool as salted taffy’s pulled,
tour Zane Gray’s pueblo house, protect your lunch from diving gulls.
Catch a movie at the Grand’s mesmerizing, giant screen:
magical, this castle fort, not believed unless it’s seen.
Sleeping on the boat at night, rocked to sleep by gentle wakes,
row the dinghy in the morn, skindive for abalone steaks.
Journey back home Sunday night, late arrival into port.
Monday morning, foggy dreamland: school simply does not comport!
—————
(memories of childhood trips to Avalon Harbor on Catalina Island off the coast of California)
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.
On the depths of the ocean floor,
a seashell drifted all alone.
How vacuous she felt in her soul
and so incredibly cold!
Tossed about by indifferent schools
of fish that hurriedly swam by.
Beautiful fish, utterly deaf to that
shell's painful, lonely cries.
Schools of them, in a gigantic hurry.
Who cared if a shell had worries?
They were the elite of sea, had no
Time with a shell to scurry.
Her beautiful, abalone shell started
to slowly wither and vanish.
The Creator knew of her pain, and thus
to His Heaven she was gratefully banished.
To the warm, loving Sea of Heaven, she
was thereto delivered.
Re-born again, happy with other sea life
who happily in gratefuness quivered.
Songs of hallelujah could be heard from
that eternal, magnificent, blue green sea.
By all the worthy sealife who now lived in
God's most auspicious, aquatic eternity!
August 31, 2020
Noon PST
Seashore Sweepstakes
northwest rocky beaches
waves disguise cache of prizes ~
jellyfish parade
Clams and Gooey Ducks
hide in sandy blanket homes ~
no taste for chowder
hold your breath then dive
Abalone glued on rocks ~
opal sheen of shells
clusters deep purple
swinging from rocks of fool’s gold ~
Muscles hold strong
always on the move
Hermit Crabs – house on their backs ~
looks for vacancies
Oysters together
bedded down with family ~
maybe hiding pearls
Limpets with strong foot
clings to rocks and to fingers ~
teal and turquoise hats
trophies from tide pools
lucky tickets under stones ~
beach shore lotteries
I dreamed of worlds
far and away;
worlds of colored fancies,
worlds that play
among the stars,
in emerald air and
shimmering golden.
Gods play peek-a-boo
with Chimera,
of abalone skin,
lustrous,
flawless.
Ambrosia and absinthe
dining is the
pleasure here;
worlds among the ethers
where mortal dreams
lend wishes
of perfection
to the ethers...
sheer bilss.
3-10-21
Enter the 'ALL YOURS (Mar 10)' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
A pearl upon the waves,
abalone canvas glitter,
awash in Heaven’s denim.
The little ones
shining bright.
Bamboo orchids sprayed across
emerald valleys;
a twilight waterfall dances
it’s way downwards.
Gaia drinks,
tasting the floral scents;
moonlight sings it’s
lullaby as she drifts
into somber tranquility.
Lighted window is
a beacon to the floating flowers;
high on a precipice,
coqui frogs sing to the abalone moon.
Palm trees in mid-dance,
wave to the cottony
puffball clouds;
I breathe in a full breath
of Gaia’s splendor beside the
twilight waterfall;
nohea molehu wailele.
Nohea molehu wailele-Twilight waterfall in Hawaiian.
In the endless expanse
of what exists
and the magic of what can be...
fantasy is the luster of opalescence
conceived in a continual curve of mother-of-pearl panache
spinning through a sacred spiral in effervescence
they arise - in bare necessity
and break the surface -
perceptions of prismatic potential
bending colors in the light of consciousness
daydreams delve
between realms of serenity and dampened spirits
amidst meditations
to unfurl the waves’ curl of life’s mysteries
where faceted riptides flash sun-diamonds
and twilight’s bruised beauty is but an abstract -
in mixed moody moon-shades
of earth’s passion and human nature
enriched with celestial nuances
I reflect within this mirrored space
as I search to adorn my naked thoughts in nacreous chic
breathing bliss and sipping soulful seas
my wild whimsy in wanderlust glides like an albatross
seeking the iridescence of the abalone shell --
a marvel of profound imagination
Susan Ashley
January 10, 2019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Free Verse Style Only Poetry
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
*nacreous: consisting of or having the luster of mother-of -pearl*
Self-sacrifice is the oyster’s lot;
this ocean martyr spends its life,
dedicated to its art.
Its sculptures of abalone and pearl;
grace softly, human skin,
with a luster bright.
The beautiful St. Armands, Sarasota, Florida,
A holiday with my children Kirk and Erik and my parents.
The timeshare at the beach,
Owned by Dr. Erika and Dr. Wolf.
Condominium was exquisitely decorated,
My sons Kirk and Erik stayed with me.
There was a beautiful white sandy beach,
Where we would go for long walks and collect sea shells.
We would go dinning at the nearby restaurant ,
Which had delicious foods, my favorite was the place by the sea.
I collected sea shells of different shapes and sizes,
My favorite shell was the abalone which I received complimentary when i bought a necklace.
My mother and I went shopping together,
I also bought T-shirts for my sons.
Mother would also invite us for dinner, she would cook a delicious dinner,
That is a very good memory, we would visit with my sister Antje and mom and dad.
Those our days to remember , blessed by God,
We returned safely to our parents' Lorne Park house.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Nunez Nonsense Memo
Phony Bunch of Bologna
Trump is sure to win another Tony,
For all of his big bunch of Bologna;
Up to his ears,
Drawing tears;
Proves that he is putrid and phony,
And squishy as some salty abalone.
Jim Horn
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