Crab

A crab washed to shore on Long Beach, WA

Crab

Shannon Laws

A foam washed wreckage to shore
breath-bubbles pop in the thin light

Early beachcomber fights the gulls
for a freshly delivered treasure

The minute before dawn you grab it’s back
Carry it to your kitchen for a slow boil

With a crack, a glut of juices spill out
Lips suck at the muscle and warm butter

An ear to the empty skin echoes the sea

 

What inspired you to write this?
a friend at my monthly poetry discussion groups asked

Well, I heard a line from some poem at an open mic.  It went something like, he sucks the juices from your claws, eats the muscles from her claws
I started to think about how the line could be used in a domestic violence poem about allowing another person to take your strongest parts, your claws, and devour them, you know, boil them for dinner

That sounds like a great poem!

Ya.  It could have been, but I couldn’t get it to work.
The right words didn’t come

So, WHY is the sea in the empty skin and whose skin is it?

The sound of the sea is in all things born in the sea.
In this story, it is a song that sings the memory of the crab

I don’t get it.

ya, the words didn’t come.
It needs new words

 

Poem: Where Are You Eastwood

144270
Clint Eastwood as “Blondie” (a.k.a. the Man with No Name) in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”, 1966

Where Are You Eastwood

By Shannon P. Laws

 

Long and bent
a switch not picked
Your blue eyes
squint in the sun
Stiff, rough hair
starts a match
at your jaw

Writing “The End” on Your Novel

I don’t reblog that often, but after reading this post by Susan Wingate (an award winning author) I had to.
Writing IS a labor of love. I agree with Wingate. Something is lost if we write “mechanically”. Plenty of used book stores have books, but how many stories really change the reader, affect a generation? I don’t think robots can do that, only the human spirit.

Susan Wingate

I was once told by a self-proclaimed writing guru that writing the end of a book shouldn’t be an event. That we shouldn’t get all wrapped up in the fact that we finished a book–your first or your fiftieth, that we should simply move on to the next story and plow through that one too.

And I get that. You don’t have to tell me to keep my nose down and my fingers flying. I write daily.

But, here’s the thing: I would understand this setting aside of emotional attachment to my writing more if I were a robot having zero feelings and no degree of the understanding of one’s own self-worth. But, I’m not a robot. I’m a human being with all the longings anyone else has.

So, as a human being who also writes for a living, the satisfaction I feel from finishing another story is tantamount to, say, crossing the finish line…

View original post 203 more words