Tag Archives: #Fish

The Worm and the Fish

The worm, said to the fish,

‘I really, really wish

that this hook

wasn’t stuck up my bottom.’

.

The fish said to the worm,

‘It must make you squirm;

by the way that you look

you could be mistook

for a worm who has … worms!

Have you got ‘em?’

.

‘No.’ said the worm,

‘And, another thing I wish,

is that you didn’t pop me on your dish,

as it won’t do

either of us a favour or two.’

.

The fish could see

the point of the words

that the worm spoke to warn;

and if it hadn’t have been so hungry

wouldn’t have treated them with scorn.

.

The worm and the fish

we’re both caught in a trap;

fed the same old line,

and never let off the hook –

always predestined to endure a final mishap.

Hidden Place

A hole in the wall,

an ‘X’ marks the spot,

you can have them all

for the things I have got;

hidden within

buried down deep;

is a love that I have

that’s forever to keep.

.

Chests full of gold,

silver, or lead,

are all worthy of others,

but, here, in my head,

is a vision to behold

whenever I wish,;

she’s a beautiful ocean,

and I am her fish.

.

Listening hard

to the birds in the trees,

observing the bees,

and the butterfly lees;

are all lovely things

I can soon discard,

when the feelings inside me

make me feel like a poet,

an author, the Bard.

The Sadness of Sardines

I don’t really know

how a sardine feels;

or any fish,

if truth be told;

but I’m sure they’re fine

whilst swimming around;

but, when crammed in a tin,

like… well, tightly,

I bet they’re not so happy.

The wishes of fishes

The wishes of fishes

The wishes of fishes

rarely receive consideration;

they are rarely considered at all;

when they seek a vacation,

from their ocean location,

who is it, then, that they call?

Sordines

Sordines

Sordines are like Sardines, but spelt differently.

Although, saying that, one is a muting device for a trumpet, whilst the other is a smallish fish.

Most Sordines, however, are ‘not’ found in the sea; whilst most Sardines are generally ‘not’ stuffed into the ends of various instruments in the brass section of a band or orchestra.

Apart from that, they are virtually identical.

Piranhas in a Waiting Room

Piranhas in a Waiting Room

Pottering past ‘Reception’ was easily achieved;

and, now, I am waiting in the “Waiting” room,

watching the fish in the ‘all-too-small’ aquarium;

the sign pinned to the glass stating:

‘The Piranahas will not thank you for your intrusion into their green algae-infused and passingly pleasant (if a little compact and bijou) lives.’

is most reasssuring,

assuring me, as it does,

that a big fish in a little pond,

is only as important as the person feeding it deems it to be.

It seems that a particular Piranha has an appetite for poetry,

as it is eyeing me up as I write this,

obviously awaiting for my literal offering

to be served up

upon a silver salver plate –

It awaits my fate.

Plastic Fish

Plastic Fish

I almost bought a plastic fish tank, yesterday;

for my plastic fish;

but, the cost of the pump

and the filtering thing,

along with the gravel and the sunken wreck,

made me think, ‘Oh, what the heck!’

And so I didn’t

“Oh, Silverfish, Oh, Silverfish!”

“Oh, Silverfish, Oh, Silverfish!”

“Oh, silverfish, oh, silverfish;

why are you not golden;

or in a golden pond?

is it beyond you

to change your shiny hue?

Can you not step up the podium

and reach the pinnacle;

are you finnicle?

Bronze, it’s true,

is not a shade for you,

and if you were of that colour

it would be even harder for you

to scale the heights –

mulleting over such problems as these,

I lay ahake through storm-tossed nights.”

Yet Another Poem About (Or Upon) Fish

Yet Another Poem About (Or Upon) Fish

When I was younger

I would write poems just for the halibut;

I’d ignore the Gurnard, and the tiny sprat;

but now I am much older

(and maybe a little wiser),

and fish, as a whole, deserve a little bit more than that;

I now write upon the coley (or pollock, if you like), upon the hake, the herring, the shoal of mackerel, too;

all the fish I shall write upon and read the poem to you:

‘The goldfish in hIs bowl,

swimming round and round;

the grouper on the seabed amazed at what he’s found-‘

and, if at this point,

you are keen to state that you need another fish poem

like a fish would need a bike-

then I apologise

from deep within the cold dead eyes

of a Sea Bass on lush crushed ice.

Lost: Fish

Lost: Fish

I lost my fish in the ocean,

I couldn’t find it anywhere;

and then I had a notion:

I would scan all the fish

when they swam past,

until, at last, I would find my fish –

and I know I would,

as I had had him chipped.