Long Starfish Poems
Long Starfish Poems. Below are the most popular long Starfish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Starfish poems by poem length and keyword.
Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
In a moment of magic I once gave her a juicy innocent peach
Not yet knowing that she harboured a sweet nascent dream
In which as a youngster she knew that she would marry the one
Who handed such a fleshy gift to the gypsy Queen of Fairy Land
Bestowed upon her by night’s prophesy she carried the vision of
Requited love and blissful peace brought by subconscious longing
And spiritual clarity of a Higher Power submerged in compassion
A passionate fruit with soft skin and one huge seed of togetherness
We eloped together into a new dawn
The doomsayers had a field day as they harvested bitter doubts
‘It will only last a couple of months and the peach will turn rotten’
‘You cannot feed on clairvoyant oracles and meek pagan beliefs’
‘They are deluded insane and caught up in misguided romance’
They called her a witch a seductress and labelled me irresponsible
With so much at stake painted pictures of broomsticks and failure
While we had found the jewel in a haystack without even searching
And set fire to the past as we danced naked around a fire of passion
We knew the truth of intuitive feeling
One can never be sure what lies at the end of paths never taken
Whether road blocks and diversions belittle emotions and faith
But they who ignore heavenly signs forfeit adventure and truth
Stay stuck in spent time and hail its dubious comfort at their peril
We travelled and found a small hut on the beach out of sight
Collected starfish and driftwood and caressed wounded souls
Carved wedding bands out of sea shells and called upon dolphins
To witness our marriage surfing along happily ever since then
A cormorant applauded the feast
Under a star studded canopy on the miraculous shore of belonging
We never strayed from what intuition and feelings offered for free
Meandered on the shoreline and set our sails into a magical ocean
Tasted the salt of a mindful earth and soothed our recovering minds
Never questioned the wisdom of our union shared by hungry souls
Treasure pleasure and joy weathered powerful storms and all tides
The cosmos donates all we ever need once we are willing to navigate
Waves and effervescence sparkling desire and in our case a peach
Leading the universal way
13th May 2020
I am a foodie, I must confess, I swim a few laps for exercise
Along come the Mollusk, and to my pleasant surprise
I have no restraint and they look so yummy
I just open my jaws wide, and fill up my tummy
Holy Mackerel, they make quite the feast!
Unlike that deepwater whale; Moby Vic, that lumbering beast
A real blow show, they eat any freak’n thing
Whale diet: Squid, Krill, Larvae, what distaste they bring!
Ah, catching up to the guys, what are they circling ‘round?
Heya Tom, Bill, GW, Anil. Rob, l see you’ve gained a pound
“I’m on a sea-food diet, I see food, I eat it!” Hee hee hee
Yep, you may want to stick to your day job, try a sea-shanty!
Look over there boys, the Seahorses, I hear they work for LYFT
Harry, how’s business, break for some sushi? California Roll, a gift
You may wanna giddy up, plenty of shrimp crawling beneath you
I know how much the Seahorse love to munch crustaceans too
"Shrimp—cockroaches of the sea! Not a kosher food"
Okay GW, what do you eat, my friend, set the mood
Gefilte fish recipe; grind the salmon, red snapper, codfish,
Onions, carrots, add eggs, sugar, salt, white pepper, in a dish
Stir in ice water, add matzo meal and chop, boil, voila, gefilte fish!
To the right of us, why it’s Lady L, my, she is swell
Small crabs on her menu, anything in the sand that dwell
Blowfish is a species that feeds on poison, dangerous to eat
They can’t hunt, they call ‘em puffers, just one puff’s a real treat
Anil, do you believe in sea nymphs on a blue oceanic parade?
Yes, I vision the lovely face of Wendy on the frame of a mermaid
Nil, come on now, aren’t you married, mate
OK, Tom, I’m going home, I won’t be late, I won’t be late
To the right of us the Starfish, greet the ladies of the sea
How they brighten the day, on display, as charming as can be
Pangie, Valsa, Andrea, Paula, Len, Kim, Eve and Gina
I know how you love snails, I bring escargot straight from the Marina
And so, my friends, another lovely day. Join us for our usual Activities and Brunch
6/11/22
Third Place
A Merger With Food Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
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
Aunt Ethel said to Uncle Fred,
Let’s attempt the starfish in bed,
Old Ethel insisted,
Till Fred’s back got twisted,
They best stick to sleeping instead!
Original poem by Jan Allison
Fred couldn't stand and was writhing in pain
Ethel was mad and looked on with disdain
So he took a blue pill
Then went in for the kill
And now performs like a stallion again.
But the blue pills power started to wane
As Ethel begged him to do it again
But things came to a stop
Poor Fred started to flop
So they gave up and cracked open champagne...
Then Ethel got hold of a book
Fred fainted when he had a look
Twas the calmer suture
Some poses may suit her
But Fred said it made him feel crook
Aunt Ethel said Freddie my dear
You truly have nothing to fear
Cos tonight’s the night
Much to my delight
We’re swinging from the chandelier!
Old Fred said I don’t understand
Your desire’s got right out of hand
If you want so much sex
Go next door and see Rex
He’s the randiest guy in the land
Aunt Ethel said you’re being silly
At aged ninety I’m no young filly
I still want to have sex
With you and not Rex
Cos Rexie’s got a tiny Willy!
The champers made Ethel quite woozy
Fred’s shattered so he had a snoozey
They were woken at four
It was Rex from next door
No thank you said Ethel I'm no floozy.
Rex hammered again on their door
He said Ethel I've said this before
My sex life is shocking
I hear your bed rocking
These paper thin walls I abhor.
Fred woke up with the pounding on the door
His language was very blue as he swore
He said " what do you want Rex" ?
He said "geriatric sex"
Cos' with Ethel I've done it twice before...
Ethel blushed and she said sorry Fred
Just last winter Rex took me to bed
BUT you were with fat Mable
Making out on our table
So I slept with Rexie instead
Final verse by Belle Bellevue
Fred said Mable has nothing on you
But what’s a poor bloke supposed to do
I heard you and Rex
Planning to have sex
What’s good for you is good for me too.
Collaboration with Jan Allison.
Written 2nd June 2021.
Not yet once more a narrative of depressive introspection
enough is enough and who wants to read that cloudy gloom
of times blasted by the sand of scraping of the shaving dusk
Lamentations ‘I used to be this and like that’ professions of success
a story of light entertainment under a panoply of easy rushing flow
ifs and buts now ‘could have should have would have’ did I really
A touch of mania mangled in machination of defence distortion
projections of mechanised dissolution of a hungry soul in waiting
lightning of dark ignitions of void and numbness just the same
Prisms of condensed reflection waiting to destruct dismantle
a here and now and there and then search for meaning of
meaning of mindfulness and sensing nonsense’s scent and sense
The corrosive sand in my hourglass has turned a shoreline sure line in which
all tides seek tenderness where is what is and will be one
as torrents have dissolved for now to silent foam and form of motion
Lowered by expectations aspiring from cascades and shallow mooring
longing for some drifting wood conversed into a beach hut of simplicity
quietude and the dogma of ‘higher faster longer’ no longer but easier
Today without nostalgia a little more removed from the whirl pool from
self-righteousness a little tad embraced by what I hope is to be humble
a safety net and also my life buoy anchors firmer in the river that moves
To the ocean and two rivulets speak loud and clear to be happy
with apathetic inertia to be contained and drowning kept at bay
and without hurting sentient beings not harming you nor I
Those thoughts begin to catch my fish to fry and feeling them breeds
a cautious slow and tentative fermentation wherein ballast and burden
is unfastened without too much mental agony and injured attainment
The beauty of a starfish the ink on paper and an octopus’ eight noble
truths maybe a dolphin retreating in those stark and shark infested
feeding grounds embrace emotions of where my heart wishes to be
22 March 2018
A Prayer for Michael (the one who sent me here)
I said a prayer and called your name
It was a prayer for you
You are my friend
I called your name with tears
My eyes are rivers in your grace
I cannot see the bottom of this pit
Upon whose rim you stand
But I release you from the wretched place
I break your spell and kill your witch with my golden cold spike of love
I have no tools
My ways are simple
But I throw them over to you with every inch of strength you have given me
I only have a small closed heart that’s broken
But it wishes to be strong and large
Like you can be too
Like you were as a child of light
Like you are still, but only blinded and stunned
You are like a brother and father and guide to me
In one stroke of kindness you gave me hope
My broken heart holds magic
It knows your pain
And in its lock a golden broken key of love you turned
You made me stronger
And like a starfish
Now I have a thousand keys forming to give away
I offer one to you my new friend
My love is yours to use and keep
Hold it in your heart
Be warm
I pledge my friendship
In the times your heart is cold and lonely
Drink to me the cup you throw away
Remember I will keep you warm inside of me
Your memory will not fade, I know your name
Take strength in knowing those you heal
Demand of you as well that you should rise again
Rise and take your place
Stand in recognition of what you must be and are even now
Walk forward again in the light of your own making
Have half the hope you have given
Rekindle it
You have no shame
And no wrong did you make
It was right to love so freely
With such pure honesty and trust and lust
No matter that anyone should hurt you
This was only a test and strengthening
Use the hurt to remember your mission
Let its fading embers grow warm again and not fester
Fuel that fire with the wind of your desire to heal
And love again without restraint
As you know you always will and must
I release you from the spell
No fear is yours to bear
Stand up and walk out of those old shoes
In health, without fear, I set you free
Empress Ladybird lived in Moss Wood, in a huge, hollow of an oak tree;
In domestic comfort, with all her dear children, beyond the entry, leafy.
Empress and her mate had parted, when they'd resolved to move on;
However, she would live to love again, like spring when winter's gone.
Empress was all things that a ruler should be, like Queen Anne's lace-
Always fair and kind to subjects, in the green, forest kingdom of grace.
Fireflies and frogs made up the forest family, and visited at olive even,
When black pearl, shadows at last had flourished, silver stars increasin'.
They lived in the house of butterfly moon, when all earth grew drowsy;
In deep stillness, broken solely by whispers-very typical of the country.
The path by their pretty door held primroses, in golden, songbird days;
And yellow poppies were present as well, underneath pink, cloud sprays.
Native, nimble deer and nightingales were neighbors, sighted at noon,
In the middle of daytime's narration, steps ahead of full, scarlet moon.
Hedgehog cacti resembled the prickly namesakes, in summers of swelter,
And burgundy pansy dressed up in frills, enchanting they who beheld her.
Red butterfly wing plants formed dense swarms, upon a bustling breeze;
As starfish cacti lit up sable nights, with red, cream and beige tendencies.
Lucky Empress had numerous children; and youngest of all was little Ann.
The siblings kept house, when Mother went out, and Ann also lent a hand.
On a Monday, Empress was at the Council of Cherries, in sweet summer;
When a subject screamed, 'Ladybird, ladybird fly away home!' Bummer!
'Your house is on fire and your children are gone! All except one, and her
Name is Ann, and she hid under the baking pan.' she said. Day gone sour!
Empress still reigns in Moss Wood, for her subjects were able to rebuild,
After a fire, fueled by lightning. Her older kids got married, on Berry Hill.
Empress misses her children, but accepts that it is the way of the world;
And she takes comfort in sweet little Ann, like evening's moonlight pearl.
I watch as we all march blindly into the swells feet first,
scraping the ocean floor with drudgery
drowning in this academia, with starfish and sandcastles
and sentiments that wash away with each coming of the tide
We haven't always been as marching ants,
back to back and hand in hand
we've built this land from nothing
The past recedes and tomorrow rises,
time progresses: open minded
while we all dredge with stapled eyelids
still planning out our everything
Forever long, the brine blue tide is
always beckoning us onward.
Its too hard to tell when father time is
playing tricks on me.
The future is grim, the reaper's dead-bent
on harvesting the seeds we've sown
fathers who've passed on debt long owed
to sons who laugh hard while they hit the road
like water flows all the way to the sandbank
I cant help but wish on starfish sinking out to sea
that tomorrow is still a glass half-full of new surprises
vast and outstanding before me.
I took for granted the grand horizon,
full of beauty and hope, and a sun that still rises
over sandcastles crumbling into their counteraction
the certainty of sand that never sticks together long.
I took for granted the way that nothing is
the way it used to be
or was
or could've been
and how its all been done before
Can anyone look up,
when their feet are down
and they waltz on far less sacred ground
than those who came before them.
The nature of the ocean forms to fit its mold
with its blue hue reflecting bold
the sky and all its glory.
We march onward through the rivers rotting
with the raindrops spotting our overcoats
we march onward for the sake of stopping
sometime when we are old.
The ocean swells with the river's rot
the tide compelled the stars to stop
and the fish all cry as people keep on drowning.
The reaper is told to cut his losses
to save the few who still have conscience
and to try again tomorrow.
Tomorrow's glass, half-empty in want
is chock full of the river's rot
and the conscious few left fearful.
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