Long Crab Poems
Long Crab Poems. Below are the most popular long Crab by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crab poems by poem length and keyword.
You look sideways at me
I look straight on at you
You glance towards me
I stare at you
memorize the stiches of your coat
they are uneven
it must have been handmade
You look up at the sky
I look at your shoes
They are slim and obviously Italian
You've been traveling in Europe
I look at your cheekbones
You stare off at a tree
It is a beautiful tree
though I cant see why it has captured you
I' look at your hands
they're nice hands
expressive hands
strong enough
big enough but not too big
kind hands
You turn to the left to look out over the gray blank sea
I know we're not going to see each other again
Even the stark greyness of the Cape in late November is more compelling to you in this moment than I am
I am dancing colors
I am a fragrance
of clean smells
I am sauce and sassiness and ideas and concepts
and wants
God how I want you
But you would rather look at greyness
I will never see you again
Thank you for the kiss on the dock
Thank you for the dinner and the dance
Thank you for the moment in the library when you looked into my eyes for one very long minute and I felt alive
Just before you asked me to the dinner dance
But you seem to have lost your moorings
You are like a boat
A buoy
or a wooden raft
floating
you don't know North from South
East from West
Now your sails are not catching the wind
You are sort of flapping
carelessly
aimlessly
I watch you like watching a crab scuttle up the beach
Fascinated
I will never lose my way
( That's a lie)
Tonight
You were simply a dock
that I pulled up to ...tied off
Tomorrow the sun will rise
and I will feel full and excited
I'll move on fast
throw off your bow
You were like the wild north wind for me tonight
for about 5 minutes
The wind is fickle
When the wind changes I tact
While you were in my sails I did love you
Like any sailor is impassioned by the beautiful wind
that suddenly drives him forward
the exquisite unbelievable .... unspeakable
tarp full sail pulling hard
I will miss you
But only like I always miss the wind when it dies
No more and no less
my sails will be full and my beautiful ship will be headed out to God knows where
But you my questioning friend will not know enough to follow
You will be still looking left and seeing only the gray of Cape Cod in Winter and
Mi Padre, 2012
V. Ortiz Vazquez ©
Bears the mark since child birth
Incognito until childhood
Development blocks transformed part of his destiny
Twin brother carries the severe load
Not only does he stumble when speaking but also when walking
Both deteriorating with the passing of
Seconds, minutes, hours
Days, weeks, months, years
To remember the days when family went out for a jog
To ride the memory lanes when outings took us to the mountains
Rivers
Lechón Asado
Monitas, Crab hunting
Mud beyond the ankles
To peddle through strange terrain brings the day you taught me how to ride my bike
Hanging on the tree’s branches
Result of your way of teaching
“You have two choices; break or crash,” you said
Remember my swimming training?
“You either swim or drown,” you stated as you threw me into the deep waters
To this day, panic comes when I cannot touch the floor
Next stage in my life a new lesson
To learn how to drive
18 was I, a family friend my teacher this time
Keeping in mind the words you said to me once
“If you want to learn how to drive, watch what I do”
So many words yet no practical techniques with them
Formal education left you at an early age
Life’s education provided you with lifelong lessons
Handy man you became
Trick of trades pass down to you
Childhood road blocks no impediments to you
Sharp mind even when learning was tough at times
Hands no stranger to hard labor
No competition to formal education
Building your life’s traveling path one block at a time
First, you stole my mom
Your wife
Second, came my brother
Then, me and my sister
To wake one day to learn of your demise
Explanation to the changes within you
No longer active
Your hands no longer take pleasure of fixing things
Captive between four walls
Your mind
Diagnosis of schizophrenia
Johnny, Christian, Vadeline, Carlitos, Chadwick, Cody
How long until you can no longer enjoy grandchild’s laugh?
Touch?
Conversations?
Cheated you were, are
Compensated with a wife, children, grandchildren
Nurture with richness of a simple man
Patiently I wait until the next time you say, “Tonta. Así no se hace”
And, in your father’s role explain to me what I already know
Don’t seem to understand
To call you later and ask for your handy hands
No time of waiting
Refuse to part with slipping mind
Sharp hands
ON DAY 1 of Noel my sweetie gave to me a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
ON DAY 2 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 3 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 4 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 5 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red
Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 6 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 7 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 8 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 9 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 9 Bull Elk Dancing
8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 10 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 10 Lambs a Leaping
9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 11 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping
Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 12 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 12 Canadian Lynx linking
11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
Prosperity’s flush, hues a rainbow dispenses
beyond (ultraviolet), less (infrared’s heat): (1)
from gamma rays down to low-frequency photons.
Both snakes’ and mosquitos’ eyes love infrared light.
But life with warm blood is born blind to heat’s wavelength,
obtuse to all light not in visible light’s range:
the goldfish sees heat, ultraviolet also!
Compared to a goldfish (2), our vision’s a piker!
God’s Science grants humans a way to boost senses
and stretches our limits (so flesh takes a back seat).
Prosperity sees life, its range of emotions
that floats here, lands there, and at times soars (more bird’s flight)
for bone (life finds broken) can mend to gain new strength!
Design that looks flawed, expiration dates, feel strange!
Earth’s telescopes see stars (like light through a window)
that twinkle in air’s ocean-mask (to crab hiker)! (3)
Our limits inspire us, augment evolution!
God’s gifting’s sufficient for growth! (You crave heaven,
don’t see night too serves all who sleep, wake to dawn’s light?)
“Have Faith!” Does your God know no pain? Is pain’s absence
the heaven you covet? Does God not have limits
and learn from His children? God “pleased” with Son’s choices
suggests Christ had options or was Christ a robot
(that Grace was not man’s till Golgotha’s aspersions)?
My hope’s last’s not true; my poetic excursions
aren’t log in my eye (I share blindness)! Life’s pains (shot
across your ship’s bow) all alert you to voices
that tender truth’s message. They orbit like comets
whose tails in night’s sky reflect Sun’s luminescence.
My verse does not purpose to call you a Luddite!
Who wants to feel worse? Do you think I am seven?
I pray in Christ’s name; Let Grace prove life’s solution!
Brian Johnston
9th of January in 2021
Poet’s Notes:
(1) The human eye cannot see infrared light, but we feel it on our skin as a heat sensation.
(2) A goldfish has evolved visual acuity unique in all of the creation that we know. It sees the colors we see and sees heat radiating from our bodies as if we glow. They can also see objects that reflect ultraviolet light to their eyes when no other light is present.
(3) We cannot swim (or fly) on our own, at least, in the ocean of air that is miles deep over our heads. We more scuttle like a crab across its floor.
So I began my dayfeeling rather gay and like my life was full of potential.
So set out on a journey filled with lots of exciting adventures.
I snatched the giant paper from the table along with a purple ruler and I conjourded up a
plan for my grand adventure.
This adventure is huge like nothing before and I fear the
consequences of messing up my plans for my expensive rocketship.
Yes I said a rocketship that is my grand adventure to go to the moon and meet the people.
I hear stories of these folk and I am rather intreged and that is why i find the cardboard box
big enough to hide my dreams and carry out my schemes.
To some it seems rather silly but you can call me Billy, Billy the astronaut is what they will
call me.
I grab my crayons and make my knobs and the gages under the window.
I run into the house and crab the glue so my rocketship can hold the gas that will take me to
the moon.
I put my helmet on and i open up the door.
To some this may just be a flap but to me it holds the key.
The key to a new and unfamiliar place one that I will explore.
Once i tune into the captain he gives me the go.
He counts down from ten and the adventure begins.
Once he says that magic word my rocketship takes off.
I soar into the sky way up high and i way good bye to my mommy and cry just a little tear.
I fear that these people might find my coulture so unique.
Find me rather odd and attach tubes to both my feet.
They will read my mind and find my rocketship is small, they send me home with a
boy name Joe and off to my house we go.
Once we arrive it all is very clear "Billy the Astronaut" they cry "you have come back alive!"
I scream "I am not alone this is my new friend Joe! Joe is from the moon you see and has
come to teach us things.
Things that will save our world lets all greet him with peace!"
They all smile and greet my new friend.
My rocketship has been lots of fun and now i have come to know, just how much fun one
Can have when he thinks of fun.
My rocketship is in my room awaiting its next trip.
I love my rocketship you see so next we'll go to Mars and Ill bring my friends the stars.
The stars from mars my rocketship will make this possible.
So I smile happily
For I am Billy the Astronaut and the people all love me.
His voice soft and cracking,
Wanting desperately to start conversation. . .
Discomfort only letting out a few words from my trembling mouth. . .
The center of the audience,
Still alone in the embarrassment of my own silent, screaming ponders. . .
His laughing. . .
Laughing again to help me notice that he’s laughing for me—
That he wants me to join in too. . .
He reminds me I am overthinking again. . .
Sadly, in this sickened mind,
I oblige . . . a curl of a smile from my lips…
Noise coming out. . . JUST NOISE. . .
My mind elsewhere,
Not even laughing at the film in front of us,
Feeling pleasure in the superior feeling that he cannot hear me screaming something else,
Laughing at his evident confidence,
While others beside,
Are in other worlds. . .
All around,
Feeling the superiority of their own thoughts, no doubt. . .
Curiosity like a cheap flashlight,
Flickering on and off,
And then losing battery…
GET A GRIP YOU FOOL!
They are just enjoying a goddamn movie. . .
But we don’t care for a moment. . .
They want us to know that the fiction is far more exciting than our insignificant reality,
Temporary partnership. . .
And I want to give him attention,
Because I want him not to feel what I feel every sad day of my life. . .
I want him because people unwant him. . .
And he knows that they are not looking. . .
But I am. . .
And I always have been looking,
Targeting you from the crowd since day one,
Steering my attention away from the braced teeth,
The doubled chins,
The collateral cussing,
That guy's flexing ass,
The buttered crab in false paradise…
His elbow stabbing into my world.....
And I feel awful knowing the thoughts will never reach his own,
Just for a second. . .
And then I thank God that he is not a mind reader,
Otherwise he’d be reading his life away,
In the sticky pages of my thoughtless, void existence. . .
I realize it is just him and me in the room now. . .
As you pour your glass of rum,
We ignore your existence,
Looking in each other’s eyes in that fraction of a millisecond. . .
Nobody knows us.
Our minds are bedridden in disease and frictional bewilderment. . .
No one can ever truly see it. . .
No one, not even I,
Understands these thoughts. . .
And it is sickening to realize . .
But. . .
That is the perfection I have come to know.
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves.
As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all.
It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond.
a vocal seagull
descends toward liquid skies –
reflections ripple
At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more.
The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.
a tiny starfish
drifts beneath placid water –
lost constellation
When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin?
My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky.
My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea?
Written: November 4, 2015
For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest
the raspy whisper
finally
gets my full attention -
wistfully I smile
..for its persistence reminds me of you..
the crisp red leaf
scuttles scrapingly
across the gray pavement
to and fro
like a dancing crab
moving with the whims of the winds
chasing me
as it seemed like I had once chased my dreams;
blown in directions left up to chance
..until I met you..
..is it now, as it was then
Destiny?
for in this instant, my sense of direction
seems predestined..
a smoky scent
spices the chilled blue air
reminding me of our cozy nights
curled with the fire
..entranced
as we were
with our warmth
and our flame..
could it be
love signals from the hearth
calling me home..?
..my soul
feels akin to the red leaf,
the wafting smoke
and I am ready to follow..
Would the cold atmosphere be so cruel
as to play capricious tricks upon my eyes... or
..is that really
YOU
standing there..?
Oh!
my beloved,
how my broken spirit
has suffered
in my pining desire to be with you -
I run to you!
years of yearning prayers answered
fingertips straining - stretching further
reaching out to touch you,
the whole of my being aching
to hold you and enfold you
..ah, I feel your heat
so very close to me..
Alas!
I fall to my knees,
my arms empty
but for the loss I carry..
your warm breath
on the nape of my neck
only my hot want
brewed with a cool wisp of the breeze
..Oh, God! Please!
just let it be
let me go..!
my forsaken flame less than a dying ember;
I but ashes in my grief
withered
in my autumn season
without you
still...
I’m slow to realize...
that your fading glow just the sun slanting low
blurring wicked whimsy with my wild sorrow
in the burning of these bitter tears.
Susan Ashley
December 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: NA the day away
Sponsor: Lu Loo
*N/A’d: Best Free Verse 2019 Poetry Contest*
~ Honorable Mention ~
Contest: Your Choice (2) Any Theme, Form
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Poem Of The Day ~
December 4, 2018