#fishes
2/2/26
Waterlogged and swollen with woe.
I wear my concrete clogs.
Can peace be found in the undertow?
Just another statistic to catalogue.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 11:54 PM UTC
Evening sky reflects
on the glass lake.
The soldier of a
tree carries on
through the lonesome
night.
If we could only
see the dreams of
the fish,
far from the
frying pan.
Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 11:01 PM UTC
Count the Raindrops,
falling in a Rainstorm.
Count the Leaves,
that are there on a Tree.
Count the Stars,
Up there in Heaven.
Count the Fishes,
Swimming out at Sea.
Take the Happiness,
of the Universe.
and Add them all,
to a Love that never Ends.
Her Heart,
will taste only Laughter
and Her Eyes,
will hold U until the End.
Aug 30, 2023
Aug 30, 2023 at 9:45 AM UTC
Wasn't the one that fit in,
table to myself, an ocean
of pressed wood
that I float on alone....
But...
You know there's always a but,
Never really wanted
anyone
on
my life raft of solitude.
I just look up and know
that
there's
no one to obscure
my view of life...
My ocean is a fishery of thoughts,
that are mine.
Swimming into
uncharted life choices...
But I'm fine alone,
I'll talk to the fishes
every now
and then.
But throw them back
when
I've finished with them..
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 5:56 PM UTC
There are plenty of fishes in the sea
But which one will take the bait?
You will come across so many different people
But there will only be one that is suitable for you
So it's okay to talk to a lot of guys
In order to find the right one,
There is a need for a trial and error afterall
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 6:26 AM UTC
red streams
down a hide of vulnerability
exposed, dumped into the cold
eyes wide with a blurred hold
of my new found surroundings
i kick, i go deeper
the sunlight only weakens
i sink past each shade
of blue in my face
no choice do I have
but to swim with the fishes
a daunting position
due to my last name...
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 3:22 PM UTC
A rainbow swam past,
Colorful and beautiful
tropical fishes
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
This is called
how to
go deep into sea
with harpoon
and spores of magic
mushrooms
for getting nothing
back home.
Yes, because we are
vegetarians
and the turtles
and jellyfishes
belongs each other
as my typo
and
i.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
There is a cat in my home, and slowly it has grown fatter from feasting on food that I own.
I go to work every day, so theres no possible way that this cat could look for pray.
Yet still, somehow, when I return, he's stuffed.
Belly filled with pizza crust he looks as if he'll bust.
Somehow he finds a way outside, where he roams to neighbors homes to fill up on old turkey bones.
Second breakfast and for lunch this hungry cat would munch, till diner came, then the game would change and just like that this cat would be back.
In the morning when I leave, this cat would beg that I come home with fishes. The begging grew bad, so I'de do exactly as she wishes. Heres the trouble: I feed her once, shes still hungry, so i feed her double. Hours of her mighty meow. Her, just sitting there constantly, bellowing just like a cow, until I provide her with her chow. Now, I tried feeding her less and getting her to run but Im just competing with my stress when that cats not having fun. She would sit and moan, Oh the noises she'd groan as Ide remove her from the cushion she had claimed as her thrown.
After this cat had Disowned me, I had learned just like that, that infact it was actualy the cat who had owned me. See cats are a beast of nature, there a creature that can not be tampered. So when theyve been pampered and foods been delivered, you can bet a strong bet that this cat will expect to be treated with the best packaged liver from a duck that Wal-Mart can deliver.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
Mood: Miss Kittin & the Hacker-1000 dreams
Date: 2:09 a.m
At the end, he Smiles at me;
for a strange(r) reason
Mr.Slummber
was a
love
poe-m
with a happy
end.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
Gurgling stream,fishes
Jumped and teased,an old owl
perched on a low branch.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
The words are stuck
In this throat of mine.
I try to unleash them,
But I don't know why I bother trying.
What's the point?
I see no point to any of it
And still the words are stuck.
They swim in my head,
Like tiny, little fishes.
I'm a terrible fisherman;
I should mention that now.
"Explain yourself!" The people say,
And I try.
I try very hard, but the little word-fishes
Seem to always evade my hook.
I simply stand there, in a daze,
Mouth wide-open like a grouper.
Opening.
Closing.
Searching.
Grasping.
Wishing that I could find the right words.
But still, the words are stuck.
The people become angry,
Because they are hungry for my words.
But I'm an awful fisherman,
So they shouldn't rely on me.
So I stand there, gaping.
Opening and closing my mouth again,
While the waves of my mind are crashing
On the walls of my self-control.
I fight hard, trying to sail through
These hazardous oceans.
But it is to no avail.
I'll end up alone again,
Gasping and choking for air as
The waves drown me.
And even still,
The words are stuck.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
Fish tank after fish tank
all in a row, he peered in
at the fish: small fishes,
big fishes, different colours
and patterns. Some flashed
by or darted across the water
in quick agitation, or they
swam slow, philosophical,
floating before him, mouthing
bubbles at him, or just giving
him the steady stare, wondering
why he was there. He talked
to them watching them for replies,
taking the opening and closing
mouths for signs of silent words.
How are you? He'd whisper to
the glass causing breath stains.
He watched for them to say
something in their fish language,
or flap of fin. There were the big fish
in the ponds, large and colourful,
moving slow, coming to the edge,
thinking he'd come to feed,
or they'd move off in disgust
or disappointment, with turn
of head or fin or tail, and he
took that as an answer somehow.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
Coloured pebbles underneath
Violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red
Just like the rainbow rhyme
Four cute little lives swimming above them
One in orange, plump just like the fruit
Another in orange, lean as a carrot
One in black, just like the night
And one in orange and white, just like the morning light
New to us and we new to them
Lying at a corner, swimming around their small world wrapped in a glass bowl
Grandma's gift for your upcoming birthday
A fish bowl
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
Blue is not sure where to find the propeller.
The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves
break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist.
The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks,
and the seagulls peck at our eyes.
Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men
wander onto the sand and get coated,
as in cornmeal,
ready to fry.
Infatuated and floundering
they wander
to water again.
Drinking death hand over fist,
they ring themselves out with simply a twist.
The fish flap their fins so forcefully;
trying to
be flying to
a sea called the sky.
With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”,
but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration
for fishes whose function
is on boats, wrapped up
in those silly greatcoats.
Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame.
If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
I can't rip myself asunder from such a magnanimous prepositional
as this.
While the fishes hang from my window
like little ice-ickles in spring.
So foams the frosty beverage that tells the gills to sing.
Twilight music and the sonnets contained therein
have little left to offer us, save a right-winged jerry-bin.
So the muse of ages goes round and around and around
for the malarkey of a daffodil creates folds and hills
where none exist.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
I can't rip myself asunder from such a magnanimous prepositional
as this.
While the fishes hang from my window
like little ice-ickles in spring.
So foams the frosty beverage that tells the gills to sing.
Twilight music and the sonnets contained therein
have little left to offer us, save a right-winged jerry-bin.
So the muse of ages goes round and around and around
for the malarkey of a daffodil creates folds and hills
where none exist.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
A soul is being able to exist in earth. Being able to feel and consider yourself a beautiful creature that was put here for a reason. A soul is something that has all of you in once place and it already knows everything you like and the emotions you carry and the moves you make. It's the brain for our whole body and why you do the things you do. It's a map that you don't know, but it knows.
Your soul is what makes a human
a human,
a cat
a cat,
a fish
a fish.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
I am searching through the ghastly depths below the seas,
Where the sunlight still shines through the waters.
I find an interesting village...A haven for creatures in this
Dead, lifeless ocean floor.
I did not know so much life teemed through this rock.
Intricate sea creatures swim through the teeming corals
like red liquid flows through narrow blood vessels.
Each with a purpose, each with a task.
One species benefits the other, and vice versa.
The sea cannot live without one, and one cannot live without the other.
This makes me question the point of me being the world.
Am I something of importance,
Or a seemingly dangerous virus?
Really, I cannot tell who I shall be,
Until I live out the rest of my life, and find out,
Who I really am, and the person that will grieve for me the most when I'm gone.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC