Sea Lion Poems | Examples

Pilgrimage

One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city,
above a sea lion rookery.

She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:

“I want you animals to know, open your eyes,
a hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”

She rowed a boat on the spume
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.

When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.

The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.

I'll take the back roads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions
savoring their deep throated funk.

I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salt of my words.

The Burial of My Uncle

The Angelic choir of Journey Fight welcomed our Uncle Bo. The sun was warm, the atmosphere was brisk, and the wind brought chills down my spine. An aroma of sage filled the air as my mother and I followed a trail. The sea otters chattered amongst themselves in the bay.

On our way to the Sea Lion Point trail to spread Bo’s ashes. I sat on a substantial rock and watched my mother spread my uncle’s ashes at his favorite place at Point Lobos as the wind whispered, carrying Bo across the vast blue expanse where he wanted to be. We said our goodbyes, and raindrops began to fall from our eyes. Bo’s spirit will always be here forever, at our special place. Point Lobos is where I go to visit my Uncle Bo. 
My Uncle will eternally be in our hearts, and never, apart, there will always be a void in our lives.

Counting Sea Lions

A man with horn-rimmed glasses
knelt in the sand
thinking: "my office just got a whole lot bigger."
He had just flown from sea to shining sea
to survey the sea lions.

He walked barefoot to a rocky outcrop
to count the creatures (for he was an accountant),
the counting took many days -
he was engaged upon a sea lion census.

The sea lions would dive into the tossing waves
and so deplete the sea lion company or rookery,
other's would arrive with unaccounted-fore friends,
The rest yelled all day long or grunted huffily.
it was a rowdy crowd.

The accountant took off his glasses and wiped his brow.
The sea lions continued to bark at him
while scratching their ears with distaining flippers.

Reluctantly he turned to fly back to New York,
where sea lions are parked carefully
in a funky concrete compound.

Each one of those aquatic New Yorkers
could be counted upon
and they were
as they swam moodily in the small oily pool
generously provided for them.

Pilgrimage

One day I'll drive there.
On the way
I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman,
who lived outside the city
above a sea lion rookery.

She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer:

“I want you animals to know, Open your eyes.
A hungry man has killed one of you.
One day we will find out 
what happened to its spirit
then we will go meet with it,
for it was my brother.”

She rowed a boat on the spume 
of the wild cove waves.
I knew her, she had the way of truth in her.

When I get to the Redwoods,
I'll visit her clapboard home.
Look for her twelve year old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.

The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.'
Maybe she went off
with that son-of-a- jailbird
who had twice tried to kill her.

I'll take the backroads, getting lost
until we reach the ocean.
When we get to Crescent City,
we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions,
savoring their deep throated funk.

I'll tell my wife I love her,
and she will taste the salty truth of my words.

Aftertaste

Thanks Mum, that meal was a nice tasty dish
But no one will say if my breath smells of fish
I ask them but no-one will tell me the truth
Not even the seagull that’s sat on the roof
It’s only you, Mum, that I can rely on.
Son, she said grinning, you’re a sea lion

Wildlife 50

Wildlife 50 

A salty sea-lion called Nicky,
Had flippers all snotty and sticky,
Her friend Helen-Rose,
Said "Please blow your nose!"
"And then you won't be quite so picky!"

The School Outing

THE SCHOOL OUTING

      We all went down to the sea today
      In a rickety yellow school bus.
      Michelle and me, Danny and Sue,
      Jason, Matilda and Gus.

      As soon as we reached a sandy bay
      We ran down the beach to the water.
      Matilda slipped over and got her shoes wet,
      The new ones her mother just bought her.

      We saw lots of shells, urchins and crabs,
      And fishes all swimming about.
      Gus put sand down Michelle’s back.
      You should have heard her shout!

      Jason and Danny said that they saw a whale,
      A humpback, or maybe a blue.
      I saw a sea lion quite near the shore,
      As well as a small shark or two.

      We found lots of seaweed and slippery kelp,
      Pebbles and fossils and rocks.
      Got sand in our hair, sand in our shoes,
      Wet trousers, wet skirts and wet socks.

      We sang all the way while on our way home
      In our rickety yellow school bus.
      Michelle and me, Danny and Sue,
      Jason, Matilda and Gus.

Sea Lion and Sea Horse

Sea lion and sea horse were friends of course.
Living in the Pacific of the Norse.
Heard a rumor
Both had a tumor.
Not from an honest reliable source.

The Unicorn

THE UNICORN

Ever seen a more beautiful sight?
She is drowning into the wind
All sail set,
Triple tangled,
Purple pearl gears,
Glittering glassy artilleries,
Unrivalled weaponry.
Isn't she a beauty
She's got the wind behind.
Look at the velocity she's setting,
Barely noticing the Barbados.
With a grip of urn full of rum
And the finest of tobacco
The hearts of the sail's set
For the audacity of hope.
The red pennant,
The blood line's cold
And every sea captain
Looks upon that flag
For he knows he faces a fight to death
And then he saw her,
As an apparition mounting from the dead.
The sea rose in it watery execution.
But I was told sea lion don't flee
From the wavers watery wonders.
Instead, he staggers not but swaggers on
Until they sail past the North Pole
And trodden upon the sands of Sahara.

VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2014.

The Unicorn

THE UNICORN
Ever seen a more beautiful sight?
She is drowning into the wind
All sail set,
Triple tangled,
Purple pearl gears,
Glittering glassy artilleries,
Unrivalled weaponry.
Isn't she a beauty
She's got the wind behind.
Look at the velocity she's setting,
Barely noticing the Barbados.
With a grip of urn full of rum
And the finest of tobacco
The hearts of the sail's set
For the audacity of hope.
The red pennant,
The blood line's cold
And every sea captain
Looks upon that flag
For he knows he faces a fight to death
And then he saw her,
As an apparition mounting from the dead.
The sea rose in it watery execution.
But I was told sea lion don't flee
From the wavers watery wonders.
Instead, he staggers not but swaggers on
Until they sail past the North Pole
And trodden upon the sands of Sahara.

VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2014.

Pilgrimage

When I get to the Redwoods,
I’ll look for her clapboard home
above a sea-lion rookery.
I will seek out
her twelve-year-old Ford truck,
her briny patch of hand-reared garden,
her small surf-riding boat.

She’s native,
she taught me a Klamath-Modoc hunting prayer:

“I want you to know,
that a hungry man has killed you.
We will meet once more,
for you are my brother.”

I knew her by her seasoning.
The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.’
Maybe she went off
with that s.o.b. jailbird
who twice tried to kill her.

I’ll take the back roads, getting lost
until I reach the ocean.

When I get to Crescent City,
I will sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions;
savoring their deep throated funk.
I will maybe say a hunting prayer;
a self-hunting prayer.

Watery Workout

Flippers up
  Flippers down
Wave those flippers 
  All around

Swish your tail
  From side to side
Create a wake
  A water slide

Take a plunge
  Dive down deep
Your body propelled
  As up you leap

Hey, Sea Lion
  Clap your hands
When you perform
  You grandstand*



*To grandstand means to 'ham it up'

Ocean's Most Vigilant

The sea horse, sea lion, sea elephant
Joined the force for “Ocean’s Most Vigilant”
All claimed they’re watchful creatures
Wise and keen in their ventures
Yet from man’s waste, they weren’t triumphant.

They then vowed to help guard ocean’s beauty 
As sea patrol of good authority
Praying, they asked God’s guidance
And shield from man’s ignorance…
…For all to enjoy sea world’s great bounty*.

*2Corinthians 9:5 ... Make up beforehand your bounty, whereof ye had notice before, that the same might be ready, as a matter of bounty, and not as of covetousness.

August 2, 2018
5th place, "Sea Tales Limericks" Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire; judged on 8/4/2018.

Photo Op

With time to kill, I hit the zoo
And mingled with the tourists, who
Took selfies near the sea lion pool,
Behavior I’d not ridicule.

But what I did find quite amusing
And, at first, a bit confusing,
Was the focus of a crowd
Which oohed and aahed both long and loud.

It was a squirrel up a tree,
With tail that twitched for all to see;
Yet penguins, lemurs, grizzly bears
Did not attract those types of stares.

Perhaps if I lived in a place
Where squirrels didn’t dash and race,
I, too, would grin in pure delight
At such a common New York sight.

Walrus

The Walrus, he is an ugly brute, 
Made entirely out of rubber, 
Lounging on the shore all day, 
Like discarded old whale blubber.
 
Sea Lion on the other hand, 
Is arguably, I think quite cute, 
Gliding along the beach at play, 
In his slick grey leather suit.

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