Siren’s Sonnet - Open Ocean
He doesn’t care about the pewny lives
Of the creatures that live in him,
Or the creatures that praise him for his gifts.
He is merciless and unrestrainable.
He is judge, jury, and executioner.
We are in his kingdom,
kneel for his majesty.
Though he will not
hear your prayers, for he
is blatantly unconcerned.
Siren’s Sonnet - Hydrothermal Vents
The bottom of the ocean is supposed –
to be cold, not hot.
Like the frigid fermented potato juice,
heating my old man from the inside out.
The bottom of the ocean is supposed –
to be a barren wasteland, not a miracle of life.
Like the empty 2-inch poly bag,
on the floor of a bathroom.
The bottom of the ocean is supposed –
to be completely dark, not twinkling with bioluminescence.
Like the difficulties between distinguishing
Hallucinations and reality.
Where instead of the leave of trees harvesting the sunlight,
microbial mats tipple toxic chemicals.
Where blockbuster aliens are teddy bears,
compared to the life down here.
Shimmering shadow monsters,
that a subconscious couldn’t even create.
Siren’s Sonnet - Estuaries
The red-barked trees,
waxy whorled leaves.
Have mussels clinging,
to prop roots.
The black-barked trees,
salt crystals on their leaves.
Sprouting straight
Up from the ground.
The frigate bird’s
red balloon,
the reddish egret’s
happy dance,
the sea hare motif.
Life is at the mercy of the tide,
He comes in to bring sweet relief,
Just as quickly as he disappears.
Learn the pools to survive –
Adapt or die.
Siren’s Sonnet - Rocky Intertidal
It’s a harsh life –
but the views are why I settle.
Every now and then,
I can see the sunset and the sunrise,
all in one day!
Real estate with a view comes at a price –
perhaps demise.
I am awakened by the colorful shades of light,
The water did not come up in time today.
Will today be the day that I am pecked
out of my hard calcium plates?
Or,
Will I survive the heat
in time for lunch?
I am greeted by the crashing ocean waves,
He protects me from the
calefaction.
I gorge on the drifting sustenance. I hope,
to not become silage to swiftly, swerving, sea stars.
The stipulations of sessile survival,
is it worth it?
To be able to live in both worlds,
my life is worth it.
Siren’s Sonnet - Kelp Forest
Sea otters have a special rock.
That they keep for cracking open their
stubborn snacks. Aw, so cute!
But they're no different than humans,
carrying around tools in pockets.
They are the guardians of the underwater woodland.
Protecting the 175-foot-tall stemlike stipes,
from the vicious vanbrunti villains.
Who destroy the verdure from the base,
and leave the stipes to float away.
A Sea Otter without a coat,
is a sea otter without pockets.
They know they have the densest
coats in the world,
it’s for guarding their cold home.
And holding their special rock.
Siren’s Sonnet - Coral Reef
Across the middle of the Earth, where the water is warm
and clear, and bright, and teeming with life.
The morning seagull squacks,
school is in session.
Listen to wise, old professor Anthozoa
for he protects and guides those who travel from afar.
But, he grows overheated and tired
carrying the weight of the world on his colorful skeleton.
He is dying, not slowly like his life drifted past,
oblivious stage four destruction.
When the boiling water heats ever so slowly,
when the last bubble of air exits a body,
when the boat slips under stormy waves,
Then, who will teach the class?
Seafood Buffet
Mind my wounded eyes,
for they have seen
the horrors of dead
mammals stinking
a beach in paradise.
Mature male sea lion
with bits of the net
and torn skin
tangled into his visible
decaying ribs.
I scatter the birds
dropping to my knees,
this beautiful beast
strung and suffocated,
accidentally assassinated.
My tears flooding, as
I look up only to see,
four more exactly
like him, but in their
own stage of atrophy.
The last being only
a pile of bones,
none the less
the net, the net
is familiar. You see —
Sea lions didn’t die alone
on this beach in paradise,
there were crabs and
birds and sharks
and skates and —
Rays. More than a dozen,
with their fleshy wings
amputated to be
used for bait and
perfectly circular “scallops”.
Skates, cousins of the rays,
with their cartilaginous
fleshy wings are less
abundant, and therefore
higher value.
Birds, with their ruffled feathers
and broken necks.
Did they get caught in the net?
Perhaps a worse
fate for them.
The net was green,
or black or blue.
Each hole a perfect square
three inches wide,
to catch anything bigger.
What are they
supposed to catch?
What seafood that swims
is only barely larger
than three inches wide?
Shrimp, it’s those goddamn shrimp.
Decapoda, Crustacea,
Arthropoda, Animalia.
Plate, Plater,
Cocktail, Buffet.
Think about this —
90% of shrimp trawled in the Gulf of California are shipped to the United States but,
shrimp from the Gulf of California is only 3% of the shrimp the United States receives.
The next time,
you see shrimp,
on the edge,
of a martini glass.
Think about that one
beach rotting with bycatch,
feel their fear as the net
only tightens with
their attempted escape.
Think about how,
Northern Peru admitted
that 93.3% of the
shrimp trawling catch is
indeed, not shrimp.
Think about how,
the shrimp trawling grounds in
Southeast Asia used
to be carpeted in
ancient coral reefs.
Think about how,
trawling is only capable
on Continental Shelves, Bays, and Estuaries;
AKA, the most biologically productive
ecosystems on Earth.
Think about how,
Gulf of Mexico shrimp boats
only come to shore
once a month after
catching 42,000 pounds of shrimp.
Mourn, not just the lost lives
of the shrimp hanging
on your martini glass,
but the lives of the tangled animals
trapped beside them.
Understand my horror,
at the seafood buffet.