Adam’s Ale
—the old name for water, the first drink, the simplest thirst.
Bougainvillea, thorn-armored bloom,
plankton drifting—algae, crustaceans—
a hidden kingdom in an inland basin,
non-oceanic water breathing its own tides.
I splash my face in the reservoir,
Adam’s ale cooling my skin,
while light bends and scatters—
I am refracted,
a prism made of flesh and ache,
splintering into the many rays of sun.
I sit beneath an arboreal sky,
ceiling woven from foliage and verdure,
cathedral of green where shadows
keep their soft liturgy.
Saudade gnaws the marrow of light,
and my sunlit heart caves inward.
I hunger for your presence,
for the echo of your breath in the leaves.
If the day could linger—
just one more turn of the earth—
I would not ask for forever.
But even plankton drift toward dark,
their glow extinguished in the basin’s hush;
so too my heart, without your light.
Life is full of steps and stages
As we learn what it is to be alive.
And every stage is marked
By the recognition that we were wrong
About what it is we now know.
Like a box within a box
Or nesting Russian dolls
Continually we open onto a new world
A new level of understanding.
We talk of insects and crustaceans
Reptiles and amphibians shedding their skin
But we do it too, just more subtly and subjectively,
And as more evolved beings, continuously.
What is it we shed besides old dead skin?
Old dead ideas, outgrown, outlived
Making way for the new
Slowly changing the programmed self
Into a newer version, gradually adjusting
Our identity
With software updates
That continually need the bugs worked out.
When does this all end?
Never, Life says
With every new layer of skin.
(9/13/25)
Pink hue flamingo it must be due to all
the carotenoid pigments feasted on
algae and crustaceans
An elongated neck spirals
and filters such sensations
Sharing color is Okinawa salmon sushi,
bolster lobster and shrimp scrimp
Graceful qualifiers primp poised tropical dwellers
balancing effortlessly on one outstretched leg,
A ballerina’s pirouette in fuchsia tutus’
Statuesque stillness in shallow water
Rosette feathers flair flamboyance
Passionate plumage, blushing boas
Webbed feet tap and stamp below,
an aquatic burlesque show
The flamenco dance named after you
Rose-tinted creature tranquil, wader
Hook-billed blackened lamellae
sieved nobly, an intense look in a print
Cluster buster of pink with lengthy legs that sprint
The Glorious Mountain
The mountain on the other side of the bay
was born before colors were invented
and introduced to make the world jollier
a place for humanity to relax and love
This mountain, however, has three basic
colors, black, gray, and snow white
if these shades had not been there
the hill would have been unseen
a shimmer of morning light to avoid
accident, it would have had to be painted
every four years or when the town had
money not earmarked for child care
The mountain is no place for a Sunday stroll
thousands of seabirds have made it slippery
the grass has gone, over-fertilized
that tells us, that health has its limitation
Where the mountain meets the ocean
crustaceans are the size of drop-dead dolphins
one lobster can feed a family of five
The mountain's bleak exterior has a hidden
beauty and looks glorious at sunset
Crammed in a Makeshift Vessel they embarked out to sea
Seeking the air of freedom to be like you and me
One mother held her child as the raindrops hid her tears
The father held the mother's hand giving him
Strength to conquer his fears
Besides them were other strangers who nourished the same request
Arrive safely on America's shores the country they flavored best
The scent of the ocean as they passed creatures of the sea
The Sharks, the crustaceans, and other ocean mysteries
The peace of a better life they yearn to taste
To breathe the fragrance of freedom the fears erased
The aroma of liberty the flavor so sweet
Despite the unknown endeavours they were soon to meet
The adversity of the weather dictated an unforeseen course
The journey to heaven was not their giving choice
The vision they dreamed of savoring
The dream they dared to pursue
They are not inhaling the breath of freedom
The freedom as me and you
KINGFISHER
Me the Kingfisher :
Nice looking, smart
Brightly coloured bird.
I own long bill with special skill
to catch floating fish.
My sharp keen eye sight
helps to keep an eye on river or sea.
I won't spare for fry too.
I am quite expert on kinetic art to dive.
Kudos in swooping down,
but not to get drowned.
I can swim and crack open crustaceans.
So ! Only fishes are not my preys !
For meal other water creatures,
I taste at best.
Kamala Harris, even worse than 'Sloppy Joe'
Hey, ho ~ They both gotta go!
Biden's waist-deep in corruption
Soon to come, a legal tidal-wave eruption
As for his mental and physical fitness
One or two video clips are enough to witness
More than a snake has Harris wiggles
when defining 'culture' with inane giggles *
It seems that her goulash-like explanations
may just impress rocks and crustaceans
So get thee to the elections in 2024 for sure
who needs four more years of these clowns to endure
_______________________________________________
*"Culture is a reflection of our moment and our time. And
present culture is the way we express how we feel about
the moment. And we should always find time to express
how we feel about the moment. That is a reflection of joy.
Because, you know... it comes in the morning," Harris said
with a laugh.
~ Washington Examiner, Brady Knox, July, 07, 2023.
waves gently caress
washing ashore sea treasures ~
beach scavenger hunt
a flock of seagulls
swoop and steal beach crustaceans ~
crab delicacy
a warm ocean breeze
wafts of beach roses and brine ~
sweet salty essence
dark ocean water
dance and reflect in moonlight ~
a calming cadence
the magical ocean beach ~
hidden beauty within reach
5/10/23
Contest: Haiku Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joanna Daniel
(Syllables checked with howmanysyllables)
The sandy beach
thins into a wash of rounded pebbles
where the tide licks,
before that a muddy ribbon
trickles briny trinkets surged up
from the oceans bottom.
Here be the bones of tiny seahorse dragons,
and bloated macroscopic marine algae,
their seaweed green strands inflated
until the sun bakes
their pale upturned pods into pyrite beads.
Fractured mollusk shells splinter the broken claws
of minuscule crustaceans -
all the natural flotsam of debris trawling waves.
A sculptured driftwood expressed into mythic forms
anchors its art where the wind combs.
Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface
to be pocketed once more.
Obscure metallic treasures knuckle
and poke-mark the shoreside
with their unanswered questions.
I have no questions, walking the dawn light
I am a shipwreck, my mind roaming
along the shores edge.
My heart a seagulls cry, a wilderness call
that keeps me fishing for new depths
of a fathomless self.
Cascading dreams
Over seas and oceans
Rampaging screams
Running over crustaceans
Surging waves unremitting
Hot winds escalating
Blue and clear waters converge
Stirred and bubbled with rage
Under the blue dingy skies
Teardrop of the weak cries
Raindrop falling with surprise
Drizzled hundreds of miles
Thunder and lightning aloft waters
Rumbled and sauntered like crawlers
Sunrise commenced the day with a smile
Sunset ended with a wile
A new sunrise seen in the horizon
A new hope emblazon
Another day to scoop and flourish
A new line of growth to nourish
There’s crustaceans in my rations,
And the krill are in my pills.
There’s a prawn on my lawn,
And all this gives me chills.
There’s an oyster who is cloistered
With a crawfish in a dish,
But the shrimp is on the barbie,
And that’s what gives me thrills.
She keeps a loaded *****
in her shoulder bag.
She once found an unused finger
and has been thrusting it
at hapless men ever since.
She loves TMZ and Nancy Grace.
She sells space to celebrities
and their attorneys.
She harangues her cosmetologists
probing for their facial weaknesses.
She carries a Pekinese with diamonds.
She is a mother of cloud-children
that live on the outskirts
of her other interests.
She diets on crustaceans and couscous.
Her soft parts are pummeled
into snapping turtles.
While I was away,
her hard buttocks came to visit.
they left a card that said:
Your home has been remodeled
to suit a better class of person.
You need to downsize immediately,
contact my office
for further instructions.
I approached the authorities -
they just shrugged.
My feathers are misted and moistened from the sea spray
As I glide above the busy shore on Frenchman’s Bay
The sunrise displaying beautiful pinkish and purple hues
While the tide is out, no fish and the crustaceans are few
I soar above the boats all docked along the shore
While searching for a safe landing and food to score
Spotting tourists, seated while eating their breakfast food
I quickly land at their table, hoping they’re in a giving mood
Instead, I get shooed off with water thrown and screamed at
Flying off, I soon spot a trash bin with bacon pieces, crisp and fat
I dive into the barrel, feathers tucked, beak landing into the bacon
Delighted as I also feed on some toast crumbs and a cinnamon muffin
I feel the barrel moving, again I am screamed at and shooed away
I fly toward the sky, soaring high as my droppings splatter and splay
I soar above the surf, my feathers spread wide enjoying the sea spray
Spotting some crabs washed ashore, now dive- bombing for my lunch today
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
flamingos flaunting
fuschia feathers fluttering ~
funky flamboyance
12 April 2022
Notes:
Beta-carotenes make flamingos pink. Their diet largely consists of crustaceans and algae, which are rich in carotenoids. This pigment gives flamingos the hot pink or reddish coloration they are known for. (FACTS.net)
Wild Animal Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
5-7-5 (syllables checked at howmanysyllables.com)
Footnote: Fuchsia has 2 syllables not 3
N/A
The oldest living group
of chewing herbivorous insects
proudly carries 250 million years
of quiet evolution.
No soft muscle tissue
on these grasshopper legs,
they are bear
as clean-picked chicken bones
and hard
as the outer shell of some crustaceans.
Finned spikes line each shank
for gripping tightly golden strands
of summer wheat in blowing fields.
Armor plating, like kevlar vest, worn upon a body
that sits low between two high-rise knobby knees.
A sling-shot lying wait
to catapult away,
carried on an allied wind
with force to help escape
all dangerous predators.
A wind that has carried
grasshopper history for centuries
from field to field
across deserts and water,
through forests and plains.
Now that same ally wind
has betrayed them,
carrying them here
to a final destiny with me,
flattened in defeat
upon my windshield.
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