Long Herrings Poems
Long Herrings Poems. Below are the most popular long Herrings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Herrings poems by poem length and keyword.
"A Mackerel Sky"
shadows like sun
dance across
an ocean of tears
salt for the stinging
walking on clouds
with the Fisher King,
as if in school
in the swim of things
fishing nets for love
all in the eye
of the beholder
wisdom like pearls
sown,
an inevitable plant,
pregnant with possibility
full-bellied, grown,
then stitched up
embroided
sewn imperfect
the hem of it slipping
needs fast mending
cirrocumulus,
fleecing
altocumulus
blown away
an empty canvas
borne for painting
bluebirds sing
on the backs
of cloudy angels racing
Mares' tails
and mackerel scales
make lofty ships
to carry low sails;
red herrings
far from sure
bloody mind dripping
another colour
washes itself
in a pink mackerel sky -
the observing self
hedging bets and
reacquainting
do or die
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“According to lore (tradition), a mackerel sky means that the weather is going to change.”
“Mackerel are built for speed and, along with a highly forked tail, can streamline themselves by retracting their dorsal fin into a groove in their body when they swim. Actually, they are the fastest swimming fish, in UK waters, able to swim around 50 metres in 10 seconds. Mackerel, have to keep swimming to live, as if they stop moving forward they will drown.”
Meaning, Mackerel Sky - "a name given to a sky covered with those same puffy cirrocumulus and altocumulus clouds arranged in a pattern of waves, with blue sky peeking through so that it resembles the scales on the back of a mackerel."
It’s all rather fishy. Red Herrings, Mackerel Skies.
Slyly introduce your plot with a clever narrative hook,
Assuming optimistically, you'll successfully market your book.
Darkly hint at omens with flashback and foreshadowing
To shrewdly draw the reader down a pathway ever narrowing.
Cleverly hide the subtle red herrings you've brilliantly sewn in the seams.
Break the fourth wall clearly, but sparingly, and consistently play to your theme.
Slowly build up the tension describing the scene of the crime.
Lean heavily on ironies made perfectly clear over time.
Draw conclusions starkly, deliciously savor the feel
Of quietly leading the reader to joyfully find the reveal.
Now see a fine display in market hall
Where fishmonger's stalls sell the freshest catch.
A world of wet white tiles and melting ice.
Seafood displayed, arranged in rank and file.
One Scottish salmon commands centre stage
Stretched out upon its own tray of crushed ice
And next to a few Icelandic haddock
Along with cod trawled from the Dogger Bank.
To one side are some plaice all flopped and flat.
Seems they are staring up with fixed focus.
A side display of small fry, placed parallel
And herrings heaped up in sad slump of grey.
Some calamari, tasteless rubbery squid
Are off stage with other seldom sold bits.
In the corner there's offal bin with heads,
Guts, skeletons and several layers of skin.
Take for your cat. Put pence in charity box.
A fine display we see in market hall.
I am at the end of the road with you
my lonesome dear,
get to the nuts and bolts
stop playing with yourself in the rain
the seeds you plant,
the red herrings you emit,
all chaff
your misery
all hatches in your head
your future
again, all hatches in your head
somebody needs to give birth
to a better outlook
as much as you read me
I read you as a book, too
you do see?
we're just like
two little graying doves
sitting in separate trees
that's fine
but you need to stop looking at me
stop talking about me
writing fairy tale happy endings
and then bemoaning your fate
honey, you had your oyster, pearl
you had your prime rib
right at your fingertips
within your grasp
you turned a blind's eye
a funny eye
you couldn't stand prosperity
instead you wanted to be miserable
that's fine
but not with me
so for all I care, honey,
go play with yourself in the rain
wish for nuts and bolts
whatever,
I'm exhausted with you
I am at the end of the road with you
... for good
... this time
connie pachecho
1/6/17
non contest entry
HERCULE’S LAST CASE?
My name is Captain Hastings,
Well, ex-Captain to be precise.
And I sometimes give Hercule Poirot
Some help and sage advice.
We’ve been to another house party
And guess what? There’s been a crime.
A man’s been killed in the library
With a knife from the kitchen this time.
They’ve called for Inspector Japp, of course
But he’s useless to tell the truth.
So he turns in desperation
To the famous Belgian sleuth.
Now Hercule’s in his element,
Employing his little grey cells.
But we fall for a lot of red herrings,
Before he finally tells.
He somehow finds a motive
For everyone attending.
So there’s a hundred and fifty pages
Before we know the ending.
He listens to conversations
He’s not supposed to hear.
Then puts two and two together
Until the answer’s clear.
He gathers us all together
And explains his workings out,
Before exposing the culprit,
Leaving us all in no doubt.
But of course he doesn’t fool me
With his convoluted tale.
Though many innocent people
Have ended up in jail.
At all these weekend parties
Where murders have been done,
Just one man has been present
At every single one.
So I’ll tell you my conclusion ,
Although it gives me sorrow.
I believe all the murders
Were committed by Hercule Poirot
22nd July 2022
Start Sleuthing poetry contest
Sponsor - Natasha L Scragg
Inspired by the incongruous
Joe exotic Documentary
You think because I smile I’m
happy, well it’s one big facade,
Strut round my insane kingdom,
driving all and sundry mad,
Like the tigers in my cages,
hiding a life of pent up pain,
I’m a fraud a loser a below
par human, Carole’s the blame.
Red herrings my speciality,
but she will not take the bait,
I know she killed her husband,
then his body the tigers ate,
One mission in life, to be
undisputed big cat king,
Sit upon my throne like Nero,
lighting fires while I sing.
Haters bastards begrudgers,
every step I take,
Urging yearning me to crack,
Well I ain’t going to break,
Disgusting cowardly clones,
with the same toothless face,
Ignominious wretched pigs,
my defeat you’ll never taste.
The loathing inside’s unspeakable,
but I just can’t hold my tongue,
Feel it in my stentorian voice,
Can’t control this temper long,
Feeding off the hate, nourishes
the will to take her under,
Paranoid in self pity and woe,
I’ve just made a serious blunder.
Life is unraveling gradually,
delusions of grandeur smother,
Forced to show my hand,
scrutinized by hating others,
Keeping my best side out,
whilst been eating alive within,
Won’t back down, a cornered cat,
will attempt a pyrrhic win.
Alas my soul dies in prison,
cos the system got it wrong,
I am innocent, was all her fault,
in here that fat cow belongs,
No more sidearms for protection,
goddamnit miss my gun,
Wish I was a tiger in a cage,
concrete walls block out the sun.
Joe exotic never did kill Carole,
not for the want of trying,
Was served to the Feds by felons,
who stole his sideshow shrine,
Karma your own worse enemy,
if mixing with conmen and liars,
When looking for someone to burn,
throw each other upon the fire.
Podium Placing Promise (5) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand 04/01/2021
Spring has come in the Sunshine Coast!
Carried by the wings of Humming birds
flying through the Pacific Flyway,
flowing like a dash of fresh air
Spring has come here to stay!
Look, there in the shallow beaches,
Great Blue Herons wait for the prey,
their aquatic love for eelgrass
keeps them waiting the whole day,
Herrings,Soles are busy in hide and seek play,
Spring has finally come here,
come here to stay!
The blue water of the Pacific
shining with bright sun rays,
heady fragrance of lilacs
thrilling the air whole day,
it must be Miss Kim,as
Miss Canada is still far away;
Spring has finally come here,
come here to stay!
**Miss Kim and Miss Canada are two varieties of lilac.
=============================
"This poem has not been entered in any previous contest."
Did I just see
a pig fly by,
it must be time
to question why
time flies,
but a watched pot
never boils,
why I'm a day late
and a dollar short,
while your fat-fingered friends
have money to spend,
and all the others
are herding cats
and throwing
red herrings.
Just keep talking
about the elephant
in the room,
and don't get bent
out of shape,
or go on a wild
goose chase
when I choose a metaphor
that calls into question
your political schemes
and agendas!
when i think of you
i think of your needs
or is it my needs?
... if you are alone or fulfilled
or is it my fulfillment i'm after?
your river of life,
turbulent ... as they are
yet waterfalls
of hope and promise
yet with banks of hardness
knots to unravel
mysteries to uncover
but are challenges
not suppose to be fun?
can i have fun?
tributaries with red herrings
little white lies
benign
yet swimming waves of beguile
besmirching the surface, veil
yet what can i do ... but smile, too
can i swim with you?
its the other tributary i yearn
you should see me ...
yet...
its your depository that snakes the river
or is it me wanting to make a deposit?
this is all alien to me
the irony here i roll my eyes ...
not the two peas in the pod
connie pachecho
3/24/17
God Save the King! So echoed round
the village halls, the pubs, the streets
the day our Charlie Prince was crowned.
Homes decked with bunting, cake, and treats.
We celebrated with a rave,
or knees-up, as my grandma said;
with piped music via short-wave.
At two pm, it went ahead.
They closed the street the coppers did.
Then out came tables, plates, and chairs
lace runners, doilies, too, amid
assorted china tablewares.
The caravans and four-by-fours
were parked elsewhere to clear the way,
they even shut the local stores
and closed the schools, hip hip, hooray!
Outside of number seventeen,
twixt the sausage rolls and jelly,
rested a crocheted King and Queen
removed from atop the telly.
Not to be beat, at twenty-two,
they placed a lifesize photo out;
which overlooked the cheese fondue,
soused herrings, and some sauerkraut.
Betty and May sang old-time songs
atop a shaky stage, arrayed
with bunting; made from their spare thongs;
while Ruth, the ukelele, played.
The Aussies were there, well, on screen.
Bobby, Kenny, and Aunt Maud too
to toast the King and mourn the Queen
with tea (and a tinny or two!)
Simon and Peter went all out,
made a spread called L G B tea;
with brightly coloured cakes throughout.
Open to all, as it should be!
Douglas and Rex from forty-eight
sat with Lil as she won her prize;
for the most original plate,
coronation jerk shrimp surprise.
Prizes too for best-dressed table,
front door, and garden gate, won by
Teddy, Fred, and Aunty Mable;
all well-deserved, we can't deny.
Captain Brett (self -titled we think)
gave a roaring one-gun salute
sporting a coat of dazzling pink
over his Royal Navy suit.
Thalis, made by Shrimati Nath,
were such a delicious hit they
caused a queue up her garden path.
(They paired well with Andre's Cabernet.)
We kids, long past our sugar high,
so full of cake, shrimp, nans, and stuff,
were told to say a quick goodbye;
we'd been awake quite long enough.
As the sun set on our nation,
Old Fionn Byrne began to sing,
a joyful amalgamation;
Danny Boy and God Save the King!