Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
They're as swift as a lightning bolt,
Just a stern gaze—gazelles revolt.
A fleeting shadow in the night,
All prey leap off in frantic fright.
Stalking prey is their known special skill,
A silent whisper, born to kill.
Seventy miles per hour they race,
Yet still they blaze with fiery pace.
Their claws, a nightmare to all flesh,
Though they prefer their meals served fresh.
Still, no carcass resists their bite;
Eating it raw is their birthright.
Their playtime's always full of fun,
Pleasure is theirs in the long run.
They enjoy life as sly cheaters—
The reason they are called cheetahs.
BLOOD-coated
discourse
exposing
features
of BASIC
heathen hearts
INSPIRED
INSTRUCTIONS
for errant humanity
executed by ordinary
vassals served
divine fountain pens
BOLD script
prescribed
BEFORE
our very birth
that mortals should
not turn to ugly fish
LOVELY
red letters
from the masthead
author - Him -
Jesus the Christ
LEAVING ears
news of hope
and Heaven
lightening the pilgrim's
progressive load
ENDURING
messages of love
Mary's virgin womb
a throne room
for the everlasting king come
among us to this
EARTH
a spinning catastrophe
of 1000 miles per hour
and a billion small lights
on a journey home
Somewhere on the North York Moor
Pedal almost through the floor
Engine soon began to roar
Eighty miles per hour for sure
Death comes quick on the A64...
I saw Tarzan,
with no clothes on.
Who knew there
was a Black Swan?
Cinderella.
got home
after midnight.
Muhammad Ali,
is looking for a fight.
Pinocchio.
tells a bunch of lies.
A new movie,
Lord of the Flies.
Aladdin turned
out to be a thief.
Don't squeeze the
Charmin,
Where's the beef?
Batman drove
200 miles per hour.
Dr. Frankenstein
screaming for
more power.
Snow White lived
with seven men.
I thought that
was a sin.
Popeye had tattoos
And smoked a pipe.
Adolf Hitler on the loose
With the Reich.
Pac-man ate pills to
Improve performance.
The Hulk got mad,
And turned enormous.
Shaggy and Scooby are hippies
With the munchies.
Brenda Spencer didn't
Like Monday's.
Underdog was dating
Molly Purebred.
Kids in Africa,
Go unfed.
Felix the cat
had a bag of tricks.
Achilles dipped in the
River Styx.
The black widow
poisons her man.
The Police singing
about Roxanne.
Turbo1904 ?
Yesterday, I stroked a horse:
I ran my hand along his back
And watched his every muscle twitch,
So sensitive—what a proud and
Ceremonious beast. He held his head
Lightly—comfortable, with no fear—
And his ears tipped gently forward,
Relaxed. They flicked around at every
Sound, but the horse was not tense.
He rested his weight equally along
All four of his strong yet delicate legs—
So slender you thought you could snap them
Like a twig. But this tall and respected creature
Could run at thirty miles-per-hour on
These legs of his. His kick could kill,
If it had that desired intention. But this horse,
So powerful in all its creation, stood
By my side—unflinching; unmoving:
It made its choice to allow my presence—
To allow my every touch of his body.
I rubbed his nose, and his dark eyes locked
With mine. They told a story, certainly:
He could remember his whole life.
Perhaps, even, he could see mine, but
It looked as though he could see even further
Than just the past and the present.
Who am I?
I can swim seventy miles per hour
The largest of my kind caught was twice as long as a tall man
That sucker weighed two-hundred and twenty pounds
Give up?
I have a pointed bill
I can change my blue body instantly if I am scared
You will see me now with yellow stripes
Okay, the best clue is here.
I can jump out of the water twenty times in a row.
I can live to fourteen years old.
I have a large dorsal, fisherman call it a sail.
Give up? Keep scrolling - the answer is below
I am a sailfish
The northern pintail does not hesitate.
For mating season, he's never late.
When he espies the first spring flower,
He heads north at fifty miles per hour.
Less than eighty, now ... they're, unaccounted.
'Tis sad ... NEXT: the hawk hovered that founded
fresh sedges, grasslands, and deserts idyll,
God in the detail, Red-Tailed Hawk sidle,
Blitzkrieg mob by crows, females sized greater,
social-less wingers, life mono-mater,
dives one hundred twenty miles per hour,
kills owl young BOTH nesting competitor,
Prey spotted one hundred feet in the air,
Their eyesight to man, seven times finer,
Two feet, two pounds, twenty-one years lifespan,
Roadkill, hunting, and human expansion,
Diet: various birds, and small rodents,
Scrub deserts, farm fields, rainforests, woodlands.
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
Life in the fast lane
... is go, go, go,
Fleeting in vain ...
Take the one that's slow
100 miles per hour
Pedal to the metal,
One foot has the power
To let that needle settle
Time goes by fast
It goes fast enough,
Speeding right passed
All the good stuff
Rush, rush, rush
There is time to lose,
With stop signs lush
They're there to use
Take a break ...
With life, superb,
For your own sake
Pull over to the curb.
The great bird feathered harpoon
Flung from one shore to the other
Soaring over the Caribbean green of Torch Lake
Flies at the bow of my speeding boat
Or should I say more accurately
I race on the morning frill of waves
At the Blue Heron’s pointing wing
20 miles per hour
On the nose
Skipping stones lake to sky to lake
How to explain why flowers trees and birds
And even man with her pyramids
Are driven upward?
The sun’s draw more powerful than the iron grave of gravity
Behold Goethe
The doomed mathematics of the boat beneath me
Opposed to this bird
Born free to fly in one with majesty
How I wish to be all of thee
The rising slopes stop my boat
Heron looks back
Glides atop and over the hills to Central Lake
As if he was but a trick of the wind
And me a sleight of hand.
Torrential rain, blinding wind howling,
Dark heavy clouds ominously scowling,
Brilliant radiant light of electric flashes,
Following the lightning, defiant crashes,
Loudest blasts make brave men cower,
Thunder so deafening it exudes power,
I was born of a powerful thunderstorm.
Still attached to its base, I will spawn.
Nature’s most violent, I am called TORNADO,
300 miles per hour, my winds will blow.
A rotating column of air touching the ground,
Violently spinning with a horrendous sound.
I will cause fatalities at a devastating rate,
Buildings, and whole towns, I will annihilate,
People panic seeing my deadly approach,
Over fields and farms and cities I encroach.
Lifting up animals, houses and cars in my wake,
My tempest is unending, with fury, victims I take,
Finally cold down drafts signal my final gust.
I slowly cease rotating and turn to dust.
A sneeze travels about 100 mph
40,000 droplets are ejected
Traveling almost eleven feet
Much further than expected
Wondering if that applies to farts
Heard they can be quite deadly
Blowing big holes in your undies
Emitting an odorous medley
Clocked at almost 10 feet per second
That's roughly about 7 miles per hour
Capable of setting fire to your curtains
Have wilted pretty flowers
People have been seriously injured
Not wearing protective gear
The recoil action can drive them
Into walls and objects near
Actually heard of this one poor chap
Who's not longer able to speak
The utterly intensive reverberation
Reduced his voice to a squeak
Well now don't say I didn't warn you
Bout this ever present danger
Take heed and do have a happy life
Advice from a caring stranger
Two race cars on I-70 are gaining on my red Lincoln.
They are propelled with extra momentum as they fly past.
Swishing around me as if I am sitting still.
I am traveling 77 miles per hour.
They must be doing at least a hundred each.
I know I have matured because I do not get angry.
I do not chase them down, determined to pass them
I do not cuss or get angry.
Instead, I admire their gumption
Remembering how I used to drive, once upon a time.
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