Tag Archives: #Fish

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.

Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – Fish Supper.

Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – Fish Supper.

Will & Ben and the Invention of the Fish Supper.

Little do people know that it was William Shakespeare who first invented the fish supper as we know it today.

It’s creation came about in this strange way…

One night in Southwark’s more salubrious quarters, Will and Ben were downing (and sometimes quaffing) pints of merrry mead when the conversation turned on to the subject of food.

Will: Hast one a hunger, Ben?

Ben: Aye, Will; I hast a hunger for wine, women and song!

Will: Apart from those fine hobbies of yours, Ben, hast thou a hunger for the love of food?

Ben: Well, Will, now that you come to mention it… hast thou any thoughts upon what food we could devote our attentions?

Will: ‘Tis Friday, Ben; and fish is the recommended dish, is it not?

Ben: Yeah, verily, Will: good old English fish cooked in good old English water and served with a good old English apology.

Will: Usually, Ben, I would say ‘yes, you are quite right!’ but I know a place where they will fry the fish for you. I supplied them with a flour-paste coating for the fish – with special herbs – and they coat the fish with it!

Ben: Sounds disgusting, Will!

Will: That’s as maybe, Ben; but, I have gained a taste for it; they will also fry some of Raleigh’s Potatoes for you, if you like.

Ben: Was that also at your behest?

Will: Aye, Ben; I am something of a fish-monger as well as being a word-monger.

Ben: Okay, Will, where is this place?

Will: Up by the Battery.

Ben: Let is do this thing, Will; ‘tid Friday, and we shall suffer fish.

Will: Super, Ben; let us begone hence!