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Crabs

(Written on the Queensland Beach)

Poisonous, bloated, crab-like shapes
Crawl in gangs around these capes—
Stopping here and feeding there;
Listening, crawling everywhere;
Searching every rotten weed
With a frothing wild-eyed greed;
Fighting o’er a lump of scurf,
Or a red boil of the earth;
Thrusting up their writhing claws
To their grinning, fiend-like maws.
And these horrid creatures wet
With a thick unwholesome sweat
Have most hideous banquets here
On the poor drowned marineer.
Down they hurry eagerly,
Chittering all the way with glee;
They have smelt the tainted air
From that body festering there.
How they twitch their claws and pry
Into each distorted eye;
How they spit on him with spite
As their nippers pinch and bite;
How they strip him clean and bare,
Leaving not a morsel there,
Till they’re gorged and all squat near
Fleshless remnants with a leer.
When the billows near them roll,
Each will scoop himself a hole
In the mudbank and therein
Sleep like an embodied sin.
In the world so crass and blind
Human crabs feed on their kind—
All that fall into their power;
Skulking near their dismal holes,
They sniff out poor wretched souls
Thrown by life’s unpitying sea
On the beach of misery.

poem by Arthur Bayldon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crabs

(On a Queensland Beach)

Poisonous, bloated, crab-like shapes
Crawl in gangs around these capes-
Stopping here and feeding there,
Listening, crawling everywhere;
Searching every rotten weed
With a frothing, wild-eyed greed:
Fighting o'er a lump of scurf
Or a red boil of the earth;
Thrusting up their writhing claws
To their grinning, fiend-like maws.
And these horrid creatures wet
With a thick, unwholesome sweat
Have most hideous banquets here
On the poor drowned marineer.
Down they hurry eagerly
Chittering all the way with glee:
They have smelt the tainted air
From that body festering there.
How they twitch their claws and pry
Into each distorted eye;
How they spit on him with spite
As their nippers pinch and bite;
How they strip him clean and bare,
Leaving not a morsel there,
Till they're gorged and all squat near
Fleshless remnant with a leer.
When the billows near them roll
Each will scope himself a hole
In the mud-banks, and therein
Sleep like an embodied sin.

***
In the world so crass and blind
Human crabs feed on their kind:
Glutted creatures that devour
All that fall within their power;
Skulking each near his own hole,
They smell out each human soul
Tossed up on Life's stony shore,
Weary, friendless, weak and poor.

poem by Arthur Bayldon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Enough Money Spent On Wars

What agony; accumulative emotive costs;
feed needle; soul destroying drug addictions?

What monstrous greed
cloaked in racial hatred;
fed with religious hatred
feeds covert wars justified?

When will we; with humanity feed;
with compassion; brothers sisters imprisoned;
in race conflict; poverty dying discarded;
in ignored horrors; extant third world?

Ban every earth war feed our poor
not capitalist corporate baron robbers;
glutted on global sly sweat shop wages
slum lord rents death reaped war profits?

Misery is waste residue of souls
which seek self pleasure materialism;
instead of gift of giving to others
oiled crimes greases palms capitalism.

It is still universally eternally true
it is better to give than to receive;
to sow sacred love not bile hatred
sow prosperity not starvation greed.

Enough money to buy drugs
to support epidemic addictions;
who will feed our suffering world?

Enough money spent on wars
to house all our earth's homeless;
who will house humanities homeless?

Who will feed the poor?
Ban every war feed the poor.
No need to ask who will bank on feed;
crime world exploitation materialism?

Spend money spent on wars
to house all earth's homeless;
feed our poor do not feed wars.

Souls who feed world materialism
will not house human immortal souls;
while flesh rots in blown away dust
in greedy winds of war greed lust.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poverty

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.

The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.

She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’

O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.

poem by Jane Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Small Plot Of Land

Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Street Fighting Man

Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy
Tell me what can a poor boy do
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Do you think the time is right for a palace revolution
Where I live the game to play is compromise solution
Well then what can a poor boy
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Hey my name is called disturbance
Ill shout and scream, Ill kill the king, Ill rail at all his servants
Well what can a poor boy do
For sing for a rock n roll band
In this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man

song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Convicts Love Canaries

Dick's dead! It was the Polack guard
Put powdered glass into his cage
When I was tramping round the yard,--
I could have killed him in my rage.
I slugged him with that wrench I stole:
That's why I'm rotting in the Hole.

Dick's dead! Sure I wish I was too.
His honey breast, his lacy claws
I kissed and cried, for well I knew
They murdered him. I cursed because
He was my only chum on earth . . .
Oh how he cheered me with his mirth!

Dick's dead! I know he cared for me.
Being I'm Irish I love song,
And there was heaven in his glee;
I'd bless his heart the dour day long.
I'd let him flutter round the cell;
He'd light upon my hand . . . Oh hell!

Dick's dead! They've thrown me in the Hole.
To break our spirits how they try!
My bed a plank, blind as a mole,
Sure I'll be nuts before I die . . .
Here in the night, dark as the Pit
I'm seeing sunny wings aflit.
Here in the silence, hark his song!
--Poor Dick! Oh Christ, how long, how long!

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Dog

I’m a happy dog at the beach
If I had the power of speech
I would tell you all
To throw my ball
I’m a happy dog at the beach

I’m a happy dog at the beach
There are no new tricks you can teach
I’m bouncy and glad
And my tail wags like mad
I’m a happy dog at the beach

I’m a happy dog at the beach
My joy is always in reach
Whatever the talk
It’s the best place to walk
I’m a happy dog at the beach

I’m a happy dog at the beach
As I hear the seagulls screech
I chase and I bark
Long into the dark
I’m a happy dog at the beach

I’m a happy dog at the beach
And I don’t want to start to preach
But if you ask me
The best thing to see
Is a happy dog at the beach

poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lines

I hied me to the ocean-side;
Its waves rolled bright and high;
Upon its waters, spreading wide,
I gazed with beaming eye.
At last, at last, I said, is found
A charm to banish pain,--
Here, where the sprightly billows bound
Athwart the heaving main.

The pebbly beach I wandered o'er
At morn and evening's hour,
Or listening to the breakers' roar,
Or wondering at their power.
Beneath their din I madly sought,
With ev'ry nerve bestirred,
To drown for aye the demon, thought,--
But, ah! he _would be heard_.

He found a voice my ear to reach,
To pierce my aching breast,
In every wave that swept the beach
With proud, defiant crest.
And when the moon, with silver light,
Smiled o'er the waters blue,
It seemed to say 'There's nothing bright
O'er all this earth for you.'

Scarce half a moon have I been here,
Beside the sounding sea,
In hope its echoings in my ear
Might drown out memory;
Or might instil some vital life
Into this feeble frame,
Long spent and wasted by the strife
Wide-wrought against my name.

In vain, in vain!--nor sea, nor shore,
Nor any mortal thing,
Can to my cheek health's bloom restore,
Or clear my life's well-spring.
And yet there is a sea whose waves
Will roll above us all,--
Within its vasty depths are graves
Beyond all mortal call.

With what an awful note of dirge
This shoreless ocean rolls--
Bearing on its tremendous surge
The wealth of human souls!
----The Ocean of Eternity,--
O, let its billows sweep
O'er one that longeth to be free,
And sleep the dreamless sleep!

poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor Me

Woke up this mornin'
feeling low
where my love one used to live
she ain't there no more.
Poor me, why such bad luck fall on me?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery
What I gonna do?
Hard to tell
Lord, I'm not going to kill myself
but I might as well
Poor me, I'm so lonely can't you see?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery.
All I do
the whole day long
fall down on my knees and pray
you'll come back home.
Poor me, why such bad luck fall on me?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery.

song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Butterfly Weed

Oh lady bug, you've done a good deed.
Setting your table on the butterfly weed,
You're the custodian of all you survey,
On butterfly weed, till the end of the day.

Oh beautiful monarch, where do you feed,
I see you too love the butterfly weed.
You and the ladybug would be poor indeed,
If it was'nt for the butterfly weed.

Oh hummingbird whose throat seems to bleed,
What do you here on the butterfly weed?
All hummingbirds, good advice heed,
We love the orange butterfly weed.

God's smallest creatures, go by one creed,
To congregate on the butterfly weed.
Let the south wind blow, and spread your seed,
So that there will be millions of the butterfly weed.

5/31/03 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down to the beach

Down to the beach
Down to the beach
On a sunny day we go

Beach bags packed with sun screen lotions
Hands rubbing people’s backs in slow motion
Glistening oily bodies radiating with sensation

Down to the beach
Down to the beach
Where a chilly sea breeze blows

Let’s have some fun
In the red-hot sun

Down to the beach
Only there the ladies reveal saucy behinds
Whenever the raging sun is still kind

Down to the beach
As never-ceasing waves play across the shores
People happily play dreading any rainy downpour

Down to the beach
Where young lovers closely nestle
As sand creatures cause the sand to bristle
Seagulls gliding in the air with screams and whistles
Kids picking up shells and building stormy sand castles

Down to the beach
Where mostly good vibes flow
Down to the beach
We go whilst there is still sun without snow

poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Greed

Where there is a need
There is always greed
A rotten exploiting deed
That manifests with speed

When there are mouths to feed
Read between the lines and take heed!
Lurking around is an Inspiring greed
Ready to take advantage and proceed

Even when there is no need to succeed
By now it is agreed, there is always greed
Our desire for more always exceeds our needs
Hence wealth, power and greed have always been married

We always want more
Sometimes I don't know what for
I read to understand what generation of breed
Has given birth to this senseless weed
Because life is a circle of endless greed

I urgently need to know, I plead
Who planted this seed of greed to deliberately mislead?

poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time Will Crawl

I've never sailed on a sea
I would not challenge a giant
I could not take on the church
Time will crawl
Till the 21st century lose

I know a government man
He was as blind as the moon
He saw the sun in the night
He took a top-gun pilot
He made him fly thru a hole
Till he grew real old
And he never came down
He just flew till he burst

Time will crawl till our mouths run dry
Time will crawl till our feet grow small
Time will crawl till our tails fall off
Time will crawl till the 21st century lose

I saw a black black stream
Full of white eyed fish
And a drowning man
With no eyes at all
I felt a warm warm breeze
That melted metal and steel
I got a bad migraine
That lasted three long years
And the pills that I took
Made my fingers disappear

Time will crawl

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tombstone-Maker

He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angel’s breast, and said:
‘You’d think so much bereavement would have made
‘Unusual big demands upon my trade.
‘The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk;
‘Unless the fighting stops I’ll soon be broke.’

He eyed the Cemetery across the road.
‘There’s scores of bodies out abroad, this while,
‘That should be here by rights. They little know’d
‘How they’d get buried in such wretched style.’

I told him with a sympathetic grin,
That Germans boil dead soldiers down for fat;
And he was horrified. ‘What shameful sin!
‘O sir, that Christian souls should come to that!’

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Birds of Prey

Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
They scare the singing birds of earth away
As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,
Watching the toilers with malignant eye,
From their exclusive haven--birds of prey.
They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,
And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.
They beat us to surrender weak with fright,
And tugging and tearing without let or pause,
They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,
And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.

poem by Claude McKay
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Wild Eyed Southern Boys

Its a hot night at the juke joint
And the bands pumpin rhythm and blues
Gonna spill a little rock and roll blood tonight
Gonna make some front page news
And the ladies hate the violence
Still they never seem to look away
Cause they love those
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Wild eyed southern boys
Its a southern point of honor
You got a get right in on the action
You can hear the outlaws holler
Fight for the lady in black
And she's just one in a million
But she's all I need tonight
Cause she loves those
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Oohhh yeah
Wild eyed boys
A man of wealth and power
Is out on the dance hall floor
He got a champagne Eldorado parked outside the door
And he's looking for a honky tonk angel
But he don't stand a chance in hell
Cause he ain't no wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys

song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Creed Indeed

I have a creed:
In word and deed
I will proceed
Without the greed
That can impede
Me to succeed.

I will feed
But not exceed.

I won’t use weed;
I’ll often read,
And be studied,
And thus be freed
From the need
To be pitied;
But not envied
And, too, copied.

Besides varied,
I’ll be journeyed;
My home tidied
(Maybe married) .

If I’m bullied
I'd rather plead,
And maybe bleed
Than be dirtied.

Advice I’ll heed
And not mislead
My future seed.

When I’m wearied
I’ll be carried,
But when readied
Myself will lead.

I will not cede,
Perform misdeed,
Or stay worried
My life.
Agreed?

-written and submitted by

poem by Shadigo Claws
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girls On The Beach

Ah ah ah ah oo ooo ooo oo ahh
The girls on the beach
On the beach youll find them there
In the sun and salty air
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
If you know what to do
How we love to lie around
Girls with tans of golden brown
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
And one waits there for you
(girls on the beach)
The sun in her hair
The warmth of the air
On a summer day
As the sun dips out of sight
Couples on the beach at night
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
And with the boys tonight
(girls on the beach)
Girls on the beach, girls on the beach
Girls on the beach, girls on the beach

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bless The Beach

We humans have fun on the sand
we don't care where the trash lands.
Now if we would understand
that wind, ranin and ocean waves
bring trash into sea by night and day-
maybe we would think of the beach in a
different way.
Bless the beach and the sea-
they are home of fishes, sea life that
want it to be clean.
Would you want your home filled with junk?
No, I don't think so, lets bless the beach
and keep it clean, not smelling like a skunk.

Written by Christina Sunrise on May 11,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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