Best Limpets Poems
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
Vashon Memories
A song to sing itself –
A birthing voice,
Shouting then whispering
Of fields and quiet harbors
Of blackberries and sunlight on smooth waters,
Of boredom, rest and restlessness
In tidal pools
Hunting hermit crabs and limpets,
Sticking on all fingers,
Avoiding jelly fish and barnacles
When pigtails and freckles
Fly through misty bracken fern,
Evergreen Madrone leaves,
Hemlock and the Douglas fir
Shading meadows
Of green apple trees,
Fat blackberries -
Huckleberries red and blue
Eluding nettles reaching out
To leave their sting
Then rest beside
Old logs
Wrapped in pitch
Stacked up by mischievous waves
To dot the shoreline
With drifting wood
Of mysterious shapes
On pebbled sands
Warmed in the welcomed sunlight
And drink in afternoon tea
Steeped in curiosity.
My grandparents had a summer home on Vashon Island. We would spend several weeks on the island during the summer.
For chasing the blues away
What better way is there
Than a walk on a sandy beach
With the wind in your hair
Watching the foam on the sea
As it’s whipped up by the wind
Imagining tunes being played
On the rocks as the wind skims
Limpets clinging to life
Immovable objects for sure
The seagull hoping some might fail
Falling to the shore
You can’t help but smile at the dogs
With the wind up their butts
Running in circles trying hard
To catch whatever is up
The funniest sights are the humans at play
Hanging on like grim death to the cord
As their kites swirl and sway
Trying hard not to swear as the wind
carries it away
Contest : Chasing the Blues Away
Dated: 31 January 2013
Grace Harbour
First into Grace Harbour
Me in classic sailboat
At anchor alone
In Desolation Sound
Where silence reveals the place
And the world is bigger
Because I can hear its’ vastness
It’s Bioacoustic diversity
Seals surface, gulls dive, water ripples.
A breeze in a cedar whispers
The buzz of a bumblebee.
The distant whistle of an eagle trembles in air
And falling droplets of rain taste of spruce.
The very place sparkles in silent sound and my soul is still
No need to block out
The combat zone of flashing messages.
From CNN and Fox.
But stillness of silence
Is reflected in blue water
and framed by oyster encrusted rocks,
While green and orange algae talk
Tidal pools and purple sea stars walk
And I can hear the world as music.
--------------------------------------------
War, bombs and shrapnel.
Roaring yachts arrive like Hummers or tanks from Kandahar
Stacked high with gadgets, guns hanged,
Travelling as a pack of waking house-mobiles
To conquer wilderness with bars, showers, propane barbecues
Gas generators, deep freezers, and boom-boxes
All sorts of folks; models in bikinis with pedigree dogs.
Fashion ladies in silk that launch revving zodiacs
To carry standard poodles for an urgent pee.
Then ‘A Tea Cup Yorkshire terrier’ yelps
At a Jack Russell that barks at a Chihuahua
As a Dachshund and Afghan Hound take offense
In frenzied jealousy.
Big hipped humans scream ashore in tenders.
Acoustic awareness numbed
The get-away-from-it-allers that bring it all always, partied.
As night fell they turned the generators off
“I haven’t seen any wildlife”, said one,
“There was more to feed at the zoo”
Said the other boomer
“Yea, where’s the loon.”
Fixed ideas of progress consume.
Then our mother moon
In full dress exposed an array of limpets
Of many sizes and shapes all clinging to obvious rocks
Exchanging freedom for the security
Of a defensive shell of fixed ideas
And automated reflexes.
It is useless to talk kindly to a limpet
One must detach it by main force.
Now where does one start to write
To find the courage he has to pluck
And write a poem for a contest
It's all about things that suck
Out there, there are so many places
Where this word can always be used
There are octopuses in our seas
And their suckers are used so true
Even in the medical world
They use leeches to reduce blood swelling
Their active anticoagulant
Is a marvel in their telling
There are women of ill repute
Nothing like sucking on a sweet
A hard neck never deters them
Vampire bats do it to eat
There are others in the animal world
Yes, limpets when they grip their locked
And back to the ladies and ********
Yes the sweetie I meant was rock
Then there are the ones who are gullible
Like a vacuum they become sucked in
There is nothing wrong with the word suck
Using it, is never a sin
Gratitude attitude grow
Peacock attitude away throw
Though temptations line up in a row
Pointless, heartless any soul you to hurt
Under no circumstances invective blurt
Because so doing grows you curt
Achieving trinkets, reaping limpets
As you blow trivial trumpets
Deriding, riding, restless strumpets
In your city where contempt
Fashionable in an objectional attempt
To parade low grade hair unkempt
For aeons under neon lights
Illuminating prudish, brutish fights
Meant to ignore the snore of plights
Street kids endure under the watch
You observe at close quarters to catch
Miscreants and recidivists who latch
Onto corruption
To catalyze the eruption
So blatantly witnessed in the disruption
Probity suffers as wafers
Vanish into thin air when quaffers
Poke fun at a senile souse who suffers
Ravages of loneliness
You regret in the context of silliness
Egrets and open secrets endure as holiness
Suffers its biggest reverse
To learn men of the collar deemed so averse
To child molestation in vows so diverse
Embarrass your church
Leaving doubting Thomases in the lurch
As for meaning and direction they search
Wondering if hypocrisy in this crisis
Should call and recall paralysis
To promote or demote dialysis
As a cure for the malaise
Believers suffer in the craze
That undermines set standards in a maze
In which a plethora of anguish
You bear as you strive to distinguish
Reality from fiction. Your faith don’t extinguish
Or else you throw baby together with bath water
In the church and in your quarter
To deny you opportunities for malfeasance to alter.
Clump of earth. Green glow. Clump of concrete clapping. Green glow. A grouped nylon is akin to a skinny pair of trousers swinging in a breeze. Twisting with furry knees. But not ever in trees. It is the pointed cradle fork that envelops a mysterious marshy rock into a music score. How rather talented. And how rather quaint too. But a tulip in a tutu is quite wild so shut the door on a barm cake. Ok then. Good. So don't put it down carry it. Vast amounts of miles. And don't sit down. Twenty three hours of sit down in a basket looks rather like a very large dog snoring in a bed. Rather remarkable when the banquet begins. The very long jewelled hands beckon to the plates. Then consume. Vast amounts. While the skinny cat looks in from the window. It might be thrown a pea. Hum. Not substantial is it? And very very very unfair, feudal and unbalanced. Economic egg eats erotic éclairs. In a bistro. Large belly grumbling in hugh waisted pants. Circumference of injections cannot control countries. Calling the rain. Singing to sun beams. In an iced cave. Or a tree. Moat built around a house to house a lord is quite similar to a ladle entering a soup. Or a kettle whistling to water. External shroud. Internally baked. And the state signal of a lemon with pursed lips is spitting words like a sour lemonade. With hardly any sugar. Snow then. Beams budding booming bricking bridges bringing benign baked bomber blooms. And the dusk brings the tailored iconic broom heads. Watch for the tightly woven hairstyles then. In suits. Lean lanky laviscious lecherous limpets. Often dress in red gowns. And hide hair in wigs. But no gigs or pigs. Ok. Ridicule not a rabbit ear or tooth of a rhino. Smiling sunnily. In pendants. In palaces. Paint no fallen star on an erotic empty feather or a leaf. And flock is not a fleeced sheet nor sheets of printed plagiarised rubbish. Zoom then burn. And when burning swim. Very good. Hahaha lettuce loving leeches. Hahahahha twenty cows plus sixteen minutes equals moooo. Xxxxx derogation dogs. Xxxxx humanitarian z this is the p y q reporting from 89.0. On a windy day. Ooh. X. Z 0%
Like limpets we cling on to the fading past
Via the present, connecting yesterday
Through to our tomorrows; memories last
Form links in the chain. Thoughts play
Sometimes drifting in and out of minds
And at others, rapid as an automatic gun
With bullet speed flashes which trigger all kinds
Of emotions, passionate, hot as a risen sun.
Memory is a fickle friend, do we recollect
The facts or do we remember them retold
Countless times until they fit what we select
To recount? The events becoming as bold
As vibrant youth, with energy that enhances
The retelling. Half forgotten feelings that erupt
Into a lava flow of words that take chances
With the actual event and can the truth corrupt.
The mists of time and memory meet and merge.
Unbidden by our will the vivid scenes play out
Rising from subconscious to fulfill the urge
To verbalise our histories. There is no doubt
We gain from these utterances of thought
That surprise us by their intense approaches.
Then into that memory we are sucked, caught,
Which by our retelling on today encroach.
Ha, ha! Fooled you. … This one's about a fish.
Well, ... almost, ... not really ... It's about a whale ...
They say a whale's a mammal; if so, I'm a fish
Then again, we Mr. Limpets should take care what we wish
Here's a fact: Cape Cod-type whale watches usually fail
While onlookers consume an ocean of lager and ale
So, remember when speaking of a neo-mammal like a whale
The larger the creature, the longer its tale
The angry sound of rough and
raging april tide, as waves anoint
the awaiting rocky empty pools, as
limpets always clinging on to every
side, awaiting seagulls, anticipating Crustacean arrival
Sad eyed donkeys in line each waiting and hoping a
happy infant feeds a carrot each
Sandcastles are built on the empty
beach and knocked over by a
gang of senseless idiotic teenagers, already
chatting and deftly arranging dates and
times on their own phones, each
child of nature easily pleased again.
Con/Vow contest
A fine dining experience is simply NOT living within means. How rather tragic then said sparrow.
Catacombs in an x shape are often x rated chambers filled with sleeping custard coloured vermin who prey on youthful walls. Youthful walls are painted in all hues to appease all tastes of every description and the tales last for many a monstrous moon. Told but untold. In a cloaked veil of shroud. Akin to an inner shell where a sea creature only ever displays the carcass upon the beaches for the humans to pick up, collect and take home. Empty empty waste. But the inner sanctum often goes unnoticed in great depths. It is to be said that when fourteen missionary duck people stamp on a sky beam the callous wickedness of the setting scenes of woe will be extinguished and the pitter patter of the fleeing legs of mice, bluebirds, limpets, buds, and the miniature horses will be heard radiating through the tunnels to finally emerge on a beach then board a little rowing boat and sail off into nicer more pleasurable climes away from.static ratios of abuses from abusers whose stations worldwide are often busy acrimonious places where fortress foetus dwells to cause pain and suffering akin to pulling the leaves off a daisy, the legs off a spider, or cutting a horses throat to cause wasted blood to sweep over the galvanised mouth of the collaborated octopi who gather to receive gifts for their master gods. No ha no x and definably no z today. As all is swept and put in a painting then served in a fine dining establishment. Authorisational.
Watch the ripples of the water
The trickles sounding like laughter
As pebbles tickle its flow
Pools of delight with crabs inside
Limpets clinging on against the tide
Children's faces aglow
The timeless quantity of a pinnacle is palatable only to a plunging pliable posted picture. But posted pictures are neither explosive nor even emerging emery boards for boards are created to alight in chaos currents and who could ever really rely on a double decker train that is reliant upon trainers upon tracks in a momentum swerve. All must now nosedive into a pancake pile and take a kilo of ham, an array of lemons, and a mere teaspoon of sugar. Carry the ladle wisely at this time for ladles.are leaping limpets. And leaping limpets lining linkerage lean. Playful promises promised playing pudding puffed pine. No ha. Xxxxx complications xxxxx z at xerox point two on a mild bridge. X
Calmness wasn't expected today by my overwhelmed spirit marveling,
I spot linden's branches with their yellow flowers brightly floating
as ships lost at sea; from which river did they come from?
Did someone break them off or was it a summer' storm?
Curiousity makes me look further down...discovering shiny limpets,
in conical form, stuck to tidal rocks and visited by water lilies;
a lizard watches my facial movements...I hear a male voice,
"Sub rosa...in loco citato!" shouting to his gal so voluptuous...
Latin spoken these days? I stumble upon a familiar phrase
that some of my classmates used to whisper to girls wearing sunbonnets,
making believe they were practicing the liturgical language of priests;
and if they learned quickly, they would surely get a blind date...
The lotus' fragrance induces a sudden rejuvination of the imaginative, uncontrollable senses;
a laison for those unsavoring women and femmes fatales...
laying down on sandy beaches with gazes upon moonlight, with mellow faces
being stroken by manly hands, and hearts being fascinated by capricious words...
The flaunting moon infuses the dreamer's innermost thoughts;
passionate verses adhering to the walls of the poetic heart as the shiny
limpets stick to the tidal rocks, making their ivocation to the invidious sea,
which glistens with its green and blue gemstones that reflect my sweetheart's eyes...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
P.S. Translation: Sub rosa...in loco citato/ In secret...in the mentioned place
Femmes Fatales/charming or seductive women
I'm not much attached to this body,
it feels like it's on a short leash
while the brain drags it around
like a reluctant old dog.
Long cantankerous years
have pummeled it into a shape
it never used to own, never saw coming.
I am by no means special
we all acquire these 'special' parts,
that cling to us like limpets and lichen
many are visible only to the mind.
Tree's show their scars on the outside
internal excrescences run deeper.
Wasted landscapes never repopulated
are sutured integral with still verdant fields,
still workable earth
but we know
that vehicles this unwieldy
have no fail-safe switch
even if we could find it.