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.
3 hours ago