|sea carib 2
and lulled to sleep
by its green bed
i often follow tracks
made in the sand
out of the treasure
chests of pearls
rain like mad
down to wet
18 Mar 05
Rated 9 (7.4) by 2 users.
Active (2): 7, 8
Inactive (10): 1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(452 more poems by this author)
Add A Comment:
2 has more strength than 1, though i like 1 as well.
but this 2 made me say *wow*
yep...WOW! good job! ;)
i prefer 1, tho 2 is great. stuff.
a prize to anyone who knows what this poem is about.
hank, you're the jimmy buffet of online poetry. wasted away again in onomatopoeiaville. flapapping indeed. love it. keep your underside dry.
this poem is about the caribbean sea. Do I win the prize? I hope it's not another naked picture of gnormal.
ollylama- this poem is not about the caribbean sea. good idea though. nice to have you aboard.
i missed this 2nd part.
not everything is what it seems.
i will answer your question soon.
i always think reading is a little like numberpuzzles. starting out with 81 possibilities, that shave to be narrowed down to only one. i think i may be down to sixteen. more gazing into inbetween space is required.
my hunger is distracting me as are white-fleshed nectarines (juicy treasure) .
do you suggest i go back one part?
(i like a person who promotes ollylama and llamas)
it's about cannibalism of dreams.
is it about screwing?
that'll be the treasure(d) chests
and pearls (1 and 2 options) covered by someone llamary.
and add one i hadn't thought of for cannabilism.
ok i will commit.
i think you're lying full length in water. the shallow part, where the waves flap pap. against your body. and under. i think you're probably smiling. you'll probably have tanned skin and a white smile, because i'm a romantic, and this second half does have a romantic feel, a warmth, a curve to the words that was evident in the second half of the last part and flows through to this. they'll be more thoughts i'm sure. it's an inside head state of being thing maybe. but they've already been covered by a llama. yet a little more subtle. i think you're in the caraibe not talking about it. the caraibe is a background detail rather than a foreground detail. which is why the bed is green, like on the cote d'emraude. it's the way the sun filters or something. but the word bed has connotations as do pearls, but i don't know if that isn't just more detail. it can be difficult to paint an emotion so other people feel it. if that is what you did. you did it well. is that sixteen random enough tangents. i'm too lazy to count.
olly, screwing is always involved and CERTAINLY plays a large part in the creation of the subject matter of this poem but the poem is not about screwing (i will always put some beautiful nasty words in any poem i write about screwing) but please don't quit now.
K- whatever my poem is about, it hardly compares to the imagery that it conjured in your head.
i've got it: it's about poetry itself, and poets. the green bed is the bed of the muse, who lulls you into a subconscious reverie. The tracks made in the sand are lines of poetry made by shells (words) piloted by crabs (lateral thinking, they walk sideways), but hold hidden treasure (pearls - poetic meaning). Rain is the appreciation of those who admire the words, sounds like applause (flapapping) and wets you to your depth (tears, humors, blood, empathy, love rain o'er me). Ironically, it's that rain that wipes out any original meaning that the author might have meant and makes it impossible to ever know the intentions of the artist. Sort of the way observing subatomic systems interferes with their actual measurement. And the way postmoderists refer to "texts" as something existing and evolving independently of the author. Finally, your undersides are wet cause you've peed your pants.
whooaaa, boy am i laughing. whoooeeee. excellent entertainment my friend. goes well with the guiness in my hand.
oh. i was so hoping llama was right too. i'm going for a cigarette with some printed out copies of both parts.
after which i shall come back and say it is about a turtle.
am i signed out?
oh yes. i am.
wow. i'm in love.
creme de menthe?
if in doubt. read the poem very quickly and say the first thing that comes into your head. it's not an infallible technique. smiles.
i wish i could have recorded my laugh as i read the last few comments so i could have posted it here for you both to hear.
i meant tartaruga. but anyway, ok.
those who know my poetry (or me) know that i 'object worship', that is, i generally don't write about love, hate, etc. but about things, objects: red doors, estwing hammer's, seashells, etc. this is a poem about turtle hatchlings that are 'asleep' by the shore, the tracks i follow in the sand are those made by mother leatherback (who works her fucking ass off), the treasure, her nest, the pearls, her eggs. the hatchling 'rain' down and their flippers madly 'flapapp' as they struggle toward the moonlight to wet their bellies.
what shall your prize be?
This doesn't mean, or say anything to me... yet. As of now it is a bunch of words that read rather uncomfortably. So, rather than give it a nine and work down I'll give it a three and work up.
i lied. it is a completely and utterly infallible way of reading poems.
i'm smiling wide enough to dimple. and i'm quite pinkled and shy too.
i would love something that reminds me of turtles. please.
or anything or nothing. quite honestly this feeling is enough.
it feels like it might last all night. maybe longer.
i didn't know you object worshipped. i should have known to put two and two together. other object worshippers should recognise other ones when they meet.
you guys should get a room! :) An object-worshipping room.
we have one. we're worshipping you.
x to you too. and o.
excess and ohhhs to you both.
I must say the first thought that came to my mind was the weekend I just spent in Florida, A day one the beach and then a torential downpour.
that is there too.
this is an underrated poem.
greedy bastard. 8.4 aint good enough for you? should it go to eleven?
in my case it should.
yes. eleven. i like that smell.
I like the feeling this poem gives me. It also gives me a very calming mental picture. I like lines 2-6.
It has a really effective impressionistic feel. Captures something tho' not sure about flapapping
This is lovely. The rhythm sooths. Makes me want to go to the beach and fall asleep there.