The Love Life of Clams
the love life of clams
is poorly understood
and being the shy creatures we are
i can tell you only certain things
without blushing.
for starters i’ll say
we enjoy very long periods of foreplay.
indeed, many think,
foreplay is all there is in the life of a clam
and they’re not all that wrong
it’s something we clams do for hours
dare i say entire seasons without cessation
excreting eggs and sperm by the millions
sometimes the very same clam
ushering both into the world
rocking back and forth
with the flow of the tides
with the pull of the moon
laughing while switching sexes
one day female
the very next male
our essence blended
into one multi-sexual organism
open to every other clam
without shame or grief
bodies buried in the mud,
faces buried in the sex organs
of each other and of ourselves
switching sexes repeatedly …
and not only don’t we care,
but i can tell you
from personal experience
we are awash with joy
with libido and saline
free from certain sad mammalian quandaries
the chasing about looking for yet another puzzle piece
thought to be missing
the rarity of finding a mate
Poetry
- 99 Gratitudes in 3 Minutes – A Yoga Chanting Poem
- A Poem is Born
- After The News
- Alan
- Alan Is Dead
- American Wedding, 2011
- Ask the Sphinx – 2 approaches
- Baggage Claim
- Beach Plum Jam
- Beau Dies
- between spiders
- Burnt Wood – for Bubi
- Call it what it is
- Conversation With A Ladle
- Coyote in the House
- Crow’s Song
- Day break
- Death Factories
- Death of the Dolphin
- Furry Bug
- Gospel of the Redwood
- Insects in Amber
- It: In Honor of Dr. Seuss
- Journey to Standing Rock
- Kevin Garnett in Africa
- Life among the barbarians
- Long ago, perhaps yesterday
- Mandalay Hills
- Mesquite Dunes
- Miles’ Ashes
- Miles’ Journey
- My First Yoga Teacher
- One Drop of Rain
- Salton Sea
- Self Love
- Sunrise
- The Love Life of Clams
- Throwing Away
- Uncle Sol
- What The Stones Say
- when spring arrives ice flows out of the bay
- Whispering Among The Gods
- Willow
- Winter Fog
- Work and Love are What Really Matter: a reunion poem for the BHS class of 1958 reunion
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