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Malaysiana - Leatherback Turtle

coconut leaves rustle,
running with the wind
at at least 20 km per hour
waves surge at an
equally frantic speed -
patriotic hands that
repeatedly hold onto
the beach with a roaring
and thunderous voice to
match their claim

a giant turtle slowly emerges
in the water, a dark shadow
accenting the night with its
rare mound and strenuous flippers
the final touchdown in a
thousand mile comeback

each stride and lug forward
reflects a firm belief in the land
that it belongs to

it is the first comeback after
many many years at sea
and now for the noblest of chores

in less than two hours,
at least a hundred
ping pong size eggs
have gone into a hole it has dug
a hole large enough to hold
all its love for the land

and you should see how tears
keep rolling down its eyes
as it thanks god it still remembers
its way back to shower its gratitude
to the land that had given him birth

the giant turtle remembers how years
ago it had crept out of its egg, shoveled away sand
and without another thought made its
precarious way to the freedom of the sea

despite the brief encounter, it never never
forgot the land it originated from, its smell, its winds,
its sounds and has logged every inch it had swam
to make that triumphant return today

the hundred eggs hold its hundred wishes
that this tradition be kept for as long
as leatherback turtle exists

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Turtle Teachers

TURTLE TEACHERS

Having laid her eggs upon a distant beach,
the turtle hurries quickly to the friendly ocean;
she cannot navigate the land, like those who teach,
producing mirror images for self-promotion.

A turtle may spend no more than an hour on a beach where she lays her eggs and then abandon her eggs, returning to the ocean.

3/30/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Sea Turtle III

Into the azure drink beside me and that was that.
I guess I should consider myself lucky:
I could have been soup, my shell slung on a wall
Sporting a tape-patched bullet hole. Ah, well.
And so I go
Like the sea-going thing,
Like the turtle I am, memory-bereft,
A dark sun, a discus,
Scuttling over the sea's bottom,
Basking in the moonlight,
Weeping, kvetching-out heaps of ping-pong eggs;
And-let this shock your dichotomies,
I really don't care what becomes of them-
I wish them well,
But I've done my bit. Let heaven manage it.
I only long to be
Wrapped once more in the arms of the sea,
Dissolved, all breeze-born memory
Acquired on land, that hiss and burn and kill,
And tell you where to go
Next. The sea that loves me.
(you can hold on to things too long)
Neither purposeful nor purposeless,
The sea is for me, it is, the sea's for me,
For the sea is me, it be, the sea is me.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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My Turtle Use to Rush!

You taught my turtle how to walk on a leash.
When you babysat my turtle.
But now my turtle's mood,
Has become distant and cranky.

My beloved turtle now gives me shifty looks.
And I know with me it's angry.
Since the babysitter I picked and booked.

When my turtle use to hear me turn the key,
At the front door.
My turtle use to rush to me.
But no more!

You've got my turtle trained to believe,
It needs a leash...
To eat with me Chinese.
And I use to love how my turtle ate Wonton.
But from within its shell...
All it does is just peek on.

When my turtle use to hear me turn the key,
At the front door.
My turtle use to rush to me.
But no more!

My turtle use to rush!
But!
No,
More!

My turtle use to rush!
But!
No,
More to me.

My turtle use to rush!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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As far as your Rifles Cover

Do you think, you slaves of a thousand years to poverty, wealth and pride,
You can crush the spirit that has been free in a land that's new and wide?
When you've scattered the last of the farmer bands, and the war for a while is over,
You will hold the land – ay, you'll hold the land – the land that your rifles cover.

Till your gold has levelled each mountain range where a wounded man can hide,
Till your gold has lighted the moonless night on the plains where the rebels ride;
Till the future is proved, and the past is bribed from the son of the land's dead lover –
You may hold the land – you may hold the land just as far as your rifles cover.

poem by Henry Lawson
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The Bagpipe Who Didn’t Say No

It was nine o'clock at midnight at a quarter after three
When a turtle met a bagpipe on the shoreside by the sea,
And the turtle said, 'My dearie,
May I sit with you? I'm weary.'
And the bagpipe didn't say no.
Said the turtle to the bagpipe, 'I have walked this lonely shore,
I have talked to waves and pebbles--but I've never loved before.
Will you marry me today, dear?
Is it 'No' you're going to say dear?'
But the bagpipe didn't say no.
Said the turtle to his darling, 'Please excuse me if I stare,
But you have the plaidest skin, dear,
And you have the strangest hair.
If I begged you pretty please, love,
Could I give you just one squeeze, love?'
And the bagpipe didn't say no.
Said the turtle to the bagpipe, 'Ah, you love me. Then confess!
Let me whisper in your dainty ear and hold you to my chest.'
And he cuddled her and teased her
And so lovingly he squeezed her.
And the bagpipe said, 'Aaooga.'
Said the turtle to the bagpipe, 'Did you honk or bray or neigh?
For 'Aaooga' when your kissed is such a heartless thing to say.
Is it that I have offended?
Is it that our love is ended?'
And the bagpipe didn't say no.
Said the turtle to the bagpipe, 'Shall i leave you, darling wife?
Shall i waddle off to Woedom? Shall i crawl out of your life?
Shall I move, depart and go, dear--
Oh, I beg you tell me 'No' dear!'
But the bagpipe didn't say no.
So the turtle crept off crying and he ne'er came back no more,
And he left the bagpipe lying on that smooth and sandy shore.
And some night when tide is low there,
Just walk up and say, 'Hello, there,'
And politely ask the bagpipe if this story's really so.
I assure you, darling children, the bagpipe won't say 'No.'

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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John Cornstalk

Jack Cornstalk lives in the Southern Land—
What says Cornstalk John?
Jack Cornstalk says in a loud firm voice:
“Land of the South, lead on.”

CHORUS:
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!

John Bull lays claim to the Southern Land.
Jack, is the South Land thine?
John Cornstalk cries in a loud, firm voice:
“The Land of the South is mine!”

Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!

“By the long, long years my father toiled
In the pioneering band;
By the hardships of those early days,
I claim the Southern Land!”

Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!

But where shall the Land of the South lead to?
Where lead the nation’s van?
Jack Cornstalk cries from his strong young heart:
“To the Dynasty of Man.”

Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!

poem by Henry Lawson
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Sea Song of the Exiles

Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

Farewell, white cot whence the ripe grapes fall,
Gold blooms that bask on the mossy wall!

Dear land, farewell!
Hill, plain, and dell!
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

Farewell, betrothed, with the pure, pale brow;
'Neath sombre heaven dark billows we plough.

Dear land, farewell!
In thee our loves dwell;
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

Our eyes, whose tears all brightness blot,
Leave the dark wave for a darker lot!

Dear land, farewell!
In our heart's a knell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!

poem by Victor Hugo
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Awen

Ugly cows from Awen,
Seven years of famine to your land;
But with the jawbone of a donkey,
I have made a heap over here.

Scrawny and very ugly,
To be in prison for three days;
But the governor over the land is yet to meet me.

Very ugly and lean,
With the jaqwbone of a monkey at hand;
And i have been able to lie very low over here.

Like the sand of the sea,
Life here is beyond measure!
Like three hundred foxes tired tail to tail.

A dog will not whet its tongue and,
You shall not eat anything unclean;
But like six hundred thousand men on foot,
A Nazirite should not drink wine or strong drink.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Twenty-nine Thousand Four Hundred Seven Sunsets

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

In the early days by my mother’s side,
Though she’d often tell me of the sun and of the sea,
I seldom watched, and never for long,
The slow dissolve,
The melt and plunge,
Now you see it, now you don’t-
So many sunsets lost.

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

The years of my youth were marked by friends and sport,
Often whole days on the beach-
Raging winds and mammoth waves
Or a still, glass sea, not a cloud in the sky,
And every shade in between.
I rarely fathomed the myriad shapes and colors,
An ever-changing landscape-
So very many sunsets lost.

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

The middle-aged years pinned me to my work;
Yet through a window from time to time,
Or on holiday, if I risked the break,
I’d notice how lovely a sunset could be-
So very many sunsets lost forever.

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

At last, in these final days, each sunset is anticipated, craved.
Regardless the mood of the sea, it will receive the sun.
No matter the face of the sky, it will let go the same.
The sun itself, always churning, always burning,
Swells with new brilliance, new radiance and splendor
Each time it approaches the sea,
Then morphs into a molten pool on the sea’s surface
Before plunging from view-
Never more a sunset lost.

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

Then one glorious day,
The day of my twenty-nine thousand four hundred and sixth sunset,
And I at my usual place along the shore,
Saw the sun rise out of the sea from where it had just set!
The sun rose back up into the sky, and
In the very next moment on the very same day, it set again.
I experienced my twenty-nine thousand four hundred and seventh sunset,
The second in one day!
Oh glorious day!
A sunset gained.

Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.

(In 2 Kings 20: 9-11 the Lord made the shadow go back 10 steps. Certainly, at that exact moment, somewhere in the world, someone saw the sun dissolve on the horizon and then rise again.)

poem by Hm. Nes
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To The Land

To the land of bribes,
To the land of telephones,
To the land of corruptions,
To the land of trains,
To the land of shops,
To the land of thieves,
To the land of connections,
To the land of drugs,
To the land of trucks,
To the land of cats,
To the land of Banks,
To the land of dogs, To the land of footballers,
To the land of dragons,
To the land of hope,
To the land of ice-cream,
To the land of potatoes,
To the land of chocolates,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of apples,
To the land of coffee,
To the land of lights,
To the land of ships,
To the land of birds,
To the land of tigers,
To the land of carpets,
To the land of pillows,
To the land of lions,
TO the land of toys,
To the land of horses,
To the land of beds,
To the land of roses,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
To the land of romance;
I never new women do snore until i married one.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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One Hundred Thousand Marching

One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.

poem by David Keig
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Turtle

I want to get with your turtle.
Your turtle seems so at peace,
At a slow pace that really creeps.
Taking everything easy.

I want to chat with your turtle.
I want to ask if it has wishes to be free?
And if a turtle gets relief.

So thick its shell!
With skin so reptile-ish.
Does it ever want a hug or kiss?
And 'how' does it handle this?

So rich it smells!
In a pot cooked with mustard seed.
With carrots and celery leaves.
And a dash of sea salt spiced with peppers!

Does it know that its good to eat?

I want to get with your turtle.
Your turtle seems so at peace,
At a slow pace that really creeps.
Taking everything easy.

So thick its shell!
With skin so reptile-ish.
Does it ever want a hug or kiss?
And 'how' does it handle this?

I want to chat with your turtle.
I want to ask if it has wishes to be free?
And if a turtle gets any relief...
To be away and out of that shell!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Yertle The Turtle

On a far away island
of Salamasond
Yertle the turtle
Was king of the pond
A nice little pond
It was clean it was neat
The water was warm
There was plenty to eat
Until one day
The king of them all
Decided the kingdom
He ruled was too small
I'm a ruler of all that I see
But I don't see enough
And that's the trouble with me

With this stone for a throne
I am too low down
I cannot look down
Upon the places beyond
So Yertle the turtle king
Lifted his hand
And Yertle the turtle king
Lifted his hand
He ordered all the turtles
Onto one another's back
He piled them high
Into a ten turtle stack
I'm Yertle the turtle
The things I now rule
I'm king of a cow
I'm king of a mule

Then down from below
In the great turtle stack
Came a burp from a plain
Little turtle named Mack
Just part of the throne
This burpin' little turtle
Looked up and said "I beg
Your pardon king Yertle"
I've pains in my back
My shoulders and my knees
How long must we stand
Here your majesty
"Silence !" the king of the
Turtles barked back
To the bad burpin'
Little turtle named Mack
I'm Yertle the turtle
Oh marvelous me for
I am ruler of all that I see

Yertle

song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Freaky Styley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother India

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.

O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.

poem by Aziz Ahmad
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The Falcon and the Ostrich

Hi! Good morning. I am Falco Peregrinus
As fastest flying bird, the record now I hold
In horizontal flight my speed is ninety
And in a stoop I clock two hundred seventy
That's in miles per hour, I do so easily
No other animal will dare compete with me
Wether they be from land, from the sky or the sea
Preys much larger than I, I can always subdue,
Which so many believe, I stab with my claws
That is far from the truth, I stun them with a blow
With my clenched feet and then for them back I would go
With this, to me, my friend, what else to say have you

Hi there! I am Mr. Struthio Camelus
My name in English means a long-necked sparrow
I am the biggest bird in existence today
And lay the largest egg, unknown to you maybe
Men benefit from me in so many a way
From my eggs, meat, feather, leather, ee tee cee

Yes, in flight you're the fastest and to you I agree
But on foot an equal to me there'll never be
I'm the fastest runner in the world of the birds
In my speed of about forty-five mph
I will beat and surpass most of your equine friends
And if our topic shall be longevity
My lifespan in years is five plus seventy
Yours is one-fifth of mine, or fifteen years only

How can you be a bird? to this the falcon said
And why do you not fly, two wings you also have
Pitifully you lack things an avian should have
Crop, gallbladder, two toes, if just to name a few
I will not call myself a bird if I were you

poem by Pacific Hernandez
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