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.
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.
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
To diary:
Mama, by now, I suspect you are on my trail
to Phoenix, however I do think you figured
it all out-the red herrings... and are instead
on the right path to Seattle. A part me wants
to challenge you. As much as you are in
pursuit of me, I am in pursuit of reading
about Evelyn Lau, teenage runaway and poet...
for the second time.
To diary:
I Got tree sap, aka hotel front desk worker,
for another blanket. It's too easy, mama. Watch."Ma'am,
my mother in room 101 request a blanket and pillow,"
and like clockwork she gave it to me, then I pause,
"ma'am can we also get some toothbrushes and toothpaste"
and like clockwork she gave it to me. What a tree sap.
Although this time our eyes met and I think she's onto
me. But that didn't stop me from taking a green apple
and newspaper. mama, let me tell you these come in
handy... let me tell you... oh, oh i just figured it
out, the lobby's the first floor there can't be a room
101. She's playing me. What else is new.
Today I went to the library
sitting at a nook
quite contrary
reading a book
the staff was cold as ice
i say screw the kiddie section
my answer not so nice
why is this the wrong direction
it's hard being eleven
where their prying eyes
on me being adult smart
they try to befriend and spy
the books I read
the information I consort
the knowledge I feed
the ideologies I support
baby girl plays the sham
changing the Lau book
with green eggs and ham
and returning their looks
this is all too irony
sleeping on the streets
dealing with their tyranny
and trying to be upbeat
I pass these books and nooks
I say She who forges her own path
being mistook
wields her own fate
with upending wrath
to being one of the greats
Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
12/30/16
His Ship Was Wronged
We were on a ship in life, then one night we crashed.
My heart sank. It was a bitter ending. To see her in the
arms of a married man, leaving me demoralized. For I
thought I had niche with her. A place in her heart. Some
warmth for a future snowy day. I was wrong. I walked
away. It hurts thinking of the innuendos and subtitles of
love. More importantly it hurts to be fooled by her red
herrings and later by her veiled personas. And her. I set
sail. Like Columbus, I followed the stars, and new discoveries,
to a new world. On a sunny day I arrived on the banks of
poetic justice-or at least I thought at the time. I staked a
claim with Poetry Soup. Enter the consummate seal bobbing
a ball on his nose, free and happy. Along this journey here,
I carried a poem that I wrote. It was about her and her
aunt and the widening gap of differences. That was my first
submission. I made pleas. Shook the trees of faith. Cut onions.
From my heart I cried. It rained tears, the winds of mystery
and destiny sweeping me off my feet. I look. My eyes water,
over pool, I see her. She was on this site, too. Like storybook.
Like an angel that followed me. Like, really how can this be,
so surreal. In the throes of my mind, I right the ship and ending.
3/16/17-247
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
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.
=============================
"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.
The poems I never wrote are small fish -
sardines that roam the ocean of my mind.
Swift thoughts are they, and like a fleeting wish,
each flits away, and never can I find
those lines that had intrigued me as they passed
beneath my consciousness into my dreams.
How many poems would I have amassed
if I had caught them all? Alas, it seems
a few matured, for herrings I have seen
in poetry that isn’t even mine,
and from that one phenomenon, I glean
that thoughts among us poets intertwine,
so poems I never wrote might well be
in other poets’ minds of shining sea.
October 8, 2022 - NA
Submitted Oct. 17, 2022
for A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
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
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.