I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely.  Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green **** hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
--the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly--
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
--It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
--if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels--until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

If a prisoner was given money
to customize her cell to her liking,
would that prisoner ever want to leave?
I'm sure the answer would be striking
For when people get comfortable in a place
change is the furthest from their mind
But when their number is close to being called
only deliverance do they want to find
Why wait to find the way out,
the plan to escape these golden bars?
Don't get comfortable! This is not vacation!
and No, we cannot escape to Mars.
We must call the One who can pay our bail.
To One, how can we repay?
By changing our life and working for our bailer
And thanking for the gift of a new day
Our souls were bought with God's blood
So no other should we commit.
Seek the Lord and follow His laws
It's the least we could do, you must admit.

Thank you, thank you for loving me...
for bearing the moments I went past the line...
but mostly, thank you for finding me rudderless in the dark Sea of solitude...
I'm no longer as lost as I used to be...
you're my bearing, the south of the wife I want to return home to,
the north star that sparkles on my mind,the honest East I trust
and the far West carrying the answers to most of my puzzles and questions...
You're the north north East that guides the winds of my heart
and I've started raising the sails again, the masts seem too rotten to survive turbulent Seas
but I'm willing to go against those rough waves and storms
I'm progressively getting rid of my anchors, going far from the shores
for there's more to find in the unchartered waters of your affection,
reason enough to abandon the safety of my harbour and risk again
you're the East-northeast whence cometh the journey birds of completeness
that decorate the vast Ocean of my hitherto desolate soul,
The East-southeast that carries the spate of passion and inspiration
propelling me into this man I have always wanted to be,
the South-southeast to discovering ultimate bliss and peace ,
You're a South-southwest where I found the cure to my bruises
and the West-southwest reflecting the ambient eternity I desire
You're also the West-Northwest of a divine future you and I deserve
You're even the North-Northwest dock where rests
the once wrecked yacht of my bitter past and chaining experience
that you've tirelessly fixed with your endless breathtaking love
you're my bailer and life without you was my tenacious Jailer
you're everything to me without which I'm a totally lost sailor
you speak straight to my heart even if we're a million miles apart
and I doubt anything in this life will ever counter that
for besides being my rudder, you lifted me out of doldrums
you're my ladder,you saved me from the splintering tantrums

the other night, I read my love poems about you from somewhere in the distant past
I read the words of desperate love back to myself, but somehow they were unfamiliar
I do not remember writing them
I do not remember the person I used to be when I was with you

I got to a line, it read
“there’s no place i’d rather be, than here with…”
I couldn’t read the next word, a tear had blurred the ink

It was then that I realized I was sobbing
The pages flooded, overflowing with emotions I had forgotten were there
Soon, the whole notebook was ruined
A boat filling with water and I don’t have a bailer

My words about you blurred, ruined by a tsunami of tears that had no warning of showing up
My body did not warn me to take shelter or to tie down my belongings

I slip into my old heart, the room that I had been avoiding
The locked door has busted open from the storm
My body rocks, shakes, as if it is finally trying to rid me of you

I cling to this heart space, memories clouding my vision like fog on the highway
I’m only able to see what is right in front of me and right now that is you
But you look unfamiliar
Your voice is one I have never heard
My words repeat back to me over and over but they sound like a language I do not understand

I force myself to open my eyes, as if I’m trying to awaken myself from a nightmare
I get up and I light a candle

I set the flooded ship away into the ocean of forgotten

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green **** hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

These suicidal thoughts are not even mine
its ugly *** force that's wants  to take what's mine
but this demon can't have it
so I gotten keep spittin
jus so I can grasp it ******* myself and I need to let up
I'm champion and there is no giving up
I'm the best *** the rest I'm just writing this **** just to get it off my chest
and if you ever had these thoughts yo put em to rest
kuz everydays a new day for you to do your best
*** this demon it can not have my life
that's not the way I'm going kuz I'm headed to the top
I got the world on my finger and its spinin like a top
there's no such things as failure
I'm shipin cargo  guess you can call me a sailor
ain't never been to jail so I ain't speaking to the bailer
suicide thoughts yeah they all end to day
I'm on the rode to success some how some way!

Reluctant waver
Lucky you
Thank your stars
Mirrors do what they do

Tour bailer
This is for you
Stole my ride
And my drink to boot

Calvary captain
Mean what you say
Why'd you Leave the recruits
To fight their own way?

It ain't a big deal
We made our way through
Not all of us though
So what do we do?

Hang up and run?
Ditch and demand?
Bail while we're in it?
Keep your head in
The sand.

nap in the dirt
blood on your hands
and under your nails
nailed to the end

nailed to the floor
bleeding
you knew
acting as if
what you said was the truth

forget it while smiling
my name
it is a place
but hold on to it for just this sort of case:
you remember the rain
In a house quite abandoned
A lifetime of pain is a hard rock to stand on
The broken out windows
and dwindling flame

sputters alight
with new resolve
bust in my new boots
earlier today on you
aim then fire
and revolve
Get on through

When the wheat from fields are reaped,  
There's much work yet to be done.
Stalks are then cut and harrowed,
Then they're dried by wind and sun.

The work done by the bailer,
Compacts straw that's in furrows,
After twine tightens the straw,
Each bale off the baler goes.

Today lets forget the gym,    
It's the day that we make straw.
It's time to work our muscles.
From rest it's time to withdraw.

There'll be work on the trailer,  
And there'll be work on the field.
The work is more exhausting,        
Where the wheat had a good field.

Bales are brought to the trailer,    
Where they're thrown then stacked on it.
The work is sure exhausting,
But its not yet time to quit.

Byhe bale escalator, 
To the barn times bales are brought.
When there's no escalator,
We then work more than we ought.

Stacking bales inside the barn,  
Laborious it's there too;
When the bales are put away,
To the kitchen we head to.