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acacia 2d
Traveler, you beautiful fish.
I know I'm mean to you, but you are gorgeous.
Look at those big, hungry eyes,
those scales dully reflecting light.
I lack words to describe you, to desire you.
I don't know how to.
But, believe me when I tell you, (I'll never make it alone)
you are a beautiful fish.
for my goldfish, Traveler.
Poetic T Feb 9
I swim in your ocean,
   but I always taste fish.

The ocean needs a wash.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
The world with the heart
is the most beautiful place.
Without it its a fish
out of the water.

The question is
to be or not to be
with the heart!
Poetic T Feb 2
Sitting silently
               fishing for worth

But all that is caught is a gaze  
                   of illegitimate worth.

A ***** to a statue of limitations.
Emma Jan 31
I wish, I wish, I
But it’s dumb. I should stop.
Maybe once more, for you.
wren Jan 25
i envy the stallions
they are wild and free
but i am just a goldfish
stuck eating my own **** in a world that never changes
new people might pass by my sickly old tank
but no one ever stays
they always look
and leave
i am nothing but a joke to those who claim to care
my tears are easy sipping to their greedy, thirsty lips
i hope i go belly-up
Melvyn Rust Jan 24
Day by day they glean more knowledge of their fishy world.

While the old philosophish still argue over watery definitions,
geolofish have dug deep down below the rotting leaf mould
and declare the world is made of shingle.

Meanwhile the astrophysifish have theories about
how it all began, Big Splash the main contender,
and speculate on whether there is life beyond the Pond.

But the frogs just laugh at all this. They know the delicate
taste of slugs and snails. On summer nights they sit
on stones to take the air and contemplate the stars.
Star BG Jan 23
I am like koi fish
meandering in river of life.
Colorful skin is like words
and water page I let prose float on
to be scooped into readers eyes.

I am a koi fish
graceful and sacred,
moving in sunlight and below moon.
I dance with soul divinely.
My purpose... to swim in all tides
and feel the power of self.
A prize indeed.
saw a you tube on Kio fish and than again was brought
to another kio fish sighing when I was
out and about. I was meant to write a poem about them.
They are amazing fish. They can range in price
from a few dollars to thousands.
Sharon Talbot Jan 19
Half a mile downstream from the crumbling bridge,
The river began to break up too,
Into washouts and rock-bound pools.

Aged promontories, sandy shores, from
Primeval rivers, compressed by time
From granite, stood sentinel over the rush.
Against these broke hurtling, grey-green waves,
Spitting high in defiance at the rocks’ impasse,
Slowing but briefly, swirling angrily
On their way back to the waiting sea.

Upon a high outcrop, I took up my post
Rod in hand, watching the helpless worm
On his way to death, by whatever claimed him first.
I had not put him there, being squeamish,
“Mindless flesh,” a poet friend had dubbed them.
Still, my companions rigged him on the hook,
In exchange for keeping their joints burning.
Not smoking, I thought, but taking puff after puff,
As my bait was laid on the rack for sacrifice.

We scattered after all our poles were baited,
Claiming ancient pools and all inside them as our own.
I stood highest, near the fiercest waters that shook the rock,
Braced in the March air against the icy spray.
I was there, I told myself, because two men
Needed to catch a fish and prove themselves.
Yet they faded like ghosts into the gloam of evenfall,
As absorption overtook me, and I began to care.
Cast after cast into the roiling waters
Just where the waterfall fumed and broke.

Soon, it was only my goal, and nothing else,
To wage an age-old war against a artful foe.
Each strike brought me hope and each loss determination
Not anger but resolve to outwit them at a game
Invented eons ago by humankind,
And learned by trout to save themselves.
What happened after was of no concern to me,
But let me catch them for the sake of having it be.
The contest alone was all to me, it seemed,
Yet winning the only outcome I could see.

I had pulled three young trout from the churning water,
Energized despite their mediocre size,
When there came a tug just beneath my perch that taunted,
Promising the battle I craved.
So I cast the remnants of my sacrificial bait
Upstream, where currents swept it beneath my feet,
And there he was! No doubt the oldest trout in the hills,
Lingering below me to tease my newfound ****.
I set the hook well, so I thought, and reeled him high,
Fifteen inches long and heavy as he twisted in mid-air.
He thrashed like a madman above the rock,
Just beyond my reach,
--Then was gone…

When all was over, I had three fingerlings, not much,
While my helpful companions had none for all their work.
I told them not to fret, that it was merely luck,
But I knew better. When they asked me what I did
To catch the few, wee fish who now sizzled in the pan,
I answered haltingly, already memories fading of my quest,
Finally telling my rivals that I knew not why
Capturing a fish meant so much on that day.
“I do,” said one with a laugh.” I asked “Why?”
“It’s easy to explain,” he said…”you were high!”

Sharon Talbot
Based on a true story from long ago.
Hunter Jan 16
Sitting on the water
The days getting hotter
My sanity getting further
I didn't mean to hurt her
I'll never leave this place
Here justice I'll face
Staying close on my sail
Only fish tell the tale
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