Portuguese Man-of War–it’s not a jellyfish.
They’re named after sailing ships. The float at the top of the creatures looks like a sail, and it functions that way too. I say creatures, not creature, because the Portuguese man-of-war is not a jellyfish and is not singular. It’s a group of four organisms that function together as a colony so closely that we recognize them as a unit. The functions of the colony include locomotion — the sail — hunting, eating, and procreation. There’s an organism for each function and they are separate entities.
Don’t believe me? Check out this link. And National Geographic has a good article with photos at this link also.
But why Portuguese man-of-war for this week’s poem? We spent Christmas in Cocoa Beach, Florida, and ran across a few of these not-jellyfish creatures along the shore. Check out the pictures we took on the beach below:
All those beautiful beaches, the sun, the soothing sound of the ocean surf, and people playing and sunning themselves… but here and there along the tide line… danger. The man-of-war’s tentacles have cells which can sting their prey long after being separated from the body of the organism. Sometimes all you see in the tidal debris is the sail. Like a blue balloon — they’re also called blue bottles because of this — just waiting to be picked up. But if the tentacles are nearby, are attached, then you can still be stung, and the Portuguese man-of-war is considered among the most dangerous jellyfish (even though it’s not a jellyfish). Running across these pretty little predators prompted a poem.
Portuguese Man-of-War
Colored like the sky, therefore invisible from below,
these ocean predators sail current to
current, unheeding. Some wash ashore,
among golden wet sand, reflecting the
afternoon sun’s glance back to the sky
but never harming the sun’s one big eye.
Kids play in the ruffled surf line.
Northerners bask in the not-really-hot day.
Walkers walk and joggers jog and
surfers surf and everyone ignores it:
beautiful jewel, its float sac still full, blue,
but rising pink on one edge. Its long curled limbs
broken up, smashed by this morning’s
tide and the detritus it rode in with.
None know where their bits are now: time
bombs waiting to sting their way inside
something: matters not what. Matters
Not that they are unhinged from body.
But the main sail, bell clear as azure glass,
candy-sweet, tempts. Perched among tidal debris,
seeks reprieve. Precious refuse, sea tossed
rubbish. Amongst joy waits salty danger.
Even ashore, with no belly, life seeks life.
For the more geeky and curious amongst you
If you wonder exactly how the Portuguese Man-of-War’s life cycle works, considering that it is made up of several organisms, you can check out the following scholarly article. “Morphology and development of the Portuguese man of war, Physalia physalis,” Catriona Munro 1,2*, Zer Vue3,4, Richard R. Behringer3,4 & Casey W. Dunn5.
Spoiler alert: the organisms separate off their reproductive portion when they’re ready to procreate.
If you enjoyed Portuguese Man-of-War
You’ll find more of my poems on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print.
Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.