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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Related quotes
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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The Hermit Crab
The hermit crabs life is all but exciting live all alone
and in the sahdows in the bottom of the teary sea
feelings no comfort and no love this crab is all alone
no friends and allways hurting everyone
he use to have friends till the day he found him self this shell of dark sleeping alone
and being alone this crab used that bad to fell worse
we the other crabs of life the ones that live a full happy life
need to find him/her and bring this hermit out of it's shell
show to the hermit that talking isn't all bad
but being alone is talk about your problems dont hide in a shell
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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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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Street Crab
First Ill panic quick and listen
To advice
Agree to anything and try to be
Too nice
Then my skin flakes, another allergy
Im not making sense, just
Ignore me
Thirst I had at last
Run the water
Shut my mouth and run past
Whats the matter?
Street crabs buy it fast
Infect the water
Safe and sound like the perfect food
Ice the beer, its east to feel good
What was that you said? I thought
I heard my name but
Every street crab will push the
Vowels the same
Thist I had at last
Run the water
Shut my mouth and run past
Whats the matter?
Street crabs buy in fast
Infect the water
song performed by by Helmet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visit Malaysia Year Poem - Pulau Ketam (State of Selangor)
pincers, white fluffy flesh
red hot, spicy shells
under our white
plastic hammers
each leg, pincer,
carapace broken
licked clean
the two eyes
now jutting out of
the auspicious
light as flight
red orange shell
so cleaned up of life
so meaningless
and emptied
of existence
a loser of
the world
except for
its rich delicious
steamy white
vein laced flesh
the shells
stripped of all the limbs
straddle the table
play out the animals in us
some are upside down
some in upright position
some helter skelter
loose signatures of the
delicious triumph of a two legged
over a ten legged wonder
now only our hands are
crawling all over the table
grabbing parts, positioning legs,
pincer for hammers
we are nothing
more than dinosaur
when it comes to crabs
they are but fluffy, juicy, spicy,
pulpy, squeaky rich protein to
fill up the stomach
to build the muscles
of our own limbs
more customers coming?
get ready the crabs
get ready the rice
and the hammers
how many of them please?
how many crabs?
ketam ketam ketam
plankwalk that make
our walk sound crab
and.....dinosaur
Ketam is the malay word for crabs. pulau ketam is an island 30 minutes away from port klang in selangor. port klang is about an hour by commuter train from kuala lumpur and the same amount of time if one drives in one's own car. the island is famous for its seafood. the wooden plankwalk to the numerous restaurants makes one's walk sound crab because it goes ketam ketam ketam.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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Walk straight, my son - as the old crab said to the young crab.
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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Earthworm Descent
Love watching earthworms
at night, with a flash light
shining on them as
they make their descent
into the ground.
So slimy are they
but so fun to try
and catch them
before they make
their descent
into the ground.
As a child used
to go into backyard
in search of the
earthworm watching
as it burrows into
the soil,
tying so hard to
crab them as they
slip through my fingers
and make their
descent into the ground.
Would just try to
catch them for
fun, not fishing
putting them in
a jar and watching
them as they
would burrow into
the soil.
Later would let
them go without
harm and watching
as they made
their descent
into the ground.
Traces
Each day is filled with tiny traces
Like footprints of a deer in snow
Or silky snail tracks in small places
And crab holes when the tide is low
Each breath exhaled and new step taken
Leaves markings not to be erased
Small cherished patterns fain forsaken
In nature’s cunning woven lace
The crumbs that fall from modest tables
Are soon retrieved by little ants
A spider’s web the stuff of fables
Embraces woodland’s lushest plants
We make a difference as we wander
Among the throng and rush of day
Our every movement filled with wonder
Touched by a gentle force at play
When pride and prejudice surround us
And things are quite beyond control
Just look at lowly trusting creatures
Their humble ways refresh the soul
No need to faint when your tracks wither
In heat of sun and loss of hope
That pearly snail keeps creeping hither
While deer and crabs still run and grope
Each day we live we leave small traces
Like footprints of a deer in snow
Or silky snail tracks in small places
Or crab holes when the tide is low.
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
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The Poet Of Ignorance
Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.
Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know.
Perhaps I am no one.
True, I have a body
and I cannot escape from it.
I would like to fly out of my head,
but that is out of the question.
It is written on the tablet of destiny
that I am stuck here in this human form.
That being the case
I would like to call attention to my problem.
There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.
The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.
They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses adn the like.
The crab remains.
It is a great weight.
I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.
I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.
I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?
Anonymous submission.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Don't You See?
The day was hotter than words can tell,
So hot the jelly-fish wouldn't jell.
The halibut went all to butter,
And the catfish had only force to utter
A faint sea-mew - aye, though some have doubted,
The carp he capered and the horn-pout pouted.
The sardonic sardine had his sly heart's wish
When the angelfish fought with the paradise fish.
'T was a sight gave the bluefish the blues to see,
But the seal concealed a wicked glee-
The day it went from bad to worse,
Till the pickerel picked the purse-crab's purse.
And the crab felt crabedder yet no doubt,
Because the oyster would n't shell out.
The sculpin would sculp, but had n't a model,
And the coddlefish begged for something to coddle.
But to both the dolphin refused its doll,
Till the whale was oblidged to whale them all.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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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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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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Under The Night Sea
By the night sea
The palm trees sway in the breeze
There's an adventure under the night sea
So I jump into the sea
And swim underwater
Though it's hard to see underwater
I can see my friend, the hermit crab
He communicates with me and offers me
a ride
As we walk along the sea's floor
We happen to come across a sunken ship
And we both decide to explore it
Inside, gold coins are here, there,
and everywhere
I pocket a couple of them for souvenier
purposes
As we leave the ship
I communicate in a way of saying goodbye
to my hermit crab friend
I must continue to my journey though
And he knows it
He accepts my decision
But I hope someday I'll see him again
Through the night sea
Reaching places that I can reach
Places that my hermit crab friend can't
reach
Continuing on
Swimming along
A big fish waves its fin at me
And me and him become a team
Riding on this back
He speeds through the night sea
Outswimming the tadpoles
And thinking smartly to get us past
all the traps
Reaching a point where he can't go
any further
I get the message that it's on me to
continue
On my own
And so I get off his back
And we wave to each other
Before he swims away
Climbing out of the night sea
On to a small piece of land
I catch my breath
A frog hops out of the water
And offers me a ride on his back
Wanting to help me reach the end
And so we head back into the night sea
Swimming past all the twisted coral
Reaching the end of the night sea
I get off the frog's back
And on to dry land
I wish him well
As he submerges and quickly swims away
I make my way over to a palm tree
With as much strength as I have left
And sit beside it
Reflecting on my adventure under the night sea
As well as clutching the gold coins from
the sunken ship in my pocket
And being in a dream-like state of mind
poem by Justin Gildow
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Until a crab finds itself in a very hot pot of soup, it will never understand that water can be both cold and hot.
If you didn't catch anything when fishing, then a crab is a fish.