Long Goldfish Poems
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Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
Prosperity’s flush, hues a rainbow dispenses
beyond (ultraviolet), less (infrared’s heat): (1)
from gamma rays down to low-frequency photons.
Both snakes’ and mosquitos’ eyes love infrared light.
But life with warm blood is born blind to heat’s wavelength,
obtuse to all light not in visible light’s range:
the goldfish sees heat, ultraviolet also!
Compared to a goldfish (2), our vision’s a piker!
God’s Science grants humans a way to boost senses
and stretches our limits (so flesh takes a back seat).
Prosperity sees life, its range of emotions
that floats here, lands there, and at times soars (more bird’s flight)
for bone (life finds broken) can mend to gain new strength!
Design that looks flawed, expiration dates, feel strange!
Earth’s telescopes see stars (like light through a window)
that twinkle in air’s ocean-mask (to crab hiker)! (3)
Our limits inspire us, augment evolution!
God’s gifting’s sufficient for growth! (You crave heaven,
don’t see night too serves all who sleep, wake to dawn’s light?)
“Have Faith!” Does your God know no pain? Is pain’s absence
the heaven you covet? Does God not have limits
and learn from His children? God “pleased” with Son’s choices
suggests Christ had options or was Christ a robot
(that Grace was not man’s till Golgotha’s aspersions)?
My hope’s last’s not true; my poetic excursions
aren’t log in my eye (I share blindness)! Life’s pains (shot
across your ship’s bow) all alert you to voices
that tender truth’s message. They orbit like comets
whose tails in night’s sky reflect Sun’s luminescence.
My verse does not purpose to call you a Luddite!
Who wants to feel worse? Do you think I am seven?
I pray in Christ’s name; Let Grace prove life’s solution!
Brian Johnston
9th of January in 2021
Poet’s Notes:
(1) The human eye cannot see infrared light, but we feel it on our skin as a heat sensation.
(2) A goldfish has evolved visual acuity unique in all of the creation that we know. It sees the colors we see and sees heat radiating from our bodies as if we glow. They can also see objects that reflect ultraviolet light to their eyes when no other light is present.
(3) We cannot swim (or fly) on our own, at least, in the ocean of air that is miles deep over our heads. We more scuttle like a crab across its floor.
Talk to the Dead
When you talk to the dead,
They give you advice,
Buzz on your finger,
lightly touch once or twice,
I told Trish about dead Joan's Goldfish,
In her fish pond swimming pool,
When a loud voice said this,(to Trish)
They're bloody Koi not Goldfish,
You silly bloody fool,
Trish and Joan looked much alike,
And sounded alike,same voice too,
Same giggle and sense of humour,
Two parts of one soul connection,
Perhaps this is true?
And one nursed the other before her death?
After Sue died in April 2015,
she jumped in my body too,
And I felt as sick as a dying dog,
Till she jumped right out too true,
Later without her deathly illness,
It was ok for her to,
Jump into my body,
Possession is OK blue,
Sometimes a concept arrives in your head,
The impulse to drive a different road Instead,
Check out my old house Suey did say,
When I drove past house had gone away,
The point of her contact a thread,
You must ask a question,
An answer to get,
Cos they need an invite,
Then words you will get,
Though some of the buggers ain't nice.
Don Johnson
Guess I was blest with the seeing,
At 4 me Kero fridge just went Om Om Om,
The shutter in me head clicked open,
And a room full of Greys. Frowned upon,
Boogie man was I a seeing,
Grumpy Greys round my bed stayed too long,
Unfriendly grey men came at night not no friends,
Till I clicked the door shut, no more Greys in the hut,
Yes bugger off Grays don't belong.
Suey and I had long discussions about possession, and she said she wanted to jump inside me. After her death she did as in the top above poem.
A day before she died in my arms, we were joking about my Granny not paying back a loan . Sue spoke sternly to Grandma and I saw her face above my bed
Grandma was crying and begged my forgiveness, of course I forgave her.
Insight to the other side.
I asked Sue how old she was now,
She said I'm 10 and am confronting child molesting Grandpa
Also confronting her Father for doing nothing about it.
Seems you get to bring justice on the other side of the veil,
And possibly decide the punishment when baby's are Constantly reborn in the Earth, just doing your time, in little Hell Earth.
The time and the place what your worth,
Cats from Earth eat fish on sunny beaches
(Umbrellas optional, not included)
Unlike sharks they use tiny teeth to chew
And get motion sickness when traveling too
Seas hold goodies for feline nutritional needs
(Canned dolphins and goldfish don't come to mind)
Health considerations are forefront for all kitties
Mars has no menu of any kind
The trip from kitchen to couch is tiring
Fat cats dislike all travel including space
Mars is far, too far away to go for cat food
Felines are all about lazy
Stores on Earth are closer, (but closed)
Little critters don't eat red rock formations
Metal machines are better suited for taste tests
Programed for soil sampled treats
Expectations are high when there is gravity
Cats can't fly…. They stray (on 4 feet we think)
Don't be surprised… Cats can't fly
(When they do, they use rockets)
Even so... Why Mars? (They can't afford it.)
No money…. No pockets
The red planet has no milk or fish
Cats starve without their favorite dishes
Death is not a pretty sight
Emails are hard to recover on distant planets
When dead, lifeless paws make it even harder
(Cats don't type to begin with without a cause)
Cats like to breath oxygen once in a while
Some like to live outside the liter box
Live out nine lives lazy on a more inner planet
The 3rd. one out to be precise
The Red Planet is not so kind in that regard
Not equipped to handle little kitties needs
Meteorites crush their tiny heads to smithereens
Messing up their fluffy fur and happy day
Radiation burns them to a crisp
Life on Mars is harder than you think
Craters cause more than aches and pains
Frost bite gets in the way of play and pleasure
Like we said
Cats on Mars don't live so well without oxygen
They could die from lack of food and water
Or even overexposure to themselves
It's better they stay home on Earth
The place where they come from
That way they can be fed
Instead of something worse
In the end this is something else
Cats On Mars is just a title
There are no cats on Mars
Only turtles
1) Pick up the cat and cradle it in the crook of your arm as if holding a baby. Position forefinger and thumb on either side of the cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As the cat opens it's mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill.
4) Take new pill from package and cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut and count to 10 .
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.
6) Kneel on floor with cat firmly wedged between knees. Hold front and rear paws ignoring low growls emitted by cat. Get partner to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail and take another pill from the package. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set aside for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in a towel and get partner to lie on top of cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in the end of a drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down the straw.
9) Check label to see if pill is harmful to humans and drink a pint of beer to take the taste away. Apply band aide to partner's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed and get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door firmly on neck. Force mouth open with dessert spoon and flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges.
Drink beer, fetch bottle of Scotch, pour a shot and drink. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect, then toss back another shot.
Throw away remnant of T-shirt and put on a new one.
12) Take cat to vet and get him to give cat the pill.
Athletic angels are analytical and archaic. But dust bombs do not derive from red, yellow, blue and purple shimmer shimmers nor do they derive from green, pink and orange glitter glitters. A hesitation of hue is not a hut queuing, a cart horse dancing in a ballet or a valley rising and spinning around and around. And always be very aware that the wearing of a coat in a moat is not advisable and pickles cannot ski in a pan so one must follow and adhere to the currents of the darting rivers and play in the littlest leaf boats to be seen then take several journeys up and down the waters for to travel is to take teachings and to take teachings is akin to Trapezing, or going on a pogo stick down a very busy motorway. Great then. Fantastic isn't it? Blossom not the seed of a giant kettle for giant kettles can appear harmless and harmonic but are actually in a boil and to be in a boiled state is said to be a wild and violent strength that should be timely avoided as to stop any corrosion coming from the steam. But to bloom a blanket by a stream in the heat of the midnight or the haze of a summer day is widely considered to be quite normal really. Particularly when the blanket is chatting. And the pillows have finally found some sleep. The gushing of the waters bring renewal and cleansing to unsurfaced unfaced areas of brief eye spots in a leopard tree. And a tingle tangle song is said to be the sweetest song belonging to no one but harmonised by many creative calming creators. Moon dance jive on a pickling fork. Haha the wheeled vehicle of a very loud obnoxious telephone is dashing to see a film with the carbonated cables. Hahaha the goldfish are all leaving their bowls and sailing out of houses in special water suits. Xxxxx cosmological calf said "moo" loudly to a blade of grass today. And a wildebeest snores in a back gammon game. Twenty six left angled shots in a interplanetary billiard game. And a central arch of a plate dancing in a discotheque whilst eating several cup cakes. Xxxxx astrologically z z z z z at twenty nine mules to eleven lamposts. In a forest glade chewing a toffee and treacle pie. Z.
Form:
Tom's Cat Tom
by Joan Donnelly Ellis (intended as a picture story book for children)
Some cats are really ugly and others are really cute, like mine, Bart. Bart can be bad though. He is sometimes up to no good. One day he ate my dad's goldfish. Bart likes goldfish. They don't like him back.
Wanna know something funny? My friend, Tom Murphy has a Tom Cat that he named Tom after himself. Tom gets bored a lot and so does his lazy cat, Tom. He just lies on the couch all day. At least that is what I first thought., that the cat was lazy, you know. Then I started to observe him more closely. After a week or so I realized the feline just pretends to be sleeping but he really doesn't close his eyes all the way shut. I think he is not as lazy as he makes out to be. Often it seems that the cat Tom is engaged in serious contemplation. He might be planning some mischief. Yes, Tom has something up his sleeve I decided and as soon as he's left alone in the house BAM! He'll be off getting into trouble . Last time he was left alone the Murphy's and I believe Tom terrorized San Quentin, the Parrot. We found a mess of Quent's feathers in his cage and on the floor below. Not only that but whenever the cat Tom was near Quent would make frightening noises. I told Tom, my friend , not his cat, that we ought to get those fellows from Forensic Files to do an investigation. Tom didn't like the idea much. Said he didn't think ruffling a few feathers was a serious crime.
I glanced at Quent who was curled up on the window seat and I swear he had a "Nice Try" smirk on his face as he glared back at me . In response, I
walked to the kitchen, and lifted Quent's Temptation Treats from the counter.
He jumped off the window seat and hurried to the kitchen. As he gazed lovingly at me with his bright green eyes, I stepped on the peddle of the trash can. When the lid opened I dumped the treats in and closed the lid. Some kids are really ugly and others are really cute. Since I'm a bird lover, I don't give a hoot.
Form:
the notorious hotel...
monument to the greed of men,
it is a breathing stone-hewn titan -
looming over her, threatening pomposity,
selfishness threaded with egyptian cotton,
the cold stares of people from the upper leagues of life...
yet the young street girl enters anyway, defiant,
stilted and out of place in her cheap summer dress -
the breath of success sucks her in,
money-scented sussurations kissing her plebian cheekbones...
taken by the hand she glides up velvet stairs,
half-drowning as she soars past fish tanks bubbling to the ceilings,
past effervescent marble arches...
the rich flit by her, swan-like, with noses tilted heaven-ward
emitting the subtle reek of idle hedonism...
breathless, restive, she perches in a gilt chair,
bitten fingernails tapping ivory tablecloth,
waiters descend like falcons swooping in for the kill -
'tea or coffee, madam, scones with devonshire cream madam,
your soul on a silver platter madam...'
who is this madam, she muses,
checking her reflection in the silver teapot,
who is this woman wearing my skin,
a pretender to the crown of the landed -
distracted, melancholy, she crumbles her fruit cake,
swallows the strawberry sorbet in icy gulps...
distractedly she notes the taste of gunmetal -
her cappuccino is sprinkled with gold dust...
caged in by gilded illusion her lungs labour,
claustrophobia gripes though the roofs soar up to touch God's soles...
she is not welcome here,
she feels doomed, somehow, unworthy -
a goldfish floundering with the sharks...
jumping to her feet she flees, kitten heels clattering on mosaic floors -
out the door, panting, flushed,
into air that smells of exhaust, of seaspray and sweat and natural things
relieved she slows, straightens her spine, sniffs the wind -
a smile flirts with her lips as she strolls away into the anonymous night,
the little lamb who escaped from the slaughterhouse
In life we will never meet the forest
only an occasional tree.
We will never meet the wonders beneath the sea
though some will observe the waves above.
This world is far too big for one life time
and our imagination is a poor substitute,
for things that we can never see.
We are born into a goldfish bowl
imprisoned by time,
and we share our bowl with mortals
who by chance or design
enrich the tapestry of this life
that we lead.
Our hearts will reach out for a mate
a husband, a wife, a lover
in the hope that they will see
the same stars in a sky
that looks down on mortal you
That special being
that defines the inner you,
whose spirit flies beyond
this glass of existence,
for we have nothing to hide.
And though others see despair
that this fragile glass can bring.
Remember, the glass will always age
and the winds of fortune will
always take their toll.
But this spark that we call life
will always endure
in a world with stars above,
for they have witnessed
the meaning of love before.
And in the glow of the opulent night
we will wish our dreams true
before the sandman washes them away.
And morning will bring your lips to mine
for life was given this way
And as a man and as a women
we will gather the dreams of you and me
for this is the oxygen of life,
and love is the fire, the reason to live
that burns an immortal flame
within the soul.
And should our goldfish bowl
fall off this table of life,
our love will be set free.
And the earth will grow small
In the wake of this love for you and me
Death will not dim that which we shared
For love will join the opulent night
Destined to shine forever
In this incorruptible sky.
For eternity can see the forest
and time can meet the sea,
while we shared a love
that created this world
for the world was always you
and I, was always meant
to dwell among the stars,
in a world of love,
that you created for me.
Your parents gave me the news at Wilton's Music Hall
a place of joy and drunkenness
Laurel and Hardy, Hetty King, Marie Lloyd and now
A Great Aunt.
A figure of jest, jeers and laughter
what fun, what fun.
A great Aunt - fast track aging
I shall buy a lavender shawl and another for you pink or blue.
We shall wrap ourselves in warmth and love,
mix them, confuse them and smile secretly to ourselves and one another.
We shall walk with aids together at the start
for me a magic stick, a jump for dragons, a sword to fight foes or
a pole to dance around in May with pointed toes.
You will wobble holding a hand, then faster, faster learn to run away.
We shall share visits to the Doctor
first check the heart, then check the weight,
mismatched bodies ticketed like turkey for Christmas but you
are the gift who can eat solids now.
And I will toast you with champagne and tell you quietly of the pleasure of a
glass too many to cure a pain.
We see the goldfish swim in Buddha's circles
your eyes test out the strange face
you may give a film star smile,
then tantrums as a plump white bottom gets a jab.
They dab the blood on my skinny blue veined arm.
You hear the ticking of the white rabbit's watch
I am too late for ta and sit observing from afar.
As you grow energy will crack out worlds apart
electricity strikes your life.
Mine diminished by God the Father, Son and strife.
Gadgets will run wild and flat batteries create rapid tears running as we used to do.
Our play was different, sober as befits a Great Aunt
or so I tell to you.
Your parents will reflect themselves and claim the right to own your triumphs
Disasters belong to the other side.
November, another Scorpio with opals for your eyes.
Your lonely journey finished and begun
I am a Great Aunt now and still feel young.
Nicola Stevens
npstevens@btinternet.com