Long Fishes Poems
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The clouds have opened their eyes wide
And all blackness wiped off the face of
The earth.
Night’s curtain has been drawn.
The rising birds in one single squadron
Halloo the world,
Winging and swinging through the
Broad lanes of the ceruleans.
I wake and tremble with the coldness of
Netted fishes;
My spirit stumbles upon fresh thresholds
Whiter with the dews of a prostrating day.
I return to my first day when I had cried.
I speak of my vagitus.
Morning celebrates itself,
Its return from a wayward night trip,
And the glory of dawn.
Crows from drunken cockerels
Ring out loud and clear on the spine of
The village,
Saluting the birth of a new-born day.
Please don't bury me
By Michelle Morris
12/01/2023
Please don't bury me under that apple tree
So beautiful and abundant
It needs space for life to experience
Its shade and soft mossy feet
Please don't bury me in a grave
Underneath a drab grey headstone
The graveyard is filled with death
So much sadness, loss and guilt
Please don't bury me at sea
Wrapped tightly and heavy to sink
Slowly into murky depths
Where fishes and mermaids swim
For I'd want to swim freely
And enjoy the ocean life down there
In the serene depths
Of beauty and magical mystery
Please don't bury me in a pyramid
In a sarcophagus so grand
Surrounded by luxury and historical artefacts
That mortals will want to find
Please don't float me away
And set the boat on fire
For those flames will burn so high
That my soul may be trapped in the pyre
Rather cremate me and scatter my ashes
Over verdant hills and ocean blue
So that I will enjoy them and fly free
Up to the heavens above
This way I experience all life at once
Even though it's the little of me that remains
But at least I'll be part of everything
That might imprint beautiful memories on my soul
© Michelle Morris, 2023
He drank with the men
who would later deny knowing his name.
That is the way of the world.
A man learns it slowly,
like learning winter from the sea.
There were nights of bread and cheap wine,
hands on shoulders,
promises spoken low as prayers.
They called him brother,
And she was their sister
They meant it then.
Or maybe they only meant the warmth,
the full glass,
the use of him.
Loyalty is quiet.
It does not pound its chest.
It stays when the room grows cold
and the money is gone.
Betrayal speaks more.
It laughs too loudly.
It explains itself.
A good dog knows his master.
A good man knows his friends
by how they leave.
One left over fear.
One for money.
One because crowds are easier
than conscience.
The betrayed man said little about it.
There is no poetry in begging people to stay.
A man keeps moving.
He fishes.
He lights another cigarette.
He watches the dark water
and understands something at last:
that loyalty is rarer than courage,
and betrayal comes easiest
to those already weak inside.
Still, he poured another drink
for the next stranger who sat beside him.
Because even after betrayal,
a man must live
as though loyalty still exists somewhere
in this tired world.
Mr. John is a jolly fisherman
Paddling his boat with single hand
His other hand holds a fishing rod
On hook are worms from peapods
Baiting only the bean-like cods.
Mr. John went fishing yesterday
He threw his fishnet on the bay
When pulled it back
He thought he was having a rock
But then, he caught a big shark!
Mr. John went back to the lake
For his safety’s sake
Whistling while fishing
Lake was so cool and calming
His fishing rod got a crocodile -- hanging!
Mr. John went back to the river
Singing, dancing in his boat like Justine Bieber
Unaware of the log of beavers
Boat capsized. He plunged into the water.
Mr. John moved to his own fishpond
His fishing day was so much fun
After putting some fish traps
Big and small fishes jumped into his lap
Giving him a loud and hearty laugh.
Mr. John is a jolly fisherman
Paddling his boat with single hand
His other hand holds a fishing rod
On hook are worms from peapods
Baiting only the bean-like cods.
Aug 23,2022 9.24pm
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest Enter
Sponsor: Julia Ward
[Stanza: 1]
The spring break earring hitting her face.
Eyes like Cleopatra carved out of stone of grace
The Prettiest face I ever saw as my eyes were deadlock
Long legs spilling out her butt as she walk.
Devouring every man’s heart as she pass.
My first memory of her that would long last.
[Stanza: 2]
We sat on the banks of Brahmaputra.
Saw the mountains fired up north.
She hold my hand and talked about her past.
I loved her cologne which kept me waiting,
And the sweat by her neck that kept me pulsating.
Clicked some selfies through my cellular phone.
Touched her belly and thought of,
Starting the world of our own.
Brahmaputra was our home, our little rendezvous
We’re fishes of one pond baby, but I’ve somewhere to go.
Don’t drop your shoulders, this is not the final adieu.
Come close sweetie, let me kiss you.
Just a few months and we’ll be through.
[Stanza: 3]
We may try to walk on different course,
Still would end up sailing in same boat.
Even if the river meanders like a bee,
It will always reach the sea.
For months you paid no mind and turn blind eye.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs.
Beauty is a myth that lies only in the minds,
Not in face but within where no one finds.
Sadly our love ended out of the freaking blue, thereby
Give me a chance to essay a long kiss goodbye.
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Some thoughts have come to me
that God knows as much of me,
But how, alas! how may that be
love comes to all the rest but me?
O wily wind go find and tell me
on a tree how many leaves there be
or fishes swimming in the vast sea?
Not lost yet, although I like to be
amid the stars in the heavens I see.
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
What a strange spell is come over me
that I should dance and shout in glee?
Should not I be more inclined to flee
where a fair wind blows fresh and free
and sail through life’s tempestuous sea
lest I turn back and there’s nothing to see;
I lie in your hands O death, pray be kind to me
Fly away breath, set this weary wayfarer free!
~02/01/18
~Laura Loo"s February Favorite contest
~2018 Best Rhyming Poem contest by John Hamilton
AFRICA
Africa! A land flowing with milk and honey.
Devoured by greed and the love for money
Where corruption thrives and war is a common place
Where will Africa show her true real face?
Africa! The Land of lions and zebras
Where men are hunted down like fishes in rivers
Arise Africa! For your children are suffering
Cursed with a black skin
Does this means I am nothing?
Africa today is like Africa yesterday
Good men like Nkrumah were never allowed to stay
Africa! I shed tears of blood for your children
A thousand years from now
And they still know not their brethren
Africa! A land blessed with so many cultures
Where children are labeled witches
Killed
And eaten by vultures
Africa! When will you move at a faster pace?
So that you can take us all to that promised place
Africa! The home of voodoo and magic
Where technology is forgotten
Because nobody wants it
Africa! A land abandoned by youths and scholars
Where farmers leave their hoes in search of collars
Africa! A land of so many opportunities
With fertile soil and rock but still limited possibilities
Africa! A land filled with gold and oil
Where we languish in poverty
Because we do not benefit from the soil
Africa! Where money is stolen from the people by the leaders
Where sadness is read in the newspapers by readers
Black ogres feeding fat on flesh and blood
Human beings desecrated without fear of God
When will Africa show her true real face?
And lift the curse of Ham on the entire black race
Africa! A land that tries to copy democracy
But the only thing that is done is outright hypocrisy
Africa! the key to your redemption is not only violence
But we must bring the evil doers to their knees
Before we sentence them to silence
Bang! Bang! Bang! Machine gun fire none stop
Come on Africa I shall lift your spirit up
Africa! One day the messiah will come
He will rid us off these thieves and the very scum
Then your glory will shine like a big red sun
That is when I say Africa our work is done
By
Olusegun Akanbi
Lakeside retreat
Calm fresh air;
Nature for company
~~~~~~~~~
Each sunrise
Magic show unfurls;
Healthy awakening
~~~~~~~~~
By bamboo groves
Stray song birds sing;
Morning offering
~~~~~~~~~
Water ripples
Buzz of activity;
Fishes at play
~~~~~~~~~
Early morning sun
Gentle reminder;
Simple strokes sail
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy eyes focus
Blurry at sunrise;
Stretching to awake
~~~~~~~~~
Window quartet
Wild canaries sing;
Song of long ago
~~~~~~~~~
Morning brisk walking
Fine tune heart movements;
Circle round the park
~~~~~~~~~
Stray birds dancing
Gossip on the lake;
Wild community
~~~~~~~~~
Lonely stray dog
Keeps pace with me;
Familiar intrusion
~~~~~~~~~
Brief moments
Wind on my back;
Thoughts that follow
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 August 2014
Singapore
DOOR OF NO RETURN
The story of fathers we tell,
Chained, beating, walking in desert land.
Moving down the coast,
To the door of no return,
Saying goodbye to their beautiful soul.
Their heart melts with pain,
Tears of blood in their eye,
no help from anyone.
Walking in desert,
No water to drink,
Their strength fail them.
Them get to monument statue,
The door of no return.
Watch the ocean waiting for the ship
To depart,
Saying goodbye to their soil
Where then were born,
To the land, there know not.
The merchant price them like fishes,
The merchant select them like weavils
Found in bean.
The girls satisfy their masters
Emotional desire,
Our father cried like women
Due to torture.
Some move on like soldier
To the strange land,
Other chose death
Strangling themselves with their
Chain.
Some chose to joint d fishes in
The ocean.
Thank you for your still laboring pains.
Thanks for the amnesia of suffering
the bedpan and the bible,
the sunny window
that ran with a watery blood
wherever the flying ducks
rushed toward your gun.
Fingertips tingle, the daily callus is softening,
becoming bearable
the way a fox forgets its trap shattered paw.
Thanks for the moonlight dispensed
in cloud-covered dreams.
The applauding grateful
must have partaken of your loaves and fishes
where hooked worms still dangle
bereft of hungry lips.
We are the tenderest of prey again,
the catch we have all been looking for.
What more can be said when gratitude runs away
with its desires still wriggling
and fleshy.
Thank you;
for your mastering love
hath consumed the apple in our mouths
and we are served up
in wide-eyed wonder once more.