In 4th grade I remember that we went on a feldtrip at sea life and saw a star fish.
Sam
Starfish are shaped like a star and live in the ocean.
Rachel
Finding the multiples after one limb gets cut off, another grows back. Wading and walking amongst the starfish, seeing their unique five points, each one playing a role in a beach tapestry as you wonder which ones get thrown back and which remain to dry and preserve, like sand frozen in star shapes along the shore.
The crown starfish has destroyed the Australian reef, that beautiful place I have never seen, and now never will, although they had help from millions of polluters in hundreds of countries. Now, on Oahu, we are watching the reef disappear. It bleaches out, it dies, it does not revive, again due to pollution in the waters. Plentry of it. Last year, by mistake, somehow a well-maintained pipeline run by Matson, suddenly and inexplicably, developed a hole in it, and pounds, perhaps tons, of thick maple syrup spilled forth. Well-maintained? That killed most of the tropical fish in the Honolulu harbor. Now, not that far from the Honolulu harbor, a bay that was the major tourist attraction here for its reef filled with tropical fish, has no fish whatsoever. I have seen the Hawaiian tropical fish. So beautiful, so colorful, so intricately patterned. A damn shame, their departure through death.
Joanna Bressler
The starfish gazed at me, I think, but to me she was a beauty either way, at first site, without eye contact. She was undressed, naked to the world, in her own little world of sincere pleasure. But in the morning, along with everything else, she too, was gone.
I saw a video today of a starfish on a clam and the clam used its mouth to shoot air through the water to move itself it was very fascinating as is grammar.
charlie
He came into the door, slightly late as usual. Our little starfish we called him. Always out of place but always unique. He knew how to make an entrance. A waft of stale beach air ahead of him, and a trail of sand behind him. We always wondered where his latest journey had taken him.
There aren’t much more than sunfish in
the river behind the house.
Or catfish, swimming beneath the dock. But
at night, when the river is still and reflective,
the stars hover on its surface,
and this is the closest thing to starfish
I have ever seen.
So many thoughts. None of them clean.
Dirty dishes in the sink. Chunks of meat.
The starfish hugs its prey, prys it open, deadly little arm-spreading lotus.
Still one washed up on shore one day and was found by a girl bound to have stuck it in a bucket. I witness this from an old beach blanket. There’s shifting sand on his hands as he feels around for my heart. “Darlin,” I said, “I don’t exactly know where I last put it.”
Zissou
I am like a starfish
with my many arms
I reach out
to the world
wanting to see
and explore
leaving behind
my reef
and letting myself
absorb the reality.
In 4th grade I remember that we went on a feldtrip at sea life and saw a star fish.
Starfish are shaped like a star and live in the ocean.
Finding the multiples after one limb gets cut off, another grows back. Wading and walking amongst the starfish, seeing their unique five points, each one playing a role in a beach tapestry as you wonder which ones get thrown back and which remain to dry and preserve, like sand frozen in star shapes along the shore.
The crown starfish has destroyed the Australian reef, that beautiful place I have never seen, and now never will, although they had help from millions of polluters in hundreds of countries. Now, on Oahu, we are watching the reef disappear. It bleaches out, it dies, it does not revive, again due to pollution in the waters. Plentry of it. Last year, by mistake, somehow a well-maintained pipeline run by Matson, suddenly and inexplicably, developed a hole in it, and pounds, perhaps tons, of thick maple syrup spilled forth. Well-maintained? That killed most of the tropical fish in the Honolulu harbor. Now, not that far from the Honolulu harbor, a bay that was the major tourist attraction here for its reef filled with tropical fish, has no fish whatsoever. I have seen the Hawaiian tropical fish. So beautiful, so colorful, so intricately patterned. A damn shame, their departure through death.
The starfish gazed at me, I think, but to me she was a beauty either way, at first site, without eye contact. She was undressed, naked to the world, in her own little world of sincere pleasure. But in the morning, along with everything else, she too, was gone.
hi mum
I saw a video today of a starfish on a clam and the clam used its mouth to shoot air through the water to move itself it was very fascinating as is grammar.
He came into the door, slightly late as usual. Our little starfish we called him. Always out of place but always unique. He knew how to make an entrance. A waft of stale beach air ahead of him, and a trail of sand behind him. We always wondered where his latest journey had taken him.
There aren’t much more than sunfish in
the river behind the house.
Or catfish, swimming beneath the dock. But
at night, when the river is still and reflective,
the stars hover on its surface,
and this is the closest thing to starfish
I have ever seen.
So many thoughts. None of them clean.
Dirty dishes in the sink. Chunks of meat.
The starfish hugs its prey, prys it open, deadly little arm-spreading lotus.
Still one washed up on shore one day and was found by a girl bound to have stuck it in a bucket. I witness this from an old beach blanket. There’s shifting sand on his hands as he feels around for my heart. “Darlin,” I said, “I don’t exactly know where I last put it.”
I am like a starfish
with my many arms
I reach out
to the world
wanting to see
and explore
leaving behind
my reef
and letting myself
absorb the reality.