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No Crab
Whether it's Crab soup,
or whether it's crab cakes,
whether it's crab puffs
or whether it's crab flakes
crab gumbo or crab dressing,
it's all the same to me,
for crab is crab is crab
and I detest the taste.
poem by Ruth Walters
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There is nothing fantastic or ultradimansional about crab grass... unless you are an sf writer, in which case pretty soon you are viewing crab grass with suspicion. What are it's real motives And who sent it here in the first place It only looks like crab grass. That's what they want us to think it is. One day the crab grass suit will fall off and their true identity will be revealed. By then the Pentagon will be full of crab grass and it'll be too late. The crab grass, or what we took to be crab grass, will dictate terms.
quote by Philip K. Dick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manteca
Written by dizzy gillespie and gil fuller
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my, crab in my, crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my shoemouth
Crab in my, crab in my, crab in my shoemouth
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk straight, my son - as the old crab said to the young crab.
The Grinning Crab
Come with me, said the fish to the crab
and I will show you a cave where beautiful coral live.
When do we leave, said the crab to the fish
and tell me what I should bring.
Just bring a sense of adventure, said the fish to the crab, and some sun tan oil
You forget, said the crab to the fish, my shell is thick and impenetrable by rays of any kind.
What about the metal-tipped arrows, asked the fish of the crab, from a cheeky cherub?
Oh they don’t stand a chance, said the crab with a grin.
The fish, having eyes that could not blink, felt the molten tears sting his star-crossed eyes.
poem by Vernon Adrian Emuang
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Crab
When I eat crab, slide the rosy
rubbery claw across my tongue
I think of my mother. She'd drive down
to the edge of the Bay, tiny woman in a
huge car, she'd ask the crab-man to
crack it for her. She'd stand and wait as the
pliers broke those chalky homes, wild-
red and knobby, those cartilage wrists, the
thin orange roof of the back.
I'd come home, and find her at the table
crisply unhousing the parts, laying the
fierce shell on one side, the
soft body on the other. She gave us
lots, because we loved it so much,
so there was always enough, a mound of crab like a
cross between breast-milk and meat. The back
even had the shape of a perfect
ruined breast, upright flakes
white as the flesh of a chrysanthemum, but the
best part was the claw, she'd slide it
out so slowly the tip was unbroken,
scarlet bulb of the feeler—it was such a
kick to easily eat that weapon,
wreck its delicate hooked pulp between
palate and tongue. She loved to feed us
and all she gave us was fresh, she was willing to
grasp shell, membrane, stem, to go
close to dirt and salt to feed us,
the way she had gone near our father himself
to give us life. I look back and
see us dripping at the table, feeding, her
row of pink eaters, the platter of flawless
limp claws, I look back further and
see her in the kitchen, shelling flesh, her
small hands curled—she is like a
fish-hawk, wild, tearing the meat
deftly, living out her life of fear and desire.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Sand crab follows Hot
Chilli crab he knows, beaut
like the tide, shore thing
haiku by Ken e Hall
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You cannot teach a crab to walk straight.
quote by Aristophanes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Crab
As the little crab climbed
To the top of the basket
Hoping to make an escape
The bigger crabs pulled him down
And when the consignment
Did reach the market place
The Fisherman’s son was delighted
To find a small crab in the bag
He picked it up carefully
Drooling at the thought of soup
But this time the little crab
Reacted fast, he bit the boy’s hand
Falling quickly to the ground
As the child reduced his grip
Undaunted by the crack in his shell
He scuttled away in search of
A safer place, far away from
Fishing baskets, boys and big crabs.
poem by Sandra Martyres
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The crab instructs its young: ""Walk straight ahead -- like me.""
Mr. Klaw
A claw is a claw
And, and, and nobody has seen a, a talking claw
Nobody has seen a talking claw
Unless, unless that claw is the famous, the famous
Unless that claw is the famous
Mr. klaw
Mr. klaw
Mr. klaw
Mr. klaw
(mr. klaw) mr. vanity klaw
(mr. klaw) mr. lightning bulb
(mr. klaw) mr. vanity klaw
(mr. klaw) mr. dental flaw
(mr. klaw) mr. vanity klaw
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Circle
You are peeling me off
like a crab.
Time has sunk very low.
For the hungry kids
who was growing crab apples?
Creating art,
arriving between the pubes.
A microfossil
roosting within me.
I could live without oxygen.
Incandescent,
the liquid wounds.
I will not send any salvo.
poem by Satish Verma
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The New Teacher
he prides himself about
this job
where he is all wise
and his students listen
he drives the points
like he's the hammer to
his nails
somehow the old teacher
listens
it is not supposed to
be
he picks a snail
a house actually where the hermit
crab lives
he whistles and the crab comes
out
learning the song of the
master
the wind, soft as breeze
the openness like the wide gate
of the morning sun
between the breasts of the hills
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A neighbor come calling
(A neighbor come calling, this year!
Banging on the door at 22.44pm)
'Did you hear that screaming?
Is it coming, from yours…?
Can you check; your outdoors? '
…So, I then switched on a back light!
And, peered through the window…
And, saw two cats, standing…
Claw to claw, and Oh, what a furor!
There came with a tiger's paw.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Prejudice
Prejudice
Is like having sharp claw
That keeps scratching the thin cloth of trust under our feet
Every time we walk further
Making a long line of mistrust
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Where God signs his name
where does God
sign his name?
it is in the tottering
walk of the turtle
flipping flapping
didactic flight of
the mid morn
butterfly
light as breeze walk
of a rickety crab
on beach
the big round
excited moonlight
eyes of the owl
the black and white
palm strips on
the zebra
zig zag lightning
where the rain
starts to pour
the cat meow
meowing through
the night for
its lost kittens
the chuckling of a
baby alternating
with the laughter
and cajoling of
young flabbergasted
mom
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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