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Don Moore Oct 2016
Winds from far foreign climes beats upon the Lizard rocks
Gulls driven towards the blackest of crags, yet pass over safely inland
In the darkest skies they wheel and spin as if torn by some giant’s hand
White horses gallop crests of waves as they rush towards tiny harbours
There to crash savagely and rend cut stones from their secured places
Men work to save their boats, fighting the storm which mothers sent
Nature conspires to take their very lives as they struggle with her might
Rocks gnash their teeth and boats not safe yet, pass near their faces
Hoping for the safety of their port, men’s white faces line their gunwales
Black, white, red, blue and yellow, boats colours lost within the spray
These same boats that forge the men they carry out upon the sea’s wrath
But now just seek to bring them safely home to their worried wives
Their women stand upon the quay or stare worried from their windows
Churchyards on the hills above seaside villages filled with headstones
Men’s deaths caused by storms in past times of fishing for their living
Leaving spouses, their children to carry on their traditions and religion
Headstones cut from the very granite of the weather worn Lizard cliffs
Menfolk deep beneath the Cornish loam, there to rest for all eternity
Whilst below in the thrashing storm, the families fight once again
Then as quickly as it came, the storm blows out, waters return to placid
Men stretch their aching backs, those hidden from storm turn out
The ******’s mission helps as it can the fractured families
And church maybe rings for those lost out to sea, never to be seen again
There will be time to mourn, and the village will then lament together
And those who are left, they return to their sacred craft of netting fish
Return to shining calm, to ply their trade, to bring food to this isles shore
Writing a Cornish Faery tale presently, and I felt parts of the book would benefit from some prose at the beginning of a chapter...
The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
*****, unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?

He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…

“Why have I been tormented so?”

“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”

“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”

“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?

“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”

“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”

“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”

“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”

“Not great at math, language or art.”

“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”

“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my ugly feet and sullen heart,”

“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”

“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”

“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”

“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”

“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”

“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”

“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”

“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”

“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”

“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”

“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”

“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”

“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”

“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”

“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”

“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”

“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!”
Children's rhyme. Scylla represents the rocks near shores who rend ships to pieces that venture to close to them.
Crawling thing with six legs,
I'll keep you in mind...

Flying thing with big eyes,
I ate you just in time,

Now crawly-bug I eat you too,
I lap my face to clean off your goo,

Screams from heaven, I must hide!
Yesterday my brother died...

I slither into pile of leaves,
I hope the screamer didn't see,

Stay still, prepare and lick the air,
I smell more crawlies over there...

I get too cool and run for rock,
To sun myself,
And in my sluggish state I lie on rock...

                                                        ­            “Ahhhh!”

I'm grabbed and now I'm in the blue!
The Screamer eats me and my last crawly too!
Children's rhyme
SøułSurvivør Jan 2016
\/
|
it is
a skittish
little beast
though
nothing
harms it
/\/\/\        in the least         /\/\/\
●•○        a living thing       ○●•
○●•°       of red and black     ●○•°
○●°••●○●°if you touch it●○°•●○●○•
○●••●•○°○●it attacks!●○°••●○●•
this lizard snaps
this creature bites
it will engage and
hang on tight! So
be careful where
you step • because
of poison it's adept
as you're walking
●•°○up a trail • carry••○●
••●○••○sticks and do●○°•●○
●°°•●○°○•●not fail!○●•°●○•●○
●°○•      Gila Monsters     ●•○°
\/\/\/      you may goad      \/\/\/
so watch it
○•° son○●°
●°• they●°○
○●own●○
●°•the○●°
•°○● R○●°•°
○••●O○°•●
°•○●A●°•○
°•●○D○●°•
○•°●○•●
°●○•
°•○●
●○­°•
●○.

I hope this turns out

a Gila Monster is
a lizard of the
southwest desert
it is quite beautiful
Seemingly made of
red black and yellow
beads. But look out!
It's poisonous!
Got Guanxi Jan 2016
The lizard king came alive in the walls of prophets,
A shrine to help follow the subjects of the topic.
I lost my mind, but found it inside the tombs of those left behind.

I left a part of my soul on La Ciegna Boulevard.
The looking glass had the last laugh,
Some smiled.
The sun dials told the time accurately.

The shadows followed me from one side of the city to the other.
All the way to the coast of the continent.
It was here I found the confidence that was lost in the dominance of you.

We broke on through to the other side,
but it was too soon,
and the other side was the same like butterflies.

Cocooned in symmetrical thoughts of the stars in your eyes.
It’s no surprise we both knew it all at that moment.
Our toes exposed naked in the sand and lost in emotion.
Cori MacNaughton Jul 2015
Depression might not
be helped by a book that starts
with a suicide
Third of four poems written this morning.
I decided to get out of my weekend blue funk by listening to the audiobook of Christopher Moore's inspired insanity, namely his book "The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove," which may well be the funniest book I've ever read.  
Naturally, having read the book around ten years ago, I completely forgot that the book opens with a suicide, which of course struck me as hilariously funny in context.  
Especially since depression - namely the depression gripping the whole town - figures prominently in the story.  
Yeah, I'm weird.  ;-)
Pokkuri Feb 2015
'Trapped in a lizard state'.
The singer's echoes,
the words too clear.
Like a lizard, I lay and wait,
biding my time.
Waiting for my prey to walk in the door.

To latch, and to never let go.
To playfully wrestle the bait.
But for now I am waiting,
staring at nothing.

I wonder if Lizards don't sleep much,
because of their dreams.
Cause if so, I am most definitely cold blooded.
Staring into nothing,
waiting for my prey.
If someone can interpretate this I'll be shocked (not a challenge)
Tiffany Norman Oct 2014
Wind bends a weak branch.
Fresh leaves sing in harmony.
A lizard of the same color
slowly stretches his way from leaf to spine.
He stops to investigate a string
of silk from a spider's web
and I wonder how that tastes.
Lit up like a jack-o-lantern,
his glowing body
reveals organs and vessels
much like my own.
He makes his 30 foot ascent
above hot cement
just to sunbathe on a leaf.
What a life that is.
I'd plow her like the a farmer.
I'd mount her like a knight.
and if someone was looking.
I'm sure it'd be quite a sight.

I'd slay her with my dagger.
It's hidden in my pants.
and the only way she'll find it.
is with her scalie slant.

I'd stab her every night.
I'd stab her every day.
I'd stab her in the noon time.
I'd stab her in the hay.

I know my blade is useless,
for killing foe or fiend.
but for slaying  scalie women
there's none better to be seen.
I got a thing for lizards...

— The End —