Poem a Day

Not because of his eyes,
    the eyes of a bird,
        but because he is beaked,

birdlike, to do an injury,
    has the turtle attracted you.
        He is your only pet.

When we are together
    you talk of nothing else
        ascribing all sorts

of murderous motives
    to his least action.
        You ask me

to write a poem,
    should I have a poem to write,
        about a turtle.

The turtle lives in the mud
    but is not mud-like,
        you can tell it by his eyes

which are clear.
    When he shall escape
        his present confinement

he will stride about the world
    destroying all
        with his sharp beak.

Whatever opposes him
    in the streets of the city
        shall go down.

Cars will be overturned.
    And upon his back
        shall ride,

to his conquests,
    my Lord,
        you!

You shall be master!
    In the beginning
        there was a great tortoise

who supported the world.
    Upon him
        All ultimately

rests.
    Without him
        nothing will stand.

He is all wise
    and can outrun the hare.
        In the night

his eyes carry him
    to unknown places.
        He is your friend.

-William Carlos Williams

How intelligent he looks!
        on his back
        both feet caught in my one hand
        his glance set sideways,
        on a giant poster of Geronimo
        with a Sharp’s repeating rifle by his knee.

I open, wipe, he doesn’t even notice
        nor do I.
Baby legs and knees
        toes like little peas
        little wrinkles, good-to-eat,
        eyes bright, shiny ears,
        chest swelling drawing air,

No trouble, friend,
        you and me and Geronimo
        are men.

-Gary Snyder