Best Cuttlefish Poems
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
It looked like a bleached tongue
pulled from a mouth,
petrified and incapable
now of letting a word slide over
its calcified silence.
I picked it out of the wet sand
and held it in my hand.
It had little weight, smooth
on one side and pitted
on the other. A cuttlefish bone.
It was a marvel of engineering.
My fingers followed its shape,
took in its texture, the pleasurable
feel of its form. I lifted it to my nose
and smelt its salty, faintly fishy
odor, sea washed to a clean
unsullied smell. It had undergone
a change into something
beyond life, into an artifact of time.
I kept it cradled in my hands,
held it like a sacred relic.
I have seen them too
shrink wrapped in plastic bags
on the end of supermarket shelves,
a calcium supplement for birds
to be hung on a hook
inside of a cage.
They were selling for $2.50
or thereabouts.
Grandma's Pets
My granda went away to sea
For many months on end
He'd travel on a fishing boat
With his brother and a friend
He used to write home regularly
And tell some quite tall tales
About being in a far-away place
When he was actually in Wales
Once they actually went to Africa
He wrote he was bringing Gran a pet
When he came home with a small cage
He'd brought her a marmoset
He opened up the cage
And up the curtains it did run
The curtains tore, granda laughed,
Grandma didn't think it fun
She said it had to go
So to the pet shop Granda went
He returned without the Monkey
And to ‘Coventry’ he was sent
Granda apologised and said
that he would compensate
Next day he bought Gran Tip,a cat
Bimbo, the budgie, feared its fate
He'd run up and down his ladder
And his cuttlefish he would gnaw
He took one look at Tip and thought
'I've not seen you before'
One day he pecked his bell so hard
The clapper fell out onto the floor
No matter how much he pecked it
That bell would ring no more
Bimbo, I’d known since a little girl
He lived to a good age
I still remember that fateful day
I found him lifeless in his cage
Tip lived till he was seven
Many kittens he would father
Mrs Thomas would bang on the door
And get in a right lather
“Your Tip's been paying visits
To my precious tabby Pip.
If you don't keep him in
I'll see to it he has ‘the snip'”
After Tip came Ruff the dog
A cairn terrier with his papers
We would laugh so many times
At his little doggie capers
There were two unbuttered teacakes
Sitting on a plate
Mum went to fetch the butter
She came back to an empty plate
Ruff was looking sheepish
Crumbs all around his chin
The cute expression on his furry face
I could swear it was a grin
We lost Ruff when he was eight
Poison in his canned dog food
If that had happened now
The manufacturer we'd have sued
Grandma put her foot down
And told Granda “No more pets”
She missed them all
Well most of them
But not the marmoset
~cuttlefish create
floating parades of visions
along coral reefs.~
The best ingredients found coming from near and far,
can be found at any great Japanese sushi bar.
Along with the seaweed and sake vinegar rice
are many raw seafood items that show to be nice.
There is shrimp, lobster, octopus, squid, and cuttlefish;
salmon, tuna, mackerel, caviar from lumpfish.
Artisans can prepare it in any way you wish.
It goes well by itself, or with crisp fried tempura.
One need not go to Tokyo or Yokohama.
There are many fine places to be found in the States.
On any night, take the car and zoom down with your mates
to any number of great Japanese restaurants.
They have what it takes to satisfy all of your wants.
There are so many fine items anyone can choose
This can be a great night out! You have nothing to lose!
Frogs’ legs
French cuisine fad
Amphibians hopping mad
Shish kebabs
Cubed lamb chislic
Served on toothpick
Pizzas
Flatbread Italian feast
Waist measurement increased
Bird’s nest soup
Rare Chinese foodstuff
Swiftlets sleeping rough
Mexican wraps
Spicy chicken fajitas
Hot as senoritas
Seafood paella
Shrimp, lobster, cuttlefish
Saporous Valencian dish
Maple syrup
Canadians tree tap
Sticky sweet sap
Digestif
After dinner drink
Brandy glasses clink
17/09/18
'six-word couplet poetry contest' : Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Over the horizon,
on distant shores
lies my message in a bottle
cast askew on the beach
with other remnant memories
and hopes in tatters scattered
strewn among the drift wood debris
dead soldier memories lying face down
castaway sailor survivor sobs long gone,
in the debris fields of dead memories, silent
On distant shores
turtles hatch
alligators bask in the sun
seagulls argue and caw
fishermen love just being there
stranded cockles ooze under for cover
waves surge up and run out
tides rise and ebb
surfers smile, turn and head back out
ghosts of lovers walk the beach hand in hand
cries of kids playing echo in the splash and hiss of waves
kites ply the skies
pearly shells beckon beach-combers
cuttlefish and seahorse skeletons stark white
buried in the flotsam and jetsam
wood debris worn smooth and bleached
smelly old seaweed dried-out leathery
action aplenty, memorabilia.
On distant shores
the hiss and roar of waves
the glare of the sun
the coming and going of the sand
moved in drifts by wind and wave
drowns out all the memories
cast ashore as debris and litter
on a graveyard shore
where fresh footprints are washed away
where lingering wanderers
see, feel, touch and taste in the moment
but where no one hears
the stories locked away
in the debris fields of dead memories, silent.
On the Beach, Translation of Etiemble’s poem: Sur la plage by T.
Wignesan
(The end-rhyme scheme of the orignal : abb(b)a, cdcd, efef, ghgh, iijj,
klkl, fmfm, nnhh)
How good-looking he was this spy
all studded with sea-shells,
that the sea disgorged on the beach
(that the waves buried on the beach ?)
at the very moment we departed this world!
Anemones for his eyes,
a clam instead of an ear,
a bouquet of algae for haïr.
Long, hard, white and similar
to those statues of salt,
for every tongue a cuttlefish bone
whose caress rough and dry
awaited only a venomous kiss.
Clothed only in sand whose fever
and the shock of our death
had turned to wood our lips,
we called into question the treasure :
« English ? – French ?- Nazi ?- Who knows ?
But Young, Oh ! yes ! Drowned, that’s for
sure ; doubly drowned : the mouth open
for the ultimate gulp of green water.
How tenderly you leaned forward
to seal the ancient eye-lid,
that a tear, born of your needle-eye,
heavy, colourless like stone
trickled from his mouth : the honey
suave !- « Oh ! the sea anemone flowers,
there, unfolding their double rainbows,
bubbles of rubber easily stained ;
look, I killed him ! » « Fool, I said to him,
admire with me the prodigy,
and the proud perfume of his body
the body of a deceased still faltering. »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
A semi shriek of an atom bite should never be viewed as the submission of a rug. For rugs wear earplugs, and belts with chains. Very heavy locks can also be located in that type of wirey loops. Fabrics can change and alter through time correction. Using battling beans and chips to dip and slurp can simply not be the answer. It is too generalistic you see. And sweeping crumbs can often uncover missing gems that sparkle. Lewd is the miscommunication and misjudgement of the shrapnel falling from miscellaneous guns. And weary not. And wear not. And weave not. A giant battling bee bomb. Buzz buzz buzz. Extract fuzz. Great. Or not so great. It is deemed less necessary to eat a bacon slice that is not fully cooked. For too much slob is no good for the handle on a door. Gated guarded grating girths. And a fortification of a fibre. Giant slopes where pods are arranged. Oh how wonderful. Wow. And a fornicating hedgerow is neither a fish fork nor a ladle when painted in oils. Italics itemised innermost inherited inhabitants. And of course the passing of nineteen cuttlefish in a sky burst is a scented form of communication through lines of fins. Good. Harmonisation z
Form:
If we have to see the fishes closer
and immerse ourselves under the surface of things
I put on the wetsuit
The diver's paraphernalia
And I let myself go to obscure distances
And think no more at the air, which usually
fill my lungs …
I am a ludion suspended in waters
Tickled by shoals of fish that roam
Caressed by jellyfishes, eager for a country ,
One above, which they are not allowed
As I am no longer allowed for sunlight
So low, beneath tons of moving liquid.
That is, across the border turbulent waves,
A reserved area, where the feeling of feet wouldn’t be enough
And that includes me, and swallows me
Like all the certainties of dry floor …
And cuttlefish lend me their naval ink
Writing for the memory of the abyss,
The silent vrombissemnt of orcas passing
The strange lanterns of monkfishes
And the maze of colorful corals and anemones
Dancing with the warm currents
Barely the memory of man
And an oblique wreck, portholes with crimped
Shells and rust, with its scale
Hanging on the railing of useless.
The cuttlefish are laughing today. Comedy came creating calm conical creations. A large cake came wading over the nine mile swamp. Why are you sat in a hexagonal formation? Dominance is derived from daring deeds. To which the five foot reeds replied we are hexagonal mineral compositions and compositions are complete and complete is a chamber of commerce in a restaurant dining. Just modern rails on flailing arms, legs and beads sweaters with hats and scarfs. All in preparation for snowing times ahead. But first along comes the leopard in a pair of skintight trousers and a vest top. It is dancing around and singing away. The microphone is very fed up as it does not enjoy monosyllabic format of over ingested creations. It prefers the periodic pyramid style of the pies of historical thought. Ideological ignorance ignoring inspired ideas. And the glowing colourful plasterboard smiling and smoking and speaking to the round tub of plant. So go tickle a fish then with a ticket. Hahaha pleasing placemats hahaha nine foot cup of coffee carrying a coconut tree. Xxxxx Inspirational Z that was the p Y Q reporting from the zone of play castles and doll houses with a break for tea and cakes. Ok good. Z
Form:
A Sunny Winters day
Cool sun kisses skin.
Pastel coloured ocean
Shuddering salty sea
Pink apricot morning sky
Seaside meditation tape.
Rolling frothing waves
emerge at fast intervals
Driftwood on the shore
Gold sloping sand dune
Giant swirly starfish studs
Seagulls squawking high
Leopard jelly sea slugs
Spiky red rubbery corals
Glittering foam sparkles
Extreme low tide no wind
Cuttlefish , tiny shells
Haystacks of seagrass
Jelly baby jube aneama
Soft small gentle waves
sound like a waterfall
Seagull flock flying low
red rimmed pale eyes
breathing hole red beak
red webbed feet high
flushed to body in flight.
Cellotape a cornflake to a six inch singular cheese packet then swing under and over the metronome roundabout. And a coffee coloured synonymous character can be overlaid with biscuit coloured charm but lying down on an apple cake can be most advantageous in the winter season. Bloom then blink. Wrap then warm. Wow. Now watch out please and do not skid on a skating path. Ok. Do you understand that a ground is not a grin and a grin is not a gravel so jump three times singing alleeee allloooo allleeeee ok then. Oooh nice vocal touch there. Very harmonising. I shall try something else now. Repeat after me. Porkus porkus porkus peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooo oooooooooooooo then aaaaaaa eeeeeelay eeeeeeluuuuu elllllaaaaaaaaaaa. Great that sounded good and now we should have alerted that blade of grass over there. Look. That it is time to grow. Ha. Fantastic. It is so pleased by our harmonics that it is taunting the garden tools. Un unified is a unnecessary undignified angle in whorls of self dignified aspects. Glow then. Feast not a fracked out field of polluted ingested soil. Eradicate this in a compost heap. Composure is neither costly nor counterfeit. But a oneness with a cooker is very useful when twirling a twig in a bush.so don't clean a fridge with a dirty fridge magnet. Instead use a very large long embroidered cloth. Cattle fish cuttlefish in a heap then. No ha. Jumping baked bean yes ha ha. And eleven acres of fortified wine can bloom in a bacon organised cellular tart structure. Hahaha now eat a blamange under a blanket. Hahaha weaponry whipped cream cantering. Todays bulletin brought to you by p Y Q at %unknown. Xxxxx phosphorescence z and polishing a glove is about as important as riding around and around a left handed triangle on a three wheeled bike backwards carrying nineteen turtle doves, a dice set and a carton of the most exquisitely tasting papaya root. Ha ha true. Sediment.
Form:
I wake up at five each morning, I hear cock a doodle doo
my stomach’s gurgling but I won’t eat until I'm through;
as the horses need feeding on hay and crunchy carrot,
and I must give cuttlefish to Polly our screeching parrot
Pink piglets slurp as they suck milk from the sow,
The young calves are all mooing at Daisy the cow
Pitter patter raindrops fall, perhaps I will get wet
when I take my yelping pup to be neutered by the vet
I climb onto the tractor, the cold engine splutters as it starts,
alas I hear the woosh from the sheepdog as he farts.
Tim always travels with me to bark at all the sheep -
rounding up the bleating lambs, he truly earns his keep
Water gurgles in the gully as the tractor speeds along,
and the dawn chorus chirrups, I adore their morning song.
In the meadow bees are buzzing on the autumn breeze,
Ah ah ah atishoo, the golden pollen made me sneeze
When I’ve done my chores , bacon rashers sizzle in the pan,
Bess the cat purrs loudly as I open her ‘Whiskas’ can,
Then we’ll snuggle up in front of the crackling log fire,
soon I will be snoring, as forty winks I now require.
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
10/23/21
The tide and heavy seas
had washed up a wealth
of treasures to lay at my feet
spread out in a long line
just like the way wares
are displayed on the street
of an outdoor market.
Shells, some polished
to a sheen others just broken
shards of a puzzle never
to be put back together again.
Tresses of weed, float bladders,
a cuttlefish bone and globs
of jellyfish shaped like petrified
tears as if once welled
out of the eyes of a whale.
Then there was a hoard
of man made stuff, plastic cups
and brightly coloured beads
of who knows what, spoons
and bottle tops, matted balls
of red and green twine
and fishing line knitted into
swatches of transparent twill,
a smorgasbord of human
endeavor all laid out in wonder
and ready to kill.