Best Crabs Poems
Grains of sand
hiding small burrows;
every tiny sand crabs, the Emerita Analoga
needs its burrow.
intense sunlight’s warm but
has its dangers, even for a tiny crab’s skin.
xiphosurans, cousins to the sand crabs,
don’t need to stress and
worry about the sun
as unless they are upside down, it won’t harm them.
long hot summers will see sand crabs burrowing to
keep themselves from sunburn and dry skin. These
burrowing crabs have insufficient legs for traveling.
zooplankton nourishes the crabs,
building their health so they can burrow deeply
underneath the sand.
just watch where you step at the beach,
no one wants to be squished when they’re building or be
renovating their lovely burrow. All life is sacred,
please show some respect.
This is what some will say
You’ve crossed the line. Time out.
You’re rejected from the game
You’re not coming back. So go hit the showers.
Once cherished, baptized, and sublime
Asinine. Never enough iodine. Guilty.
Now crowned in your sins.
Stoned concubine. The shamed bovine.
You’re sweaty. You're filthy.
You crossed the line. Go hit the showers.
Submerged from the weight of the world.
Drunk on the blood of the wine.
End of the game. It's not even halftime.
The filthy crime. The shamed headline.
Once cherished, There's no room available.
The game is over. You’re out. You've crossed the line.
Not worth a dime. Stole from the altar's wine.
Combine, the fowl and swine wine and dine.
Frankenstein shrine. You're out. Go resign.
You’ve crossed the line. You’ve crossed the line.
This is what some will say.
I went to the doctor with crabs
He gave me 380 jabs
To preserve your manly
Stay away from the fanny
Or your bits will be nothing but scabs
holiday romance
I walk along the white sand
infested with crabs
Quite all forlorn sat Wilmot Crabs,
His tash all thorny threadbare,
‘The older that I grow each day,
The less I seem to care.’
Said Wilmot Crabs upon a while,
‘I have no time for chatter.’
Then wandered to a gaping womb
And thought upon the matter.
Feet from the beach...
if they were many miles,
aimlessly they die.
The sun goes down as we set off through bushes,
equip with homemade torches in hand,
A wish to catch land crabs by the bushels,
And stuffing our large crocus sack was our plan.
Focused to hear crabs crawling on the ground,
shoving vines and branches out of our way,
Thrilled to glimpse a yellow crab crawling around,
I launched forward, but it scooted away.
When the soil is damp, earth crabs roam about.
Fast you must be, if you hope to catch one,
They are quick and with their claws; they lash out!
Sometimes you end up catching none.
Crabs are assumed a fine delicacy for some,
They are cooked in plenty of interesting ways,
Stuffed, boiled, stewed, and you can bake them.
It can be discovered on any menu most days.
On raised thorny stilts
Marbled lampposts, lifted eyes
Clawed leaves for soft filth
The spider grown fat,
And hard, and round, and callous
Like hogs, blinds the sand
I know my species
The same purpose fits the flies
The outer shell lies
Barrels hiss with us
Clambering to scuttle time
Gravity's dead claw
small particle
of light in the
free and infinite space
what is knowledge
what is karma
she seems perturbed
white sand spreading beyond
an injured crab walking backwards
we are
our whole nature is freedom
we curb it we listen to false
teachings and get entangled
and we are in bondage
you are the horizon
where earth meets the space
no gravity in space
you are
free and floating
the weight of our habits
are old and heavy
darkness is traditional embrace
the light just realise it
she is embracing me now and
the crabs are walking sideways
Is it because life pleads with love
Or love keeps longing for life
I still live on
Even as the hearse waits
Leaning on my gate
Is it because I flock
With doves of your bosom
And harvest poetry
Zealous scalpel scarifies them
Leaving wounds resembling a clown's grins
And I see a hasty autumn
Plucking away your wayward curls
From your mane's nights
Locks after locks till your face is
Only an empty moon on a purple pillow
I find myself in a dream
In a deserted garden
Under a thundering sky
Chipping away lumps of frozen tears
From the bust of Venus
And I see eyes of the goddess
As blank as fate's promises
When I wake up
I see you in deep slumber
Like a ripening ear of rice
Swaying in gentle lullaby of lazy winds
And I wonder
Had it not been for the mutinous cells
You would be dancing in the rain by now
Sprinkling on my face drops of wet laughter
Letting your rain-soaked tresses loose wildly
In sweet drunkeness
Somewhere in the mountains
But then
Hoping for the days
Where cicadas dream to whisper like snow
Where pine twigs burn like incense in bushfires
Where sparrows tell stories to pumpkins on thatched roofs
Where cows return home in gold dust of a bronze sunset
Where before the sun drowns itself in the red river
You once raised
Hem of your dress above the blue veins on your ankles
And waded in foamy waves carefreely
I'm left with nothing
But to curse the uprising bluntly
With no malice to crabs
Scavenger crabs live under rocks
They live under seaweed, they live under docks
Scavenger crabs live under floats
They live under driftwood, they live under boats.
Scavenger crabs are bad because
They'll bite you with gigantic claws
They'll poke you, pinch you, stab and jab
If you go near a scavenger crab.
Scavenger crabs live by the shore
Hiding, waiting, crabs galore
Crabs are bad without a doubt
Chew you up and spit you out.
Life's a carnival ride, a bag of barkers and crabs
pinching the mind with pink toys and shiny swag
stuffing your mind with sweet soft fuzzy things
wraps you in heavy chains and a cold nose ring,
leads you to a fiery, Ferris wheel ride of denial
plunks you aside a bearded lady-opening thighs
you want to jump off but your just to damn high
she takes you around a brutish, glittering world
leather studded ,hungry for a necklace of dirty pearls
Her mouth is smeared with black lipstick and gravy
the rides finally over but the soul is still draining.
The fun house has mirrors filled with bending dream
walls are wailing, blood drips down from the beams
you scramble down back alleys for pockets of peace
then slide on chunky puddles of black ice and screams..
There's only one way out and that's all the way down
the chute's filling with hell hounds and manic clowns
balloons brimming with flocks of blues and red herring
fistfuls of daisy grenades, with them there's no winning.
You've hit rock bottom, there's a tunnel of golden light
a beautiful angel in waiting but she's lost her mind
slowly she's swinging a crinkled up no vacancy sign
while the barker is spinning flocks of his little white lies.
Life's a plastic bag filled with mad barkers and whirling crabs,
teasing like a virgin , then swallowing you whole like a hag.
Fish - put in pail,
then start to descale,
then gut its guts out,
sizzle in oil, turn it about,
some salt and pepper,
have it for supper!
Now,how do you cook a crab?
First, by its pincers grab,
then dump it in a pot
when the water's boiling hot.
Remove, clean, crack its shell,
marinate for a short spell.
Then with onions and butter let it fry,
add a pinch of salt, spices dry,
remove, garnish, serve when done -
Crabs in spice is lots of fun!
(Frog legs, snails, octopi and stuff -
Don't ask me how - their recipes are tough!)
The extreme will to survive
Life finds a way
The struggle to adapt
Alone - we become predator or prey
Like a crab in a bucket
There all alone
Climbs his way to the top
Liberated – like a coop that’s been flown
Tragically - when the bucket is full
Crabs fight with all their might
One climbs to the top
Overwhelmed by the others – loses the fight
The crabs in the bucket
Humanity should take heed
If we all work together
The bucket – a metaphor for reciprocity
When you strive for the top
Reach back and grab hold
Service for others
The greatest story could be told
United
Profound – The Golden Rule
When you do unto others
Life gives back to you
Crabs are everywhere ~ be careful of their claws.
February 20, 2023