Long Sea anemone Poems
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IT'S SAID A FEW HUNDRED MILLION YEARS AGO
I WAS LIVING IN THE SEA
I HAD NO LEGS TO WALK
I COULDN'T EVEN TALK
I WAS JUST A SEA ANEMONE
A SINGLE CELLED CRITTER IN THE PRIMAL STEW
DIDN'T SEEM TO BE GETTING ANYWHERE
BUT THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED
I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS
BUT IT MADE ME COME UP FOR AIR
I MUST HAVE LOST MY TAIL BETWEEN THE SEA AND THE SHORE
AND I FINALLY LEARNED TO WALK ERECT
I GUESS YOU COULD SAY I'VE COME A LONG WAY
TO GET A LITTLE COSMIC RESPECT
SOME MIGHT EVEN SAY I AM CIVILIZED
BY THE WAY THAT I KNEEL TO PRAY
BUT WHAT'S IMAGINATION IF IT ISN'T INSPIRATION
IS THAT HOW I GOT HERE TODAY
THERE'S A THOUSAND DIFFERENT TALES OF CREATION
HOW DO YOU KNOW WHICH ONE TO BELIEVE
SCIENCE TEACHES EVOLUTION
RELIGION TEACHES ADAM AND EVE
I DON'T CARE IF THE WORLD IS ON A TURTLE'S BACK
OR A SUPER DUDE SAID LET THERE BE LIGHT
THERE IS SOMETHING HAPPENING, SYNAPS ARE SNAPPING
SO I'D LIKE TO GET MY FACTS JUST RIGHT
GODS SO PROLIFIC YOU GOT TO BE SPECIFIC
WHO'S GONNA HEAR YOU PRAY
JESUS OR JUDAH, MOHAMMED OR BUDHA
WHO ANSWERS PRAYERS TODAY
I DON'T BELIEVE THE BIG BANG THEORY
IS HOW I LEARNED TO PROCREATE
AND I THINK IT'S KINDA FUNKY
IF ADAM WAS A MONKEY
OR IT WAS SOMETHING EVE ATE
WHILE CHILLING IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN
SOME OLD SNAKE SAID STEP INTO THE LIGHT
IF YOU WANT TO HAVE A LIFE YOU GOTTA BE A WIFE
SO HAVE ADAM TAKE A BITE
OH WHAT A STINKER, HOOK LINE AND SINKER
ADAM REALLY SWALLOWED EVE'S BAIT
HOW WAS HE TO KNOW THAT SHE WAS JUST TROLLING
PIMPING FOR A SNAKE
NOW HE'S GOT HER DEEP INSIDE AND HE CAN'T GET AWAY
SHE REELS HIM AND WATCHES HIM PLAY
THE BETTER THEY LOOK, THE DEEPER THE HOOK
MEN WILL NEVER EVER GET AWAY
HAS IT BEEN THAT WAY FOREVER
BY A GOD THAT IS SO CLEVER
IN A GARDEN'S PERFECT WEATHER
IT'S A LOVELY ENDEAVOR
I DON'T MIND IF I DON'T GET AWAY
BUT I'D LIKE TO KNOW TO WHOM I PRAY
Creatures of the sea, all beautiful and fair.
A thought comes to mind, what if they swam in the air?
Would we swat fish away as we do with bugs
Or tentacle arms always giving hugs?
Whales would want nicknames,
Sardines playing hopscotch games,
Lion-fish need to be tamed,
Crabs at cafes sipping coffee from mugs.
Starfish lazily lay getting tan,
Seahorse has a political chat with man.
The clownfish tells jokes at comedy night
While anglerfish holds still as the light.
Sea otters would be perfect babysitters,
Barracuda will pose with shine and glitter,
And sea urchins would love to clean litter.
Seals, wanting a swim, will make the bathroom flood.
Turtles would work construction because of their shells,
The lobsters would be managers of hotels,
Swordfish would join battle,
Manatees could look after cattle.
Sea anemone helps with shock therapy,
Dolphin cheerleaders yip with glee,
The shrimp will sell car insurance, guarantee,
And orcas looking good in scrubs.
Flying fish would be airplane pilots,
Narwhals picking fights and riots,
Sea urchins would give tattoos.
Manta rays can be anchors on the news,
Sea slugs would be the ultimate spies,
Scallops having staring contests with multiple eyes,
Belugas stealing cookies but always denies.
Electric eels dealing out drugs,
The sting ray always tattles and blames,
A jellyfish constantly proclaims his name is James.
Pufferfish will be prideful and wise
And the hammerhead shark ruins your rugs.
The walrus could be a taste tester,
The blue whale, a movie director.
Librarian belongs to the hermit crab,
Cuttlefish would drive a taxicab.
Sea lions workout, under the chest press they strain
And angelfish work for voting campaigns.
“What life would be like” I exclaimed
“If we swat around fish like bugs.”
We met over oysters and scallops in the French Quarter
of a mismatched ether.
She sent pictures - her in a mirror, beside a mirror,
partly hidden by a mirror, naked under glass
(I still have that one).
She liked to reflect and be reflected.
I admired her self-regard, her low-minded succulence,
Her high-handed high-heeled slipperiness.
Raw fresh oysters and Dom Perignon for breakfast and lunch.
Scallops seared in butter on a crostini and a
Sauvignon Blanc for supper.
This minimalist diet kept her svelte, prim, and of course
most improper. I thought of her as a swim without a swimmer,
splashes of her revealing her lovely lips, and they were indeed
lovely,
red but not scarlet more a sea anemone rouge
as it fades to a pink laced coral.
The camera may garnish but it cannot hide
that kind of salty lusciousness
caught fresh every morning.
I likened her to a glistening slickness to be sipped or guzzled
Her words slipped through you like Gaelic eels.
Her neck undulated as a dolphins caress
as she swallowed her catch and zoomed.
I confess to an occasional shame-faced queasiness;
and then oyster and scallops are best consumed
over the internet where too much of them
cannot sour the stomach or tease you softly
with a squirmy aftertaste.
Yet I still imagine her in a mirror again
her teeth as pearly as pearls, yet snip-snip sharp
and as pointy as stiletto’s rent through a fished-up
filet of heart.
‘Krasue’
(A woman’s head with viscera hanging down from her neck.
She paralyzes like ice-cold lightning).
Where will you be tonight when the moon is shut?
Woman hater, where will you be
when the womb of your soul is shut tight?
Krasue will chant these lines over your stunned body,
her incubus birthed in you.
She will keep you pregnant until
your male belly bursts.
Then she will come out of you,
and the moon will open and shine again,
but not for you.
~~~~~~~~
‘Mae Nak’
(She's a female ghost who died at childbirth
and can extend her arms).
Mae Nak loves you.
She wants to carry you in her limbs
to the birthing couch. There she will
stretch her arms to the dawn.
Mae Nak loves you,
but you are a ghost to her,
she sees only an endless umbilical cord.
She believes you dangle at the end of it.
She believes that one morning
she will hear you mewing like a kitten
at her door.
Until then she lengthens her arms
like a sea anemone at a watery reflection
of the morning star.
~~~~~~~~
Nang Mai
(Lady of the Woods’, ghost-fairy related to trees).
Texture and grain are her domain,
but she will appear
if you are near her spider woven eyes.
She harms none,
but she can break the ties
to your own self,
make you see the mask
you’re wearing,
then she will send you home
weeping
until you break a thousand mirrors.
~~~~~~~~~
On the Beach, Translation of Etiemble’s poem: Sur la plage by T.
Wignesan
(The end-rhyme scheme of the orignal : abb(b)a, cdcd, efef, ghgh, iijj,
klkl, fmfm, nnhh)
How good-looking he was this spy
all studded with sea-shells,
that the sea disgorged on the beach
(that the waves buried on the beach ?)
at the very moment we departed this world!
Anemones for his eyes,
a clam instead of an ear,
a bouquet of algae for haïr.
Long, hard, white and similar
to those statues of salt,
for every tongue a cuttlefish bone
whose caress rough and dry
awaited only a venomous kiss.
Clothed only in sand whose fever
and the shock of our death
had turned to wood our lips,
we called into question the treasure :
« English ? – French ?- Nazi ?- Who knows ?
But Young, Oh ! yes ! Drowned, that’s for
sure ; doubly drowned : the mouth open
for the ultimate gulp of green water.
How tenderly you leaned forward
to seal the ancient eye-lid,
that a tear, born of your needle-eye,
heavy, colourless like stone
trickled from his mouth : the honey
suave !- « Oh ! the sea anemone flowers,
there, unfolding their double rainbows,
bubbles of rubber easily stained ;
look, I killed him ! » « Fool, I said to him,
admire with me the prodigy,
and the proud perfume of his body
the body of a deceased still faltering. »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
‘Krasue’
A woman’s head with viscera hanging down from her neck.
She paralyzes like ice-cold lightning.
Where will you be tonight when the moon is shut?
Woman hater, where will you be
when the womb of your soul is shut tight?
Krasue will chant these lines over your stunned body,
her incubus entraps you.
She will keep you pregnant until
your male belly bursts.
Then she will come out of you,
and the moon will open and shine again,
but not for you.
~~~~~~~~
‘Mae Nak’
She's who died at childbirth,
she who extends her arms.
Mae Nak loves you.
She wants to carry you in her limbs
to the birthing couch. There she will
stretch her arms to the dawn.
Mae Nak will keep you safe,
but you are a ghost to her,
she sees only an endless umbilical cord.
She believes you dangle at the end of it.
She believes that one morning
she will hear you mewing like a kitten
at her door.
Until then she lengthens her arms
like a sea anemone at a watery reflection
of the morning star.
~~~~~~~~
Nang Mai
‘Lady of the Woods’, ghost-fairy related to trees.
Texture and grain are her domain,
but she will appear
if you are near her spider woven eyes.
She harms none,
but she can break the ties
to your own self,
make you see the mask
you’re wearing,
then she will send you home
weeping
until you break a thousand mirrors.
Best case scenario -
my fame walking on two legs
wearing a golden helmet
(I made a bowl which I hammered
out of a lump of copper in workshop-class
aged 14, not good,
but all is golden now, for he who comes after me
has written an autobiography
that has left-out most of my failed handiworks).
He speaks from the empty shell
of a hermit crab. Distant stars love him.
He continues restoring my poems
long after they have crashed
into brick walls.
Or, he may come as the woman,
the one I have been seeking
in that frosted window of a past life,
She who I can only recall
when drunk on Blue Nun wine,
a Liebfraumilch that knits
all star-crossed lovers together
as they write themselves
quietly out of history.
In that almost land
my beloved unveils herself,
waits for my mind to open
like a blushing coral
sea anemone.
On the other hand,
he who comes after me
that man who watched my life
as if my body were at the bottom of a cliff,
he who also goads me to tinker with words,
converting them into land-mines
that sometimes maim.
If he shows up after my life
then I am going to haunt him
because he deserves to be scared
of a guy like me.
Dreaming of Beaches:
and days by the Sea.
Dreaming of Grandma,
playing with me.
We played by the ocean,
and buried our feet in the sand!
We ran from the tides;
and those memories are Grand.
We searched for buried treasure;
and what did we find?
The greatest treasure of all;
was spending the time.
As the tides were down;
What did we see?
The grand Starfish, and Sea Anemone!
We found sunken ships and tried to catch crabs.
We threw rocks in the Ocean, and strolled hand in hand.
We played until sunset;
watching the sun melt into the Sea
All along laughing, my grandma and me.
Finally in darkness we headed home;
Counting the stars, down the boardwalk we'd roam.
The lights on the ships are so pretty to see.
Thank you grandma,
for sharing them with me.
written in 2004
Melted plastic only 16 years
It was on concrete round under the sun
While I was shedding tears
What's the use Environmental substance abuse
Midnight see Amenia Marine
Midnight saxophone solo
Sea anemone amethyst
What's the use, Environmental substance abuse
Patina mist breezy
Royal jacaranda ultraviolet sneezes
Achoo bless you
Sinful articles man caretaker of Earth
Midnight seems so solar bright
Midnight saxophone solo
Drum roll Marco Polo
Down rainbows ends
BlackBerry puddle Timberwolves
Spirit Rock jacaranda
Temporal barracuda
7 * 70 16 years
Plastic bags and bottles
Never decomposed lasting for eternity
Pre-kindergarteners elderly grandmothers the populist and politicians say
What's the use environmental substance abuse
12/18/19
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr
Blue velvet circles spinning in my mind
Archaic fabled days of sadness and desperation
Feeling so blue
Like the drifting sea anemone in ocean blue
While spirits swirl about me
Feeling so blue
Those enigmatic swirls of hazy mountain crests
Lingering through fading sun
Speak of dying
Like rain pouring down into an open grave
And mourners trying to make light
Speak of dying
Feelings of hopelessness betray the better me
Who sings uplifting songs of praise
Reciting psalms
Like a pure altar boy who knows the truth
And nothing releases the horrible pain
Reciting psalms