Ingredients:
1. One pinch of sugar (Honey can sub)
2. A dash of what works
3. 1/2 teaspoon of table salt ( Or sea salt )
4. 1 large egg (Egg whites for real)
Instructions:
1. Mix them together until light and fluffy.
2. Flatten the lumps out, soften the sharpness
3. Blend until the texture mellows the taste of reality.
Secret sauce: Seven spices to taste.
Just don’t tell what they really are. EVER.
Do you want to see me sweat?
Would you like to know how to make
my heart race? I blur lipstick lines
with beads of water on a mocktail glass.
Poetic eyes and a melodic voice
may get me perspiring profusely.
Can you take it?
How hot of a whisper can you handle?
My promises hit like a Carolina reaper,
still my skin’s moisture is more piquant.
Maybe Mr Right also has a little bite,
if you’re reading this? Please write to me.
Hot saucy words that make me swoon,
I may get a case of the nerves for a bit,
it’s just the rush of not knowing.
Would you still like to know how to make
my heart race? I’ll weave emotions with
ink on a cocktail napkin.
So I’ll ask again,
Do you want to see me sweat?
If you want to pursue it,
don't do it like a crab might do it
when he walks or works or plays,
always doing it sideways.
where did the steampunk hermit crab go?
we saw him a few days ago, on a beach in Idaho
I figured this nutjob was delusional now
Idaho has no beaches, but farms for a cow
Are you sure you did not see the crab somewhere else?
My cousin gave me the stink eye; his name is Kelse.
I thought it was Idaho, on that famous beach they have.
I added to the idiocy. “On steamy Steampunk Ave?”
my boss is such a crab!
We all giggled at the bar
Truly, he is grouchy and mean
His directives sound like tar
We are laughing our petootsies off
one of the workers falls off her stool
She has no idea about accountant work
She works in a lovely grade school
Upon the tide-line’s shifting stage,
With one grand claw held high and wide,
He struts as if to turn the page,
A fiddler bold, consumed by pride.
He taps a rhythm on the shells,
A percussive, clicking, frantic beat,
While whispering of secret wells
Beneath the sand beneath her feet.
She skitters past, a restless sprite,
A speck of shadow on the shore,
Too quick to yield to such a sight—
He only dances all the more.
The moon-drawn waves begin to creep,
The salt-mist veils the final light;
He vows his lonely watch to keep
And fiddles to the coming night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tiny carapace scavenger—borrowed home wobbles
across tidal gossip, the ocean's leftover breath.
One claw dips into a vanishing puddle, testing
the myth of endless retreat. The tide writes,
then rewrites, its invitation in evening sand.
10 crabs together in a plastic bag
A friend who brought them for dinner to take home
Crab feast
Subway ride
MTA NYC D train to the Bronx
Observed one of the crabs maneuvering through the subway car
Fast mover that got far
There’s your dinner, after it
Get that crab
However, the crab was spotted by several commuters as one woman screamed and total chaos began
I wanted to laugh, but didn’t make it obvious
So I just held back, and acted like nothing happened
Before I got off to change trains, I told my friend, good luck crabbing home
I changed subway lines at Rockefeller Center for my fantastic F for Queens, New York
Once I got home, I called and asked my friend did she make it home with her bundle of crabs minus one
My friend said yes, but she stated when she unloaded them, they were fighting each other
Crabs will be crabs I responded
Such a crabby scene.
Jellyfish
Once I had a wild wish
To be a jolly jellyfish,
A quietly quivering jellyfish
Shivering in the sea.
I did not crave to be a crab,
A sideways-scuttling, crusty scab
In sluggish sludge and dismal drab
At the bottom of the sea,
Nor wish to be a sucking sponge,
Sea-sway drudge of the fathoms' plunge,
Dredging supper from the soupy gunge
In the dungeons of the sea.
I might have wished for shark or whale,
To lord the oceanic trail,
My dorsal fin a regal sail,
Imperial in the sea;
Or dared to dash through the dolphin waves,
Gliding where the wild seas rave,
Dive to a shipwreck's sunken grave,
Sunken deep in the sea.
Instead, I wished for a jellyfish,
A parachuting jellyfish,
A gossamer drift in the seas' vast dish;
That's what I wished for me.
We built castles made of sand.
I was too young to understand.
My heart, now feels the painful stab -
the awful truth: I am a crab.
I recall clearly, my mom took me to peek
at the calico box crab roadside circus freak.
Some kids have a tooth fairy, my reward, more oblique.
I stood, mouth agape, quite unable to speak.
I had a strange childhood, you might call it unique,
before reaching adulthood, employment to seek.
We found the calico box crab man
with leathery skin and a deep, dark tan.
He gave us soup that was filled with nails,
squirrel bones and catfish entrails.
As he told his tale and we heard him speak,
the sky would cry, and the ceiling, leak.
I heard the calico box crab theme
as I nestled warmly by a trout-filled stream.
I saw the hare and tortoise dance,
and wondered if it was romance,
or just an addled dream.
I was only eight
when I caught the calico box crab freight.
Just a small-town crab-boy in tattered britches,
I found my way to fame and riches,
loaded in a crate.
Once, an aged fisherman was heard to speak
from a boat on the shore of Chesapeake Bay.
His voice, like every bone and plank that did creak,
(as the ocean waves came in to splash and spray)
about a creature, singular and unique,
"'twas eighty-seven years ago to the day.
When I was just up to a grasshopper's knee
I saw the calico box crab by the sea.
As I stood near the sand on a slick sea slab,
in an earthly appearance of God's good grace,
it was then that I saw it - I saw the crab,
sporting a spotted, colorful carapace,
a crustacean, that never was dull nor drab.
I would always remember the special place
where I first found the joy I couldn't foresee,
meeting the calico box crab by the sea.
I tried gently to touch her, with my right hand,
but I scared the calico box crab away,
as she disappeared swiftly in the soft sand.
I come back to this place each year on this day,
but I won't come again. My time is at hand,
and I'm going to Heaven, but I can say,
'I never touched her, but I once got to see
the pretty calico box crab by the sea.'"
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