Best Eels Poems
I'll try to tell you without my usual cant
that all I wanted was to go sailing with
Sherry Saturday morning but I can't!
My hovercraft is full of eels!
The watchman phoned when I was lying
in bed to notify me of this.
I was shocked to find he wasn't lying!
My hovercraft is full of eels!
My good-will has been weakened
because of this horrid event
which completely ruined my weekend.
My hovercraft is full of eels!
These morbid creatures are serious
party-poopers. Remember!: Their
electricity is deleterious.
My hovercraft is full of eels!
My beloved Birthday present invaded by
these heinous monsters! I will have to buy
a new one 'cause to this one I must say bye!
My hovercraft is full of eels!
Ghastly! You don't know how this feels!
My hovercraft is full of eels!
Jellied eels and pie n mash.
East London Fair, and that’s a fact.
The Dockers hands, and the pearly kings.
Their romance gone, the truth it stings.
The Bow Bells ring, they sound out loud.
Cockney chests, they puff out proud.
Not much left of old world London town.
Inside office blocks our city drowns.
The rhyming slang, used to confound.
It hid the truth, of lies abound.
The gifted few, they understood.
They kept those coppers under hood.
Up the Apples and pears, mind your plates of meat.
Meant up the stairs and watch your feet.
The law never knew, they couldn’t make it out.
We watched their faces and saw their doubt.
The slang we used was not just for fun.
It kept us on our toes, not on the run.
Old London's gone it has changed its face.
For better or worse it's now a different place.
We've had the rough. We've had the smooth.
This place has changed, with times it's moved.
Like or not this is London Town.
The times have changed, but she'll not let you down.
She'll take you in, she'll hold you tight.
Embrace her heart, enjoy the light.
Female eels with sex appeal
~ certainly do make a tasty meal
"Kalapana Queens Bath was a hole in the ground filled with brackish water (salty seawater mixed with fresh mountain filled rainwater) and host to living mysteries," ... by The Poet.
It was a time free of hanging clocks on our walls,
where hunting dogs bark 'neath swaying palm trees,
as seconds of droplets count down our waterfalls,
awake by breaths of winding hands rustling dried leaves,
I walk our country road pacing while Queen Bath tease.
With my shorts on, tongs, and clothes-free on a rock,
descending baby steps, hugging rocky wall closely,
a short measure of pleasure till eel squeezeout in shock,
it unexpectedly sees me and retreats snuck morosely,
a younger me challenge, methinks it sees me as grossly.
It dodged about, chartreuse with spots of gold rings,
then on the other side, a pink eel with teal eyes guides,
and bluish thin lines running its length until it slings,
an artistic squirming innately takes what nature provides,
bold slides, fresh and salt abide, as eels and I ride tides.
Kaleidoscopic zigzags lost and found, arrests Paradise,
as a morning swim takes five, besides who's counting,
while charmed views hamper lures of a Hawaiian sunrise,
until a family arrives, kids climb a tiny cliff, dismounting,
made awesome scatter, I sunbathed under a cloudless noon, recounting ...
Let’s be eels,
Let slip into their hands,
Let’s be eels,
Let’s explore the rivers
Before they catch us,
They’re waiting for us downstream,
To hurt us,
We are eels,
We know better than they,
The taste of springs and tides,
We are eels,
We have answers
Which they don’t care,
Slide, slip, reach the sea.
Soyons des anguilles,
Glissons-leur entre les mains,
Soyons des anguilles,
Explorons les rivières
Avant qu’ils nous attrapent,
Ils nous attendent en aval,
Pour nous faire du mal,
Nous sommes es anguilles,
Nous connaissons mieux qu’eux,
Le gout des sources et des marées,
Nous sommes des anguilles,
Nous avons des réponses
Dont ils ne veulent pas,
Glissons, glissons, rejoignons la mer.
Those tender eels you rescue by the shore
bring you empty news from the deep;
they aptly sing your sunken score,
vivid sounds from the liver of your ship.
You rely on your Sunday best to warm
your sins, fins and skin, but the heart...
the heart is scattered like the swarm
of pebbles that tear your feet apart.
Far, you glance at the fading distance,
which, in turn, presents itself at hand,
making itself unavailable in existence.
A darkest seagull hovers by, so stealth,
and you face the everchanging sand,
and you learn to woo burials, death.