This will be a turtle-y post in honor of our new turtle, Bruno. Actually his/her (?) name with the previous owners was Smyrtle, and I did argue with my children about the advisability of changing the name, so my son retained Smyrtle as a middle name. I'm not sure if Bruno Smyrtle is happy in this new environment, but s/he tolerantly put out his/her head and let me take a photo (you can see my hands and camera reflected in the water).
The small Bruno Smyrtle couldn't be more different from the turtle I saw in the news a couple of weeks ago, the one who washed up on Butler Beach, in Florida.
Kay Ryan imagines that it isn't much fun to be a turtle.
Who would be a turtle who could help it?
A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,
she can ill afford the chances she must take
in rowing toward the grasses that she eats.
Her track is graceless, like dragging
a packing-case places, and almost any slope
defeats her modest hopes.
You can read the rest of this poem here.
Russell Edson has a more fanciful view:
The Adventures of a Turtle
The turtle carries his house on his back. He is both the house and the person of that house.
actually, under the shell is a little room where the true turtle,
wearing long underwear, sits at a little table. At one end of the room a
series of levers sticks out of slots in the floor, like the controls of
a steam shovel. It is with these that the turtle controls the legs of
You can read the rest of that one here.
And here's today's Poetry Friday roundup.
34 minutes ago