Long Electric eel Poems
Long Electric eel Poems. Below are the most popular long Electric eel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Electric eel poems by poem length and keyword.
saturday morning pillow case
i used it for the first time at age adult
i remember when i had a life sentence every saturday morning
you could not peel my eyes away from that terrific tube of wonderfulness
saturday morning retro blanket
i used it for the first time on the day of my first grey hair
i remember when i had an organizer in my brain especially for saturday morning
you had to literally hit me in the head with a back brain mallet to bring me back to reality
saturday morning orange kool aid alarm clock
i used it for the first time on my first day of re-realization
i remember when on a saturday morning, time did not matter and had no adequate definition
you could not get me past saturday morning even with the electric eel rod of Monday's inevitable reminder of its unfortunate return....
........jiggle clumsily; post halter-
behind braids- busy in evacuation of the cool pool water,
like a carefree bull in the field.
Her eyes sharp and cruel, unyielding to the faulter.
Fixating on a fool,
one caught looking,
looking around in a house of slaughter.
Baiting fingers thread the hook at the back of the neck.
Electric eel, slippery Brook,
Devil's daughter-sees her slithering tool- He, electrically awestruck like
A fist magnetic, en route to the face spilling drool onto Tesla spool archway portal of open space.
Strings attached, loose and taught,
drawstring and shortest lot of toothpick drawn from maw aftermeal twisting twirl, say ahhh.
Umbrella, sundress, undressed girl, with dimple and curls, Salem's lot,
lizard kind of you're in trouble.
You are aftermath wreckage, rubble.
Thrown into a dancing fire.
Inn-keeping-with something to visualize and desire.
He becomes her familiar,
one that roils in a mire.
The catch of the day
hung out to dry, for the letting.
To bleed, into the night.
Like a stain setting.
Sniffing helplessly like a hound
in the open airs entrails- in the dew of it's misting device of shroud.
Hellbound
In a twisting abyss of chance -romance,
in advance of death in a trance.
Hade's Siren smirks at the arrow holes of Eros bow.
Marksmanship, gamesmanship, act 3 underwaymanship, with an encore and a show, and a tip.
She takes a bow in mocking disrespect-
turned about face in splay.
O the feel of the steal.
The flash of a blade.
The flash of ages, gone to seasons
of gray.
Cursing in looks of kill, of a dialect universally known but unnamed.
Of that wet and silvery feel.
Jehovah of Armies
made a count one day
of all His weapons
keeping man at bay
of non leathal weapons
He gave the skunk his stink
and a little less harmless
the octopus' ink
sometimes more is needed
to get a point across
a little pain and fear
to impress a loss
soon there will be no doubt
about how they feel
if just once they touch
the electric eel
always beware of
little thing with wings
some may bite
and some may sting
one final warning
and one final note
a very harsh warning
is a bunt of a goat
but for those who are
less fearful
and bent on adventure
who challenges the snows
and suns of nature
to those that would climb
Gods invisible wall
shatter Gods ceiling
ignore Gods calls
for those who would face
the ultimate threat
the deadliest creatchers
man has ever met
Gods final judgement
more or less
escape from these creatures
the ultimate conquest
you've made it this far
dont stop now
how much more can you defy
Gods laws
you may escape the tigers claws
be just missed by hungry jaws
quick enough to avoid the cobras strike
smart enough not to challenge
the elephants might
witty enough to escape
the anaconda grip
be very careful not to slip
lucky enough to avoid all fangs
with venomous and vicious names
tempting not the bull
to gore
declairing never to stand behind
a mule once more
so far weve made it
still living and breathing
Jehovah of Armies
protecting and scheming
Form:
Beware the morning tiger
Before his first coffee
Look out for the afternoon lizard:
Ectotherm on the sidewalk soaking in other people’s acknowledgement
On occasion I’m a hummingbird
Seeking life’s nectar while shying away from human contact
Sometimes I’m a dolphin
Smiling and dancing in the waves
Last week I felt like a beaver
Getupgotoworkdomyworkgotobedgetupgotoworkdomyworkgotobed
(do beavers even have beds?)
Whatever happened to the puppy
Who would romp exuberantly through the day
Eventually collapsing in utterly exhausted joy?
Be wary of the electric eel
Who will zap you if you get too close
Look at the proudly preening peacock
Hoping somebody will notice me
Occasionally I’m a jackrabbit
Always on my guard, ready to run away from conflict
At times I’m a giraffe
Able to rise above the dust of the day
This week I was a worker bee putting in a day’s work
Happy to let the Queen be in charge
Whatever else I may be, I feel like a White Rhino
Older, wiser, stronger, endangered
My spirit animal is a zoo
…or a puppy
seafarers’ paradise
seven men drowned
when a ship sank under gigantic waves
seven weeks later
they appeared on the Island of Saragossa
where singing shanty is forbidden
but seaweed is served in 7 variations
by a female ship cook, the only woman
who had been welcomed
as mess-maid was not proper sailors
as for the dead they are soaking wet
it is what keep then going, and lives in caves
lit up by electric eel and blue sea stars
the carpenter has added shelves.
strict ranks are observed, the skippers have
the biggest cave, in a smaller cave, the chief steward
drink whisky from a flask that fills itself up
insist he is an officer, is in conflict with everyone.
since the island is timeless, no one knows or care
whether it is forenoon or afternoon
they listen to the cook’s bell, especially if curry is served
when it is summer, they swim with dolphins.
Every single individual has an expectation.
We are blinded by our greed and deception.
We expect one leader to set the pace.
Every single day, the hunt seems to advance.
We find what is true in our quest block.
It zaps us with an electric eel-like shock.
It's not the one in charge of our social life.
Between friends or family, we evade strife.
Love and friendship are what we seek.
Or a hill that we must soar to the peak.
We grasp our vitality from the love we feel.
Our freedom is driven in portion by this deal.
If we're lucky, our youth will be sans fear.
We'll dance in the green forests all year.
Written: July 24, 2022
Poetry IS.
A personal thing you can relate to.
A common thread weaved into-
Life's fabric by the Master Craftsman.
An endproduct and tool for enjoyment
and understanding-building.
If you see a McCaw steal a Pirates
last lemon that's justice poetry!
If you ever see someone (else) unable to shake
their head of a tune (well that's just funny)!
Just as long as you don't also pass to them
a virus of yawn or hiccup too!
Needing yet another poetic pawn
of reset to spawn,
too-well, that wouldn't be cool!
That would be hilarious and wrong?
{Even more about this below}
((A temporary chastisement stealing
your atmosphere, like a frozen moodring.
A spell that creates a black cloud, intimately near,
that you just have to sail through.
Basking in it's rain and wind sheer.
Till you are cleansed of the melody malady's
sticky honey dew of snare.))
{Even more below} Sigh
(((Till some other air takes it's place under sail-
like electric eel current, (all clear)
leech of seasnail- transfusement-lunacy-loom.
But enough about points, needlings stuck
in a Godsmack groove.
Fangs siring innoculation, black tides undermoon
giving instant Karma lessons, taking you
to imagination fascination
School.)))
Poetry is a paradigm in parody
In transfiguration transcribing-semblence,
fro and TO beauty, irony and clarity
OF knowledge and recapturing-meaning
and it's relevance to BOOT.
Poetry IS Innocence imbibing Evanescence-
meaning in deed there IS also poetry in you.
I dive into the depths of mother sea
she nurtures me, conceals me, delights me
two dolphins swim up and surround me
keeping me out of the great white’s sight
I am careful to not dangle my appendages near mother’s corals
they are deadly sharp, and blood would bring other sharks
I do a few loops and whorls, feeling at home, feeling mermaid-like
Never do I feel more alive than when I am the depths of an ocean
a school of fish swim past, they are too big to be krill
I think one winks at me; understanding my oneness with them
Returning to the surface for a breath is annoying to me
I never did that in my other life when I was an electric eel
Fulcrum
Listen to me sweetheart.
It is easy to be a fool.
It requires no intelligence at all.
You will always listen to those who speak
Words you personally want to hear.
You will always ignore and belittle those
Who disagree with your tentative notion
Of what the definitive truth is.
If you say the earth is round,
And there is a tone of finality in your voice,
I will say, fine, but I disagree.
I say it is flat, and I’m right because, well,
I have more college degrees than you,
I am obviously smarter than you,
I’m whiter than you,
And have more money than you.
My house is bigger than yours,
And my car is faster.
Besides, flat objects don’t turn
Elliptically in circles that
Continue on and on, ad infinitum,
Without some kind of radical transmogrification
Occurring in its plain and acute geometric form.
What would Einstein say?
He would agree with me of course!
He would say: “Two things are infinite,
The Universe, and human stupidity.”
Here sweetheart, have another chaser.
I detest talking politics with you,
But I love talking about Einstein,
And I love watching you sit there,
Showing off your shiny scented legs,
As you cross and uncross them
Restlessly.
Here, give me your foot,
I will massage your toes with cotton swabs,
And peanut butter,
And I will feed you my electric eel eggs.
She is a masterpiece of wild contradiction,
fuse blown by a wick, of litmus tongue in your senses-
her moods shifting chameleonic shades everything at once
in candle wax trick or residue residing nowhere.
Heart's firework pinwheel blown
by a wish everywhere
and summoned without lips service-
to neither Hades, Avalon nor Loch Ness, lore.
In her magic lies a silent non disclosure appeasment,
a benediction like a life preserver of electric feel.
Her trinkets are cursed idols, in a pool of profoundness laid- imply at your feet, dewly spilled.
She sheds jade droplets of faceted
watershed moments,
strings them like pearls
to loose your balance on your
precipitated emotion.
She is "in the field"- set of runged abominations-
of a fools notion.
Jade droplets of faceted conglomeration
bathed of precipitale- emotion-
swimming your head like electric eel.
She is a storm brewing inside a jewel,
vagabond bauble non descript versing of
evident residual haunting your soul to steal-
new horizon, taunting virgin territory, with infatuation, lightning.
Underwritten page of felt covertly, subtly everything hunting, seasoned overtly sensory heightened display.
Moraed morals, moreover-sustained
of overlay fonting the atmosphere
cover paged as she wears where she lays.
The sky, a distant dream in the ocean of her gaze,
Wind stripped bare in a pool of borrowed
rhymes swimming your head in amaze
as we scramble for the right words to parlay
in her charms way.
In her voice lies a silent romance
leaving more questions than answers in her wake,
as her moods shift, atelier 'steem-roller,
like runic winds
of intolerant display, mind, screen-controler.
Touchstones in a pool of profoundness,
sun ray sing song at hand after the reigns.