0322 Globetrotting Snails
a great title for a rock group but
from this week, fact or at least
truthish. species have been found
to travel many thousands of miles
across land and sea
and don’t you wonder how and
aren’t you that little bit envious?
nature’s aerial hitchhiker-backpacker-caravanner
wow
se ems they (they? how did the word
get around? snail-mail?)
learned (learned?) this trick
of sneaking into the wing-feathers
of migrating birds. and anyway the birds in this
symbiotic relationship are thought
to tuck them in there (which came first,
the chicken or the snail?) as an
inflight snack, though evidently
missing one or two who
when they get to the dropping-zone
(more questions – how do they know? a
well-developed sense of smell?)
paraglide, dismount, unload without a word
of thanks – you know the type – and make
themselves at home, though in an
eliotesque way, they arrive with what
they have not left, and in a garden
outside time, and in a place
they’ve never left behind… and we’ll just never know
whether it was wanderlust or simply
Intelligent Design
it’s as simple, wise, and beautiful
as any poet might imagine and
beats surrealism at its own game
or as the critics put it, extends
the parameters of vision. though
perhaps globetrotting is
a terminological inexactitude…
snailboarding?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sorry Girl
but it is not my habit to
find out how you are doing when you are no longer there to greet me
when i arrive from a very long trip with someone else that you do not know
that you are not interested with
since it simply inflicts that pain
that you are getting used to
hello is strange word now.
it is not my friend, neither is the word goodbye
do not tell me that once i have said the word
i get tired of its face
the 'why' embedded in it
is perplexing
if at all i give it a thought
or a piece of my
mind
i like birds with strong wings
those that travel far away and do not come back
it they come back
they only bring memories
and sad stories
do i have to make a pool of tears again
where some 'unfit' organisms for a time swim and then die?
i like birds with claws those that know what wars to fight out there
sharp claws
that promise them to live some more years
do not underestimate my capacity for sorrow
my love for death
besides the birds i also have worms,
lots of worms as friends
they are too sympathetic to our causes
accommodating to our weariness
they know when to eat and rest
and sing the funeral hymns.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nature Trail
At the bottom of my garden
There's a hedgehog and a frog
And a lot of creepy-crawlies
Living underneath a log,
There's a baby daddy long legs
And an easy-going snail
And a family of woodlice,
All are on my nature trail.
There are caterpillars waiting
For their time to come to fly,
There are worms turning the earth over
As ladybirds fly by,
Birds will visit, cats will visit
But they always chose their time
And I've even seen a fox visit
This wild garden of mine.
Squirrels come to nick my nuts
And busy bees come buzzing
And when the night time comes
Sometimes some dragonflies come humming,
My garden mice are very shy
And I've seen bats that growl
And in my garden I have seen
A very wise old owl.
My garden is a lively place
There's always something happening,
There's this constant search for food
And then there's all that flowering,
When you have a garden
You will never be alone
And I believe we all deserve
A garden of our own.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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I Let My Soul Sing
I was playing with some words,
In my native Romanian Language,
I heard singing golden birds,
I knew I'm at a disadvantage.
How to make my words a song?
How to make the verses fly?
How to make my statements strong?
How to make peoples cry?
How to put laughter in rhyme,
Or the rainbow in my paper?
How to put a stop to time?
How should I describe a vapor?
I closed my eyes and dreamt,
and I let my soul sing,
touched by the angel sent.
He got me under his wing.
I learned that the sun can smile,
and about the talking sea,
I learned about the rhythm and style,
I discovered poetry.
I learned that rain means sorrow,
or new life, or grace and blessings,
White snowdrops could mean tomorrow,
I learned how the choir sings.
Years, decades have passed by,
A few books, thousands of poems,
My angel watches from the sky
to his special, favorite poet.
poem by Marius Alexandru (September 2020)
Submitted by anonym
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Missing Link
So there you are
The missing link of my life
I was having something
Blank in my mind
And things do not fit
Nothing fits to this “”it”
A square pig
In a hole,
A fish on a hill
A chicken on the sea
A snail in the city
A fan on the freezer
Me to nowhere
You somewhere
For a time I was walking
Without a direction
Without anything in my mind
Things simply do not fit
And there you are
Standing not looking also for
Something specific
And we found ourselves
We fit
We simply talk without bumps
In our throats
We simply enjoy each other’s company
You laugh at my jokes
And I like the way you talk
We fit, now we must live together
I am the thread to your needle’s eye
We fit, you and I
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ballade 1
The stag was very proud of his swiftness,
Of running ten miles in one breath,
And the wild boar was proud to be fierce,
And the sheep praised her woolly fleece,
And the horse its beauty, and the buck was proud
Of crossing the plain at a bound,
And the one proud of strength was the bull,
The ermine in having a furry skin;
And to them all he said from his shell:
'The snail will get to Easter just as soon.
What I see first are lions, leopards, bears,
Running the countryside, wolves and tigers
Under pursuit by greyhound and mastiff
And the shouts of men, so hated that if
They're caught each person will attack,
Because of the destruction of the flock;
They're thieves, treacherous and wicked,
And merciless, and for that detested.
Are they strong and fast? Good at a run?
The snail will get to Easter just as soon.
Many see him and the path he's on,
Enclosed in the shell he carries along,
They don't do him harm, they let him be,
And so he goes from week to week,
As many go in their own poor realm
Who live good lives in their simple gown,
And if the world gives them little at all,
They still go on with its good will.
And cow and calf have the meadow's run,
And the snail will get to Easter just as soon.
Prince, among the strong, the rich, the great
There's a lesson they rarely think about;
Their haste can't bring the future on:
The snail will get to Easter just as soon.
poem by Eustache Deschamps
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Snail Shell
Sir hand
Or is it maam
I fell out of my right place again
And you
Considered me
And now Im where a snail has to be
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Friend
Look what you gave
And how can you ever be repaid?
How may I give you a hand
From the position at your feet where I stand?
So let me thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Id like to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Snail shell
Thank you
Snail shell
Thank you
Ah
Ah
Ah
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
Or was it something where you acted when you saw the need
And knew that there would be a way the act could be repaid
And so it may, but for today
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guess Who Has Fewer Headaches?
The lesson I've learned,
From my own observations...
That had me debating what decision to make.
And I am the one left in an emotional state of mind?
That left me awake at nights from time to time.
And sometimes crying.
To begin hating myself because of someone else?
Well...
I have found a way,
To do what I can then to walk away.
With no feeling of guilt at all.
'Oh yeah?
What have you found,
To keep you smiling all day without making a frown? '
Today...
Whenever someone begins to argue with me,
As to 'how' I should rescue them from a quicksand pit.
And the person who needs to be saved...
Has a preference as to which device they would like,
Besides the kind and type of rope I brought to use...
To free them out and cleared from their own dilemma?
And they say to me the choice I made,
Isn't the one they would choose?
I have learned to do this...
Throw in the rope to tie it to a rock.
In knots!
And leave them with a decision to make on their own.
'But that is not the Christian thing to do.'
I know.
But guess who has fewer headaches?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Learned...
from being homeless,
i learned the value of home!
from being hungry,
i learned the value of being fed.
from being sick,
i learned the value of health.
from being left alone,
i learned the value of love.
from being confined in a cell,
i learned the value of freedom.
from being persecuted,
i learned the value of human rights.
from being an infidel,
i learned to see the face of god...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Slugs and Snails and Homelovers' Tales
You asked me for a poem about home and I remembered
that millions of years ago there was plenty of food for all
in the Garden of Eden and slugs
were well supplied with greenery and all was one big happy family
until slugs found that other species found them tasty
chocolate jellies or unjust desserts especially when after
a good night out they were, well, sluggish about getting home
and the sun came out and gulp quick as a slug of Jack
but spotting one night or was it day, a battered caravan
serai, it occurred that a portable home would be a good thing
to evolute. Became snails. Just took time.
Poetic point of this is for there is a point, that
human beings are much the same, there's the bricks and mortar thing
we call home but really home is
in the head or heart, we carry it with us, it's the place we go when
there's no other place to go.
And next time you feel a bit sluggish
about going to work, or like a snail unwillingly to school
you'll have to admit that Evolution
does a goddamned good job, a home in your backpack
beats commuting to work any day. Respect.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Hitchhiker
You fool, just what do you think youre doing?
So your loss, my problem is not conductors says off of my train
Be understood, I guess those relationships aint my thing
Even if I could, you aint the kind of person that would help anyway
Im about to explode, cause I cant carry your load
Hitchhiker Go Hitchhiker
Youre cool, and cold in your calculations
Were friends, only because of my situation
Im about to unload, cause I cant carry your load
Hitchhiker Go Hitchhiker
Hitchhiker
So be gone, to soon is to late I dont want no delay
So be gone, get your food off someone elses plate
Going to all of your friends, I ___________ and your grave
Hitchhiker, Hitchhiker
Now go
Hitchhiker Go Hitchhiker
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Much Truth...
when we arrive here
we carried with us our own lies
we keep them
and we survived
when they come and see us
for the first time
they keep wondering why unlike
them we glow with happiness
we did not tell them the truth as usual
we believe that it is not necessary
from that distant place where we left
we have seen how too much of truth
has killed the land and its natives
how the lies were driven away like flies
they swat what are some of the possibilities
those white ghosts
those black birds that guide us to places
that we never once imagine
what we discover are islets of desires
those that they shy away from
we have masks that protect us from so much brightness
we have boots from mud
we have words
and with their pretensions we have learned the art of
hedonistic euphemisms
the artistry of phrases the promises of incomplete clauses
some periods are angry
but our commas still smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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334
'Poetry has a great digestive system and can consume and recycle almost anything. It's the poet's persona that gives meaning to the process. The first important act of the imagination is to create the person who will write the poems. And that's not the end of it. We have to invent and reinvent who we are until we arrive at the self we can bear to live with and die with. Art demands of the artist the capacity for self-renewal. Without it, art withers. And so does the life.'
- STANLEY KUNITZ
what you were is not enough.
what you are is not enought either.
what you will be will always not suffice.
if you are a sigh
turn yourself into a word
if you are a word
reinvent reconvert
recycle
be not just a word
be a phrase
be this sentence
be this paragraph
be this short story
be this novel
be this universal prayer
of marvel
do not just be a nail but be a hammer
do not just be snail but be sparrow
what if you are nothing at all at the end?
then be the perfection of nothing
just be the best
of this reinventing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reinventing Ourselves
'Poetry has a great digestive system and can consume and recycle almost anything. It's the poet's persona that gives meaning to the process. The first important act of the imagination is to create the person who will write the poems. And that's not the end of it. We have to invent and reinvent who we are until we arrive at the self we can bear to live with and die with. Art demands of the artist the capacity for self-renewal. Without it, art withers. And so does the life.'
- STANLEY KUNITZ
what you were is not enough.
what you are is not enought either.
what you will be will always not suffice.
if you are a sigh
turn yourself into a word
if you are a word
reinvent reconvert
recycle
be not just a word
be a phrase
be this sentence
be this paragraph
be this short story
be this novel
be this universal prayer
of marvel
do not just be a nail but be a hammer
do not just be snail but be sparrow
what if you are nothing at all at the end?
then be the perfection of nothing
just be the best
of this reinventing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Supervision
The teacher prayed to God above for wisdom day-by-day,
For only He had perfect love and insights to relay.
The teacher saw the vision come and looked at it amazed,
For it was meant for all not some, yet not a word was phrased.
From clouds on high, the book birds flew about the teacher's head
And some of these the teacher knew, for they were fondly read.
Then other book birds circled round with titles yet unknown,
With treasure chests as yet unfound, with cherished truths unshown.
Imagine books left on the shelves, unread, unshared for years...
Deprived of these to help ourselves, no thoughts between our ears.
What use would Mankind ever gain if great books were not read?
The teacher thanked God for the brain that chose not to be dead.
And so it was, the teacher smiled! The course ahead made sense.
From now on, books for every child, for families and friends.
In every language known to Man, God's Word can preach Good News,
If we but do the best we can to help each student choose.
The teacher's heart was filled with hope with all God had revealed,
For books would help the students cope, as if each were a shield.
Both fact and fiction serve us well, if willing we would be
To learn the lessons that they tell, for truth shall set us free!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Me, Myself & I
I need you!
That was the last word I said to you.
But do I?
'No matter what happens,
I'll always be with you! '
That was the last word you said to me.
But were you really there?
What I can't believe is that I believed every word you said.
I can't believe that I made myself believe
what we had will last.
How could you have said you loved me
when you didn't?
I thought you were my knight and shiny armour
I thought I was your cinderella.
I thought you were my charming prince.
How could you have left without a trace?
`leaving me with the hope to see your face.
It's been a while, time has passed.
I've moved on.
You hurt me bad,
but I'm a survivor.
I'll do just fine without you.
It hurts so much,
but I've learned a lot.
I have come to realize that I don't need you anymore.
I know I'll find the one for me
I know I can confide in me till then
I know I won't let myself down.
All I've got for now is...
Me, Myself & I.
poem by Eunice Ogunleye
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First Year University Expereinces
I learned why it is not wise to skip class often
I learned that skipping homework in university is not the same as skipping homework in high school
I learned what it feels like to be awake for over 2 days
I learned how to smoke pot from a bong
I learned how to compose an essay the day before it's due
I learned that the Freshman 15 is no joke
I learned how to do laundry
I learned to pretend to be happy
I learned to multitask
I learned to be more sociable
I learned why my parents and teachers warned me about the difficulty of university
I learned that failing is expensive
I learned small things, like freshly washed bed sheets, make me happy
I learned to lie
I learned how expensive alcohol is
I learned what it feels like to be a failure
I type this rant while skipping my business ethics class as I further delay the composition of my psychology term paper
poem by Michelle Cow
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Australia With Any
The Nature and rugged beauty of this Southern Land
Is a thing one like me could never understand
A migrant from by old brown hills far away
Of Nature we learn something new every day.
How could one from the Land of the black and gray crow
Anything of the Nature of this Southern Country hope to know
The home of megapodes and marsupials and birds of beauty rare
Australia with any a Land to compare.
Australia the Land of the red and grey roo
Of emu, koala and wombat and many species of cockatoo
Of butcherbird, kookaburra, lyrebird, magpie and the pied currawong
The dark birds 'tis said who have rain in their song.
Of Australia's many beautiful parrots to name just a few
Rosellas, lorikeets and king parrots so lovely to view
The monoterenes egg laying mammals in Australia only found
The platypus and echidna mystery them does surround
The wonders of Nature have never been few
And each day from her we do learn something new
And I from the Land of the black and gray crow
So little of Australia's Nature does know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Are Some Things I Never Tire Of
Sunsets and migrating birds
red-rock canyons and buffalo herds,
John Wayne movies and old pickup trucks
high flying eagles and low flying ducks,
the smell of summer at sunrise
and the feel of fall when a chill fills the skies,
the way my daughter's sweetly say Dad
a good long hug when I'm feeling sad,
beautiful rhymes and simple songs
short checkout lines and trains that are long,
clocks with one hand missing
a little hugging and a little kissing,
home cooked meals just like Mom used to make
apple pie and fresh carrot cake,
taking my time and travelling slow
drifting along with no particular place to go,
tender hearts and gentle minds
lazy days and lots of free time,
watching a distant lightning storm
and getting it all just right in the words of a poem,
giant snow flakes falling straight down
the color of new grass peeking out of the ground,
love simple and true
spring skies clear and blue;
I could add a whole lot more,
but one other thing I never tire of
is knowing when to stop, and shut the door!
poem by Smoky Hoss
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You Know the Ones
Aren't you tired of the folks who pass judgement?
You know the ones...
Quick to tell you how you should live
Always taking handouts from those they take for granted,
Criticizing the people who take their time to give.
Aren't you sick of those who waste your time to gossip?
You know the ones,
Glued to phones like weapons,
To add fresh lies to what they've heard!
They are nowhere to be found,
To assist 'you' when you need 'them',
But first to arrive to offer a discouraging word.
Aren't you fed up with their lack of time to listen?
Don't you wish they would grow and want to learn?
Even though they blame others for their troubling lives,
They will never feel ashamed,
To express their own limits of concern!
A repeated lesson you have learned?
You know the ones...
With their heads turned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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While You Were Gone
Hmm, whoa, yeah, oh baby, hmm, oh
I read you wrong
You said youd only be away a while
But the days turned into weeks
And all the weeks into miles
Baby why?
You couldve told me you were telling me goodbye
Couldve come clean and let me walk away in style, oh
Funny thing is
While I was missing you
While I was figuring what I was gonna do
1 - I got wise, I got hip
I caught on to your tricks
I got over it real quick, yeah baby
While you were gone
Now Im cool, cant you tell
Feel so good about myself
A funny thing happened to me baby
While you were gone
Oh, you looked surprised
Like no one ever left you and survived, no
Well leaving me alone has kind of opened my eyes
Baby you, you gave me the time to find somebody new
And I found strength inside me I never knew, oh
Funny thing is
While he was holding me
While he was showing me how its suppose to be
Repeat 1
Repeat 1 with ad-libs by kelly
Didnt freak, didnt cry
I just held my head up high
I learned how to say goodbye
While you were gone
Had time on my hands
Baby dont you understand
A funny thing happened to me baby
While you were gone
Had nothing but time on my hands
Learned how to understand boy
Got over you, got over you, oh
While he was holding me
While he was showing me how its suppose to be
Oh baby
Repeat 1
While you were gone, oh
Learned to lie, learned a lesson
Learned how to get along, learned how to be strong
Learned how to love myself, while you were gone, ooh, oh
song performed by by Kelly Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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