With grandpa on the Thames to fish,
Our boat sailed north like a Croc,
Meandering brackish waters,
Waiting for a feast of catfish.
Pike, perch, and zander were grandpa's wish;
Barbel, carp, chub, and bream his catch.
Halibut and cod were my desire,
Their flavours always buttering my palate.
The fun was full,
Until a Croc rose for our catch,
Its eyes fixed on my shiny leg,
As if one bite could sate its hunger.
I trembled at its timid stare,
Unaware it was hypnotizing me.
I tapped grandpa and whispered, "See a Croc…"
His fearful shout sent it fleeing.
Then I realized how poor grandpa’s eyes were;
My youthful sight saved us from the Croc—
Grandpa might have filled its appetite,
While I became its appetizer instead.
choppy and cold river, white foam is gathering as if it has been in a blender
there is no sound this morning, no bird speak, no crickets, it is silent
I dipped my hand into the water, it was freezing like a frozen halibut.
A peanut butter cup made its way to my mouth, I tasted salt and chocolate
I could smell fish this morning, a dead bass or bluegill, most probably.
Did the first creature to crawl
out of the proverbial, primal primordial,
onto the sand,
feel like a fish out of water,
out of its depth,
when high and dry on land?
With no wish to carp or cock a snook
I won't leave you in the lurch
but oh my cod take a look
what a plaice to perch
as just for the halibut
putting seahorses out to paddock
is enough to give one
a severely bad haddock
so no red herring I don't flounder around
take a peeled eel flake of baked hake
plus a pinch of pickled pilchard
and an ichthyic sandwich make
but if my words are vitriolic
you may grunt and kiss my bass
as it's all a load of pollock(s)
A Catholic Girl's True Story
I was only nine, when I was
denied absolution!
I had eaten meat on on a
Friday, tsk,tsk.
To burn in hell 'twas the
Priest's resolution?
Daddy raged at the Chancery
Office.
How dismayed he was at all
this!
I had to go back to the Church,
the pastor heard my Confession.
How frightening this was for
a little girl!
Who thought she was headed
for hell!
I thought obeying my parents
was more important than eating
smelly, halibut from hell.
Mom had cooked the meat not
me.
I was simply following her orders!
How the Church has changed!
Now they cannot keep their priests
to follow sacred Holy Orders?
11/1/2024 Poem 5
My father is a Halibut
we lived on a small island in the stream
a ferry boat took us into town
on one such a day on our way to Houston
my father wordlessly jumped overboard
the ferry shipper stopped the boat
and looked, but there was no sign of him
I had the heavy task to break this news
to my mother, who walked into the kitchen
to compose herself
The noise from the kitchen sounded like
repressed laughter of relief.
Since my father was officially missing
she was still married to him, but she found
work on the mainland as a waitress
Five years later, two fishermen caught
an enormous halibut that looked human
aghast, they threw the fish overboard
The story appeared in an angler's mag
to my mother, she was not surprised
she said, your father was addicted to sex
I still try to work out what she meant
I loved my life on the fish quay,
among the fisherman's bays,
Just to be involved in fish,
And learn a skill that pays.
Filleting fish all-day long,
For chefs with Michelin stars,
Local chippies,hotel chains, bistros and certain bars.
Some people could not stand the smell ,
of fish upon your clothes,
No matter how much soap you use,
the smell is in your pores.
We had our local fishing boats ,
sell there produce everyday,
A great selection of North Sea fish ,
caught just outside the bay.
Crabs and lobster all alive ,
We'd grade and place in tanks,
Dover sole and halibut,
so fresh and stiff as planks.
It CAN be ‘fish n chips’ stop carping on, there’s no plaice for rudeness!
It's so sad to see a person out of their depths and just floundering
Why is it that some people always think they're right - for the halibut!
What a load of pollocks! Oh my cod she’s crabby … Salmon call a doctor!
I'd order fries with my fish - but I'd get hooked for not calling them chips!
I've had a whale of a time casting out the bait with these fishy puns!
Stop those fishcious lines ...no debait, 'Halibut poem' is fintastic!
It’s shellfish fishing for compliments, but I write a good monoku!
I’m not a fan of seafood but don’t mind
a tuna salad or fried fish with fries.
In England, that’s called fish ‘n’ chips. I find
the same name used on menus here. My eyes
spy that title easily. I am awed.
By a nice huge serving of fish ‘n’ chips.
The fish is likely halibut or cod,
but the one that passes through my lips
most often is halibut (a flatfish).
It’s firmer – more substantial – than cod is.
However, it costs more than cod. I wish
it wasn’t so dang expensive. Gee whiz!
“Just for the halibut” I ask for it!
But that's no whim; I like it quite a bit.
I nodded off for forty winks,
and dreamt of scrod, so odd, methinks!
For they were golfing on the links,
about to putt a halibut,
while slurping fizzy, fishy drinks.
’Twas then, a walrus did inhale
that halibut, from head to tail.
Those scrod, to God, did surely rail,
insisted then, a mulligan;
their rantings were to no avail.
Then muttering at their confound,
they threw their putters on the ground,
no halibut nor flounder found.
Round squashed, nay, squished without a fish,
off to the pub, those scrod were bound.
A ruddy server rudely poked
my ribs; I suddenly awoke.
I do not fib nor do I joke;
there at the pub to have some grub,
some fish and chips; one lucky bloke!
—————
for the Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 2/26/23
"I wandered lonely as a cloud"
William Wordsworth.
I wandered lonely as a wave.
slowly, upon the ocean's tide.
O'er depths of a watery grave
alone, in current's wake I ride.
Always moving, I cannot stop
I rise and fall then curl and drop.
I've ebbed and flowed on foreign shores.
Splashed on boats with their sails unfurled.
From tropic isles to the Azores,
welcomed surfers around the world
and tried my best to settle down
in the port city of Cape Town.
My wandering days will not end.
I'm diluted from time to time,
still a wave but with a new blend
depending on the ocean's clime.
I like lapping on a sandy beach,
keeping just out of human reach.
Dolphins swim within my deep swells,
but I don't belong to their pod
and I cannot befriend seashells,
halibut, squid, lobster or cod.
I'm destined to wander and roam.
It's quite lonely without a home.
September 20, 2022
I Wandered Lonely As... Challenge Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
~Water Skiing,Tribute to Maggie~
Ah, indeed a summer teenage delight!
My Cousin Maggie assured me, would
make a water skier of me.
Ah, my young heart lost all frightening
premontions and took a soaring flight.
I sat on the pier, she threw me the
dauntful handle and rope.
Fear seized me, realizing the moment
to ski was indeed, here!
Her husband, Jim, was captain of
the speed boat and cheered!
It was time for me to move my
trembling, young rear!
I stood up and was on my way,
Woo-hoo and hip-hip-hooray!
At last, I was like everyone else.
Ecstatic with the water and the
speedboat as it propelled!
Alas, glory and triumph divine,
were not to be mine.
For I fell forward on my face!
And with silly pride, still held
onto the rope.
Dragged through Lake Como,
Me ~"Dope on a Rope!"
My Cousin Maggie, yelling loudly:
"Let Go! Let Go!"
I must have been in stupefaction!
Like a languid teenage halibut, I
let go of that rope.
But nonetheless,bobbing up and
down in great, jubilant summer
most memorable, satisfaction!
August 26, 2019
1:30pm PST
Returing home from “The Fish And Chips Hut”
Hubby asks wife for sex just for the “halibut”
“No, not tonight sweetie,
Got a “haddock” and I'm sleepy”
Sounded “fishy” and he became despondent somewhat
The B.1 @ 32 _ and a ?
A cosmetic cosmopolitan army can jump over the gates at an amazing speed and cause a song to burst out of gilded goods. But not only is the trouble centre marked in the paragraph it is also parallel parked between strobe lighting effects and strobe lighting effects are neither knots in a blanket, knees of a giant gnome, giraffes returning on a contraire council boat. Nor are they symbolic of a heap of dried spilt gravy. The journey goes up then down then side to side which is quite perilous for eggs and other fragility. But two little rabbits hopping on a farm make milk from eggs but that is a tale reserved. Hopping heaping having halibut hearing horal hoaxes. And a spinning castle on a pinwheel. Z institutionalism Z at twenty diamond studs in lines of ten.
Old and Bold
Did you think you ordered Halibut but
were served a Hamburger,
because you can’t see the menu?
Is there more hair in the brush then there is
on your head?
When you tell friends that you’re lifting weight,
does that really mean that you’re just lifting
yourself out of the chair to get a snack?
If you answered yes,
then you need ‘Old and Bold”
Yep, just ten tablespoons a day will
restore your vigor!
(Caution: Alcohol content, 50% by volume)
Aurora Borealis creates.
Daring escapes.
Fjords gorgeous!
Halibut is jumping.
Ketchikan landscape memorable.
Natural opulence.
Poetically quaint.
Rustic serpentine tundra,
undulating valleys,
waterfall Xanadu.
Yahweh’s zenith!
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