I am a baby Crab
I am a little Crab
Rests a while at shore
When the next wave comes
I'll go with her!
[ If the life asks; Let me know something about you, definitely I forward my tattered resume here but I know exactly that she's a blunder mute! ]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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Sand crab follows Hot
Chilli crab he knows, beaut
like the tide, shore thing
haiku by Ken e Hall
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Tattered & Torn
Tattered and torn
Tattered and torn
Thats where my soul is worn
Tattered and torn
Thats when I was born
Tattered and torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and torn
Tearing myself apart from the
Things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattered and Torn
Tattered and Torn
That's where my soul is worn
Tattered and Torn
That's when I was born
Tattered and Torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and Torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and Torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and Torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and Torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and Torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and Torn
Tearing myself apart from the
things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot from Slipknot
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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Like the Sea
wave upon wave
i arrive
at the shore of my
being
unconsumed
unfinished
wave upon wave
i lick the
shore
always arriving
at a home
that is never mine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Fish In A Bowl
Everywhere I go
A thousand faces stare at me
Eating from the palm
A date from hand to mouth
Break a leg!
The shoes are on the bottom
On your way
But the wardrobe always stays wide open
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
Everywhere I go
All bob and weave
Or sew it seams
Aiming low in life
They keep their noses clean
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
An ordered life from start to finish
And my timing is out
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up...fish!
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Ever
It is not shame
If I ever I name
Her as divine gift
And stand never shift
From my friends
As I understand
We are no where coming near
As has been gripped by the fear
You are gifted soul
As I received it as call
It was near fall
You were felt by me like precious eye ball
I saw vast world in you
And found it nearly true
What was I dreaming for?
What was actually on the shore?
I gave no second thought
As love is like battle to be fought
Only brave go through to have flag high
Show it to world and wave in the sky
It was pure melody
As you were not meant for somebody
You rushed to me from no where
As I had lost the courage to dare
Does it need full of courage?
As it is going to change life page
What all will be written in words?
If we fail to grasp and to look forward
I shall not repeat blunder
Even if threatened by thunder
No one can deter us from going ahead
As I have seen the message and fully read
Will you over come and support
As our boat will be waiting at the port
I shall swim in any rough weather
Once you promise to stand fast and wither
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Why Me?
When the hopes are hassled
And relationships are rattled
Naïveté asks, why me?
When wishes are whacked
And dreams are dashed
Naïveté asks, why me?
When fantasies are fettered
And blessings are battered
Naïveté asks, why me?
When desires are demolished
And ambitions are admonished
Naïveté asks, why me?
When temptations are traumatized
And passions are pulverized
Naïveté asks, why me?
Strangely,
Naïveté with influence
And naïveté with affluence
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with name
And naïveté with fame
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with health
And naïveté with wealth
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with fiefdom
And naïveté with wisdom
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with beauty
And naïveté with booty
Never asks, why me?
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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And from a poise at this station the plane may swoop down, at great disadvantage if close to the back of the wave, at various slopes and directions till it cuts into the air that is being raised by the face of the following wave, which again enables it to resume its velocity.
quote by Lawrence Hargrave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Shore
One child on the shore
With a stick on his hands
Writes on the sands
Some drawings
Playful
A wave comes and slides
On the shore
The drawings are gone
And a new slate is given
By the water that runs
That advances to him
And later surrenders to itself
Another young man
Draws a heart on the sand
Swearing a love eternal
All encompassing
A wave slides forth
And comes back pulling towards itself
A new slate is made again
The old man comes later
Writing his life story with a cane
The same wave comes again
Slides forth and pulls itself
An empty slate
Sand so smooth and blank and plain
Gleaming anew
To the blue skies
Everything looks playful,
Indeed. The sameness and the
Constant repetition. The cycle.
The monotony of life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Things
`O cruel Death, give three things back,'
Sang a bone upon the shore;
`A child found all a child can lack,
Whether of pleasure or of rest,
Upon the abundance of my breast':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
`Three dear things that women know,'
Sang a bhone upon the shore;
`A man if I but held him so
When my body was alive
Found all the pleasure that life gave':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
`The third thing that I think of yet,'
Sang a bone upon the shore,
`Is that morning when I met
Face to face my rightful man
And did after stretch and yawn':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Surrender
HERE, in the new day's golden splendour —
Headlands pushing their foreheads forward —
Sweet is the surfer's glad surrender
To the will of the wave, as it rushes shoreward.
Nought in his ears but the breaker's thunder,
Arrowing on through the surf he flies,
Foam about him and clean sands under,
Over him arching the radiant skies.
Yielding himself as a toy to the ocean,
Locked and mute in its fierce embraces,
Thrilled and filled with the joy of motion,
Limbs outstretched, through the swirl he races.
Here, in the gold day's new-born splendour,
Sea winds sighing in tree and cave,
Sweet it is in a glad surrender
Thus to yield to the will of the wave.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Walk straight, my son - as the old crab said to the young crab.
Sea-Shore
Every wave from the sea,
Running towards the shore,
As if to stay with it forever.
Returns all rejected,
Only more salty and miserable,
Happy to be so, though.
The sea tries yet again,
In the form of another wave,
A never ending hope of attraction,
And a continuous failure.
The shore not at fault either,
Luring the sea towards itself,
Without knowing the depth,
Or the sparkle of the water.
Couldn’t move an inch,
To walk with the sea forever,
A decision not made by choice.
Does not hold the sea to itself,
Neither does it let go,
Probably that’s what He wanted.
The sea running towards the shore,
Knowing it would be the end,
And sighs in the form of a breeze,
At the thought of the final touch,
Every dropp awaiting the end.
Trying and denying carries on,
Till the sea dries out,
The shore stays where it was,
Beside the grave of its only lover,
As lonely as it could be.
poem by Dhruv Dikshit
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Men, the waves
The sea waves meet the shore.
The waves ebb; the shore stays ashore.
He, the wave, meets her, the shore.
The waves carry the carcass of the tryst.
The shore buries the debris of the tryst.
Man sticks to the past, woman to the future.
13.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Curling Waters
The tide rolls in on curling waters,
then stretches its fingers to touch the shore.
It hisses as each wave breaks
and its white waters pound against
the sands and rolling stones.
We can sit for hours watching
its endless race
to see which finger
can go farthest up the shore.
Its waters then retreat
as a new wave takes its place.
25 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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