Moby-Dick

Oh, so much effort for one shiny coin
The mariners about the Pequod must
Have thought, as watching Ahab bust a groin
And other parts, to spume if not to dust
In chasing his white whale. I make it sound
Exciting, quite a thrilling quest; alas
'Tis buried deep within the book, all bound
Up in a hipster's egotism. Blast!
The captain lost his leg once to a beast
His questing for revenge led him to parts
Far-flung and not well-known. Ah me. At least
I read it on my Kindle, strained no hearts
A-hauling it around, this Moby-Dick.
At last I'm done; now give me something, quick!

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Cotton To A Coconut-Carting Cephalopod

It's veiny, vaguely pink and near some nuts --
But get thy mind from yonder gutter, please!
I'm speaking of a freaky octopus
Who lives exposed in sandy-bottomed seas,
The Amphioctus marginatus would
Be vulnerable there were not for its
Ingenious use of coconut shells, good
As snail or nautilus ones, when they fits
The octopus's body. When it must
Go roaming, Marinatus sometimes goes
On two tip-tentacles; the others just
Wrapped tightly 'round his head; therefore what shows
Looks like a walking coconut. So smart!
He shows Cthulhu's lineage in part.

In Which I Contemplate Oregon Tides

A tide recedes and suddenly great rocks

Come up for air. At least I think there were

Some rocks beneath th'encrusted life and flocks

Of seagulls circling overhead. With her

Dog Jack a-snapping at the waves my sis

And I explored the slipp'ry rocks to find

The sort of things I'd been most sad to miss

The day before. What I had had in mind

Were tide pools like we saw so long ago

In California when I was a kid.

But here tide rocks have much the same, and so

I got my fill of starfish, mussels, did

Observe anenomes, one tiny crab,

And rarer still: a wild sea-going lab.

In Which I Brazenly Risk Being Pulled Down To Sunken Rl'yeh Several Times

Beside us and this lodge where we will pass

Our night tonight, I hear Cthulhu's roar.

A soup of clam cum, goo from mollusk ass

Shark spit, fish urine, seagull snot and more

Doth churn and crash in waves against a mix

Of ground-up glass, shell bits, rocks, plant rot, and

Some severed feet and rubber ducks and sticks.

I guess that stuff is commonly called sand,

The fluid called the sea, but let's be real:

A Great Old One won't live just anywhere

In anywhat. I'm sure, though, that he'd feel

At home wheree'er he wants, would never care

If it were blood or water where he swam

As long as he's believers, which I am.