Long poem by
Jack Scott | Details
It is so hard to let go of love,
unpeels more gut more quickly
than reel or reeler ever lost
in all those years of lazy inches
in and out:
winding in and playing out,
hardly fishing, rarely catching
from the deepness out of sight,
hardly ever losing . . .
Blisters lust into the greedy thumb.
the startled brake lets go.
It dives full length into the never,
finds the limit of its leash,
pounds against its half-round prison,
at end of end of rope -
Got you, shrieks the reel and reeler
cranking in the give and take.
The line is taut,
the weight upon it heavy,
and waiting . . .
. . .waiting for adrenaline:
against the angry, smoldering thumb.
Caught to catcher,
fish to fisher:
let me go!
It tries too hard to turn to something else: away.
Away and bottom still beyond the knot,
the creature climbs toward the light,
her leap, an alchemy:
silver unto gold.
crinkled all about.
Million mile amnesia.
a flash of tooth,
then placid lips close over any sign of youth . . .
. . . as if the fish had never been.
-the fisher wonders:
The line is limp
as if . . .
for all the years of it,
nothing at its other end.
A flash of recognition:
she leaps another time,
not knowing if what held her holds.
Silver fish scales golden ladder
a sunbeam at a time,
and all the rungs of memory -
breaks air an instant.
The line has held
and as she leaps, it claims her,
a thunder clap.
Arrested in her flight,
she drops deadweight into the bucket sea-
fish to air to gold to water,
Of the gold,
an afterglow centered in the thumb.
Did it happen?
Was she really there?
Air turns to air once more,
the fisherman to memory,
pig-a-back the job at hand,
one slender monofilament insisting: no!
and memory, another plastic,
refusing to let go.
my pretty lovely,
so flying and so softly spun,
you seemed the air to me.
So high and free,
so very near the sun,
my tears dissolve the earth’s connection.
The line my hands are holding:
to limit freedom at its height,
impossible without restraint-
the line between us,
subtle and so gossamer.
There, it glinted,
there! So very real.
Real . . .
The hook is realer.
Tangerine transfusion from the fastened lip,
bleeds unreckoned into the larger blue.
The sea - as wide as weakness -
sucks the strength without a hunger.
Tired, the hooked,
and tiring even more,
the line grows stronger,
shortening toward the bobber boat.
I’ve got her, cries the fisherman,
raping at dead weight,
dragging mystery toward the kitchen
-on his mind is steak.
Slaughter, separate from supper,
passion with a knife,
the knife . . .
. . . the knife is ready
held tight between the skinless thumb,
and vendetta fingers -
five Sicilian brothers
waiting for their sister to come home.
The other hand around the rod
is closing on the lover’s throat.
The rod’s erect,
the reel is angry.
Come, my dear, come, come.
She hears the music of the end,
the bowstring whine of gut
still lean and taut from her weight alone,
hears the rhythm of the reel
and tries to run once more
-provoking lust to snatch still harder-
but can’t . . .
. . . is free at last
surrendered with the last of blood:
quicksilver nearing zero-
and two dollars worth of ice.
(a virgin: never dead before)
betrayed and penetrated,
(it’s time now to give in, enjoy)
rests her weight upon the line,
toward the bottom of the boat.
The whore! I see her in the water!
She gave me quite a fight.
The captain, ready with the gaff,
the lover, in his rented swivel chair,
seize her from the water.
The maiden’s heartbeat
is faint and futile as a final cry of rape.
Her breath is fear, yet sounds like passion
at the very end.
Her swoon is now complete.
Her swain is prickled with his heat.
His blood pounds within his thumb.
is left alone with her.
He ponders . . .
. . . while he does,
she pales and sheds her rainbow.
Her eyes turn glassy from the air,
She’s turned to meat.
He lusts at memory for a moment,
then dries the little sweat
and goes forward for a beer,
and band aids.
The captain’s seen it all before,
surgically removes the hook
and tidies up the gear.
He and the mate carry her to the ice
and lay her out within the cold.
The mate disinfects the deck
with sea water and a stiff brush.
Returning with his second beer,
a badge of gauze and Vaseline upon his thumb,
the lover is confused.
The deck, shipshape,
of scales and blood
it all might not have happened.
Then there would be hope.
The mate calls him to the ice chest
for the viewing,
opens it . .
I’ve lost her. There she is.
The smell . . . it must wash off !
Time to go home.
The sea is empty.
It is over.
Copyright © Jack Scott | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Dennis East | Details
As years go by I think of friends and people from my past.
Where are they now, what did they do, the years go by so fast.
I thought it time to contact some - and one guy in particular.
We were best of pals on motorbikes and all things deemed "vehicular."
I searched for him the usual way, in phone lists and on line,
And drew a blank and found 'not known' most every flipping time.
His googled name had no results, where can old Dave be skiving,
So being smart, I searched his name with his hobby - deep sea diving.
Well, there he was and in a club, and listed as a member.
So I sent an email to the link, with facts I could remember.
I told of how I'd searched for Dave, and how diving came to mind,
And to see him mentioned on their site was such a lucky find.
It was almost three weeks later, someone emailed back to me,
It said, “thank you for your contact, phone this number after three.”
So kind of them to pass me on, Dave's number would be handy,
But when dialed, I got the club line - and a nice guy, name of Andy.
Well he thanked me for my email and then told me I should sit……,
He said.” I have some news to tell you, I said "oh no, can't be - blip."
He said, "it's really hard to tell you this; you've guessed he's not alive,
You see we lost Dave eighteen months back as we surfaced from a dive.
Oh, the news it hit me so very hard, and it shook me to the core,
And then Andy poured the details out and told me even more.
He said, they all had made the surface at the end of one long day,
And that nobody had noticed that poor Dave had slipped away.
So they searched the sea relentlessly with lifeboats joining in.
And though they tried all through the night, no trace was found of him.
Eventually they had to stop, as the currents were that strong.
There was no way he'd survived it, he'd been out of sight too long.
So they organised his funeral and held the service at the docks,
And they gave him one great send-off, though with nothing in the box.
And then nearly six weeks later, when his wife had said, “Amen.”
A trawler caught him in their net - and they did it all again.
Well, I said my thanks to Andy for the way he let me know,
And I said that I shall miss my mate, but have to let him go.
It was almost four days down the road, that Andy called me back,
And he offered Dave's wife's number, in case I felt the need to chat.
We then went on to laugh at Dave, as stories we exchanged.
How he’d such a sense of humour and no fun was out of range.
Then Andy said a little thing that made my ears prick up,
Saying “Dave was such a great big guy and as playful as a pup.”
Now it's true that Dave was puppy like, and loved to play the dope.
But, my Dave was more a sapling shape, more like a length of rope.
How tall was he, how much he weighed, filled me with sudden joy,
And elated realisation that his Dave….. was not my boy.
I could feel my heart start pounding; I was like a little kid.
And I set about a brand new search to find out where Dave hid.
My wife and I, we searched for days, until we found a clue,
I'd been looking in the wrong place, ex-directory from our view.
So we climbed into the electoral roll, as it doesn’t let you hide,
And there was our dear David, with sweet and blushing bride.
I rang them up and got his wife and told her of my plight,
And she told me David worked away and won’t be back that night.
Then very soon he rang me back; it was like a call from God.
We sat and talked an hour or more, as I thought I’d lost the sod.
He told me that he worked away and off-shore on a boat,
And I told him how I mourned the git while he was off afloat.
And the moral of this story is - when you’re looking for your mate,
Be sure to leave no stone un-turned as you investigate.
Don’t settle for the facts too soon, be sure inside your head,
As it’s worth it when you get one back - especially from the dead.
Copyright © Dennis East | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details
Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.
A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.
My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.
He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”
He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”
While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”
As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on. My hands were steady.
Yellow with black dots and a weed guard.
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.
As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.
So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes.
About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”
When the Bass broke water, it scared me.
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook! Set the hook!”
When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.
My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.
“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez. Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed,
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”
He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready. This is the part that’s great.
I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”
Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.
My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”
“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”
“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…
but for the great stories we get.”
I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.
You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.
They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Poetryof Providence | Details
Have you swam the forests under the seas
glided it's waters wandered it's keys
watched the gray giants and albino squid
attached to kelp leaves sharks eggs were hid
Clouded by algae just being born
followed the whales rounding Cape Horn
watching up rivers salmon schools run
fur seals cartwheeling under the sun
soft twinning corals swaying like trees
waving their branches as if in breeze
Fingers of hydra grasping their meals
under sea ferns unrolling their reels
the cuddlefish hug the limbs of it's mate
a new generation they're about to create
wondering wherever your wonder has gone
wondering how species can gender our song
a manatee grazes upon the sea grass
beneath the boats ocean swarms underpass
in every color every rainbow and hue
daily inquiry into what do they do
so graceful like ballerinas they play
wandering it's reaches by night and day
the nudibranches scaling their hills
Lobsters saluting and razorfish drills
swimming the whirlpools with shapely tails
jackass penguins and jellies with sails
predict the movements of the Blue whales
picture the angels sacheting their trails
shimmering glitters sparkling the sands
finwalkers walking as if they had hands
leatherback babies skimming the tides
upon water fountains the sea urchin's slides
a red emperor ruling the the strays
roving the shoals edging the bays
basket stars wrapping themselves in embrace
the straights and fjords where sea otters race
pipefishes drifting the eels in their caves
upon the reef floors fish dancing their raves
shoveling and building with undersea tools
the Jacks and Jills swimming to schools
tubeworms array upon hot water vents
where clownfish play anemone tents
surfing the currents and ocean spray
moving so swiftly they're off and away
composed of armies marching the streams
sea mountain passages and sub...marine dreams
within the reef beds creches do sleep
in seaweed meadows lives in the deep
Marlins found herding sardines and smelt
it's all the playground sea lives have been dealt
life's exhibition an endless parade
so many wonders radiantly displayed
C Michael Miller
COPYRIGHT © 2015
Copyright © Poetryof Providence | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Terry Trainor | Details
One fine blustering autumn day an old man puts on his boots pulls up his trousers off he goes,
If anyone wondered where he was going it was to a forest a good long walk it was a fine day,
The old man walked at a leisurely pace stopping every now and again pulling up his trousers,
Looking over fences just to see what the farmer’s men were up to and who was ploughing today.
In his days, the prime of his life, he and his old horse would plough the fields from early morning,
Working through the day stopping for a bottle of cold tea a loaf of bread and a large lump of cheese,
The horse had a nosebag and while they rested, eating, the clapper of the bird boy could be heard,
He would work on until the sun went down on a blue horizon and shadows disappeared with the day.
As he paused he took pleasure at the sight of fat cattle and poultry roaming around the farmhouse,
Duck and geese and turkeys busying themselves beside the big barn doors pecking out the chaff,
And he could hear the flail, or the swipple, knocking the corn, as the bails piled high in the barn,
Happy that all was well he carried on walking, smiling and made his way up to the brow of a hill.
As a young farmer he leaped over stiles and ran in the corn, the land was his workplace and home,
There was no job he could not do or did not enjoy doing, whatever needed doing it had to be done,
His arms were so thick, strong, the farm girls giggled but could not get their hands all the way round,
He used to blush as each girl tried, he was a bit shy, but it made him feel good to be so very strong.
He also stopped at stiles, or a rustic bridge casting its arch over water, fish swam in the shallows
Breathing in deeply through his nose, sampling the fresh autumnal air, a bonfire in the distance,
After looking all around he wished he had brought some tackle to catch some for his late dinner,
Never mind he thought it’s another day tomorrow I will be up here to fish at the crack of the dawn.
In his young days he was not allowed to fish the river, so in the moonless nights he would poach,
Beautiful brown trout as fresh as a berry from a tree eaten with warm bread a feast fit for a king,
It would not be long before he stopped again getting his breath resting for a few short minutes,
As his lungs filled with the purest of pure air he restarted his country walk and relived his life.
He passed by clusters of rich, jetty blackberries hanging from a hedge and took time to pick a few,
And clusters of nuts hanging by the wayside through the copse on his way along a little old lane,
And in all this natural beauty the old man seemed to have enjoyment of a child one more time,
The world moved around but this time backwards he saw the things he used to see as a young boy
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Aliza Kashmala Kiran | Details
Confused and blind
Numb in rhyme
Your light sublime
Running I fell
Into an ocean wide
Reaching my hands grasp
out of time
Spinning in circles
In the ocean see it spinning
Grabbing for the moon
Grasping at the stars
Reaching too far
In an oblivion
Standing on a shelf
I reached again
See them shining
Over my head
As the fish
Keep on swimming
With the whales
Kissing the moon
In my fairy tale
Spelling out my name
In the girth
Of an abyss
My head held
Whales are the same stars
just seen from different places
if we learn to live like this
maybe we can learn to love again
Bathing in a stream of creativity
leading all the way to the sea
swallowed by her deeps
a poet in silence hears
voices of the dead
of those yet to be born
and the cries of Whales.
by a giant
Over and under
up and down
the waves crash around her;
sea foam sprays.
She cries out.
Her every thought
bursts forth from her very soul
pure joy from that single song
is heard for miles around.
An enormous floating mountain,
her sheer size is terrifying.
Yet who could fear one that
caresses the earth's surface so gently,
brushing at the water as a mother
would wipe a child's tears.
The title "monster" will not hold
it slips away from her like silk on a smooth stone;
her very nature
Whales of thought
Bellies full curved
Chambers of bones and water
Eyes small and young
Old and wise
Whales of thought
Holding their breath
Letting out song
Gongs of the ocean
Vibrations of voice
Tongue licking touch
Whales of thought
Gongs of the ocean
A pod of
use the light
to navigate through
the sea at night
their fresh eye gaze
upon the brilliant starlight
from the constellation of Hercules
then we sing out and we shout, because
we found this dome of heaven
that we shall always sing about
We've all been molested
By time and space
The lovers have problems
With keeping their place
A head filled with toxins
Colours, fairy tales
They teach us that men
Can make a home inside whales
My message is simple
Don't stand near train tracks
Though everyone does it
So it's time to relax
Speculations of pain
Hurt me enough
Weak to the core
Though I'm told that we're tough
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Copyright © Aliza Kashmala Kiran | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Jay Anderson-Taylor | Details
I serve out here each and every day as I walk my beat, I protect the homes and business of others that never even bother to get to know my name...they see only the name (Officer)... which comes just before my real name.
They never see my real name, just a badge and a uniform and the last person they like to see, depending on their game? They never ever see my real name "James Taylor"
which was given to me by someone who loved me way before I even thought about patrolling our streets in DC...what everyone else seems to take for granted every day of their lives as they leave out of their homes to go to work or play...
They fail to see I'm probably all that maybe standing between them and the predators that walk our streets both night and day? No, I'm nothing special, just a mere man... even a good policemen can fall from grace…we get angry with our kids…we even fight and argue with
the ones we love…and we put our legs in our pants one hole at a time too, the same as you do. We flush our toilet the same way and it goes to the same place as yours… and spins into an abyss seen by few.
I pray to the same God that most of you all do…The only difference between me and some of you? I can’t look the other way when I hear a child pleading for his Momma to stop beating him...
and I can’t look the other way when Mr. Pookeys comes home from the fish market where he works all day…and when he is mad about the cuts that he gets on his hands and the fish gut smell that just won’t go away...so he slaps his poor wife Mrs. Pookeys who just picked the wrong day to have complained about Mr. Pookeys pay?
So the next time you encounter me as I'm walking my beat? As I walk pass by you and head down 7th St and wearing what appears to be a frown on my face? As you start to spread your lips to tell me to smile?
And say, "it can’t be all that bad, Mr. Policeman?" I think I would say back to you... Hey, my friend it’s not about being a cop that makes me into this police officer that you see…
It’s the fact that I chose to be Officer Taylor today, but it could have went just about anyway...I could be that drunk or a wife beater or even the thief down the street? So, the next time you see your local policeman on the beat? Just look him in the eye and tell him with a
sincere heart...I know you could have made the choice to have been any of those people I see out here every day? But I want to thank you Officer James Taylor, I’m sure glad to see you did chose to work on our streets and make the world a much safer place for me!
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2008
Long poem by
Christine Phillips | Details
Oh Mighty tree of the ages
I have witnessed you in all stages
Like the fierce spirit of David
And the boldness of Queen Esther
You have defied all the rules
and make mighty men look like fools
You have made the enemies scatter
And the hypocrites run for shelter
digging bad men out of their comfort zone
and repaying them with a blood stone
The cry from the battle can be heard from high
And the bullets echoed with a desperate cry
silent wind passing by and big waves
rolling in an unpredictable direction.
I am anchored on this solid rock
with the world watching my back
The water is flowing steadily down the stream
While the trees wait patiently on my dream
The taste of water is refreshing
The sound of water is invigorating
It drowned out all the detestable sound
so that I can mesmerize beauty all around
Mother of the earth you are divine
Mother of the earth you are so kind
Our eyes have witness the villains days
watching mighty men falling on their own sword
while the humble walk merrily along the road
Didn't we conquer the entire earth
And cause ceaseless misery around the globe
Didn't we build our houses in gold
And watch the men seduced our women
They hang out in bars drinking beer and hard liquor
while our children tremble at home in fear
As their vicious and abusive dad appears
Mother of the earth you have passed the test
Hold your head high and do not fret
Watch your friends on the covetous bench
And dine with them to get the upper hand
You cannot always trust everyone
but you have to trust someone
Don't let them know that you don't trust them
Keep your intuition alive before you go to bed
And always place the bible above your head
Leave a beggar man in all the corridors
To report the happening hour by hour
Be in-tune with your heart murmur
And hire a personal trainer
to keep your torso straighter
The trainer can re-position your head
so that you don't walk and bend
Keep your head high
as if you were walking above the sky
The mysteries of life is embodied in the ocean
thirty minutes a day is a good locomotion
Go way out in the deep and observe the life of the
common people in the street
Wet your feet in the water
when you go fishing near the harbor
Phase one is over
now they know that you are not a push over
Get into some training gears
and turn the music up to your ears
You got to lift some heavy weight
to break that iron gate
Mother Theresa has defied the odds
and you are her daughter
Mother of the earth you are kind
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
jay del fierro | Details
Innocence and peace are states of mind at the very beginning and
towards the very end . Everything in between , the mid-cycle , of our lives are what
create all the differences , through multiple emotional interaction .
The dual mind , positive / negative , and how it effects our behaviors ,
which ultimately becomes who we project and how we eventually percieve
ourselves , or decieve ourselves and others , by not knowing honestly who we
truly are internally , our soul being , a spark of light which is that spark of love
within' . Our physical being is a shadow of our spiritual self , our shadow
becomes an expression , an accumulation of emotions learned through
experience . From the moment of our birth into the physical world , our life
experiences begin as pebbles . Through the course of time and space , our
experiences , our spiritual growth , become larger stones , boulders , or better
put , " weights of burden " . Once we begin to understand and recognize , at that
moment of facing our heaviest obstacle , at that moment , we have to take an
honest look internally and summon the strength and courage to properly remove
it . Once we can unlearn to relearn , those boulders , obstacles , begin to get
smaller , until they again appear as pebbles . A story in retrospect .
Imagine yourself as a fish in the river . One day the river floods
over it's embankment , and you the fish , instead of staying in the river , you get
caught in the wave of the flood into a pool outside the rivers edge . As the flood
waters recede to normal , you now become stuck outside the natural flow of your
existence , in an outer pool . In time as the water evaporates into the air from the
heat of the sun , you begin to lose sense of your life force , the essence of your
being , until the moment comes when you begin to die and as the ground around
you begins to dry and crack , so do you , being reduced to dust to be blown in the
If the fish hadn't lost his way and had faced the challenge of the
flood , and stayed true to itself and stayed the course of his natural existence , he
may have avoided such a tragic fate . Like the fish , that monstrous boulder is our
challenge to remove and stay on our pathway , our soul journey . The moment we
look for the easy way around and head in a different direction , we could possibly
be setting ourselves up with the same fate of the fish .
Copyright © jay del fierro | Year Posted 2007
Long poem by
Sidney Beck | Details
Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends.
The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of
The school’s leather belt and cane. And then
Parents lost in a fire.
That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth
Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the
Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
Drown in this grasp - fish out of water
Cold. A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.
I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day.
She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste and
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered
Music, and forever now, it
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest GET SERIOUS
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012