"catfish" poems
Anthropogenic climate change
Nuclear fallout Chernobyl
Raptors flourish
And wolves
Dwell
Sleeping.
Catfish swimming
In a cooling eye
Grown old and untouchable
By mans wills.
Rusty ships
Wetlands
Roam free.
Storks in their nests
1875
The cheval de prjevalski
Dye without mercy
The fallout from time
A call to restore
A broken land.
The wolves cry
The wolves cry
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Cherokee woman , distant smile,
Cherokee woman it's been awhile,
let the warm winds carry your voice to me,
hear the rustle of your hand made beads,
smell the hint of jasmine in your hair,
soft soled foot steps, I can feel you there.
Cherokee woman, distant smile,
Cherokee woman it's been awhile.
Catfish sunning in the morning light,
splash of ducklings, signs of new life.
Feel the need to close the miles,
move a little closer to that Cherokee smile.
Snow is melting and the rivers run,
days are longer with warming sun.
Cherokee woman, shake your beads for me,
let the wind carry your scent of jasmine.
Distant smile come closer then a dream.
Cherokee woman no longer needs to wait for me.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
"Redneck Family Reunion"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v;=jfHwg22ZqhU
(Verse 1)
A family like ours don't party like most
Ours gets a little out of hand
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
And tearing up all the land
There's jars of moonshine and daisy dukes
Everywhere you look
Ol' Bocephus on the radio
And catfish on every hook
(Chorus)
It's a redneck family reunion
Everybody has a good time
Eatin' all of grandma's cookin'
And drinkin' all of grandpa's shine
You're never gonna go home hungry
If you make it home at all
Yeah, it's a redneck family reunion
And everybody has a ball
(Verse 2)
There's horseshoe pits for tossin' shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them ain't legal
And will land your *** in court
4 wheel trails that will lead you to
Way back in that hollow
Don't you dive head first into that pool
You know it's way to shallow
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad that it must end
But you know it's time to head on home
When the cops come round the bend
(Repeat Chorus)
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
the sun beams out of every single one of your pores
and i’ve never seen a smile quite as convincing as yours
but one day the pictures painted in your eyes will crack;
maybe stumble and fall and i’ve never seen a face as sincere
and pure. the world is your oyster, your catfish and squid
and your delicate soul is a masterpiece, it is.
i don’t wanna see your veins blow up in your wrist
or your hand pulling your hair out, tainted with fear
your life isn’t a movie it’s a merry-go-round and the
sickness you feel will one day die down, just hold on
to hope because it’s all we have left, hold on to my
jacket, my sweater, my vest.
i’m not a prophet nor a saint, not an angel at all
i’m merely a souvenir of disjointed, brooding thoughts
but you’re captivating and like a gust of wind, i’ll
hold your hand and take care of the strings that
are attached to you, like a puppet of beauty, don’t
let your heartache deface your sanity
because i know you’re tired
and aching
and scared
but take my hand, hold it tight and walk with me
into candlelight.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
I miss the drunks. The y3lling.
The inhalation of beer and cigarettes
Chased down by ego and godlessness.
How many times
hqve I written to this song,
and never heard beauty once?
Like the sweet pinch of a grapefruit,
before the sunset of sweat,
the same sunset that hailed warfare for boys.
I loved you so much once,
I still do, but you are like mist,
and I am blind.
I miss backstabbers, creeps, catfish,
vampires, crows,
an angel.
When I was young I would screech down the hill
in my toy truck,
plastic chassis a powerhouse,
canary and howling,
I'd crash into the same cherry tree a million times.
Call me Avalanche.
Call me Indisputable.
Call me the Powerhouse.
Call me,
I missed you.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Early morning comes too soon.
Fish are biting by the moon.
Father and son make their way
Out of the house to meet the day.
The men of the house are outward bound
Seeking their fortune on the water sound.
Fishing poles and tackle boxes in hand
Off they go, to the dock to be manned.
Eyes gleaming bright, with the wind in his hair,
My son grins wide, and says, "Dad, Look There!"
Sure enough my son sees, fish to be caught,
Their trip is promising, will not be for naught.
His father smiles at the look from his son,
Saying, "Yes, son, you've found them, quite well done."
Bringing their boat to a stop they let glide,
Unpack their equiment, and come along side.
Taking their time and setting their hooks,
Plenty of fish here, judging by the looks.
There's sunfish and carp, some salmon and trout,
Walleye and crappie, and catfish so stout.
As the sun rises higher, they reel those fish in.
There's plenty of fish, with tail and fin.
The father and son are laughing together.
Can't believe their luck, or such perfect weather.
Returning home from a long day of fun,
They unload their catch and in they run.
Fish stories abound, They can't say enough,
The fish they missed, get bigger and rough.
I watch my two men, with quiet delight.
Enjoying the warmth, they create in my sight
Fishing is fun, fishing is great,
My men bonding, makes my heart elate.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
There was a Truth
in murk-settled water.
I'll sit at the surface
and remember past wrongs.
Stirred lake was below us,
the eels and a catfish,
but towered above
the sun shone down warm.
A dead masquerade,
you kicked for the surface.
Your body, it rippled
a silhouetted sky.
Dead hum underwater
our eyelids were liquid.
My jellyfish back
absorbed the tanned rays.
Ingest your diffraction,
a hunger astray.
A dry-land discov'ry:
it was my legs aflame.
The murk was in you.
The murk was in you.
Dear God, I was clean.
Dear God, I was clean.
A seat at the table
to pray for the lake.
But what does it matter?
Wash my hands to eat.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
I find my refuge in poetry.
For in twisted stanzas,
that passionate-scribbling,
I can read of blue skies,
write amber waves,
dream rusty signs squeaking,
flapping in hot summer breezes,
oil rigs pumping & wavy-trees,
behind broken screened doors,
I hear phone’s ringing,
laughing children screaming.
I can eat biscuits & gravy,
savor catfish & string beans,
see the rolling plains,
feel the clapping thunder,
listen to yellow parakeets
as the morning sunlight
peeks through stained-glass,
the pitter patter of gentle rain.
Sitting on porch swings,
watching ripples on streams,
inhaling rivers of cigarette smoke,
I visualize hay rolls & barbed-wire fences
under flocked geese in flight.
Soothing wind chimes in c-minor,
jingling, meandering
through lace curtains,
I lay on lily white tiles
crying, clutching my tissue,
trying to make it through
another starless night.
Rocking with Eric’s slow hand,
wearing Tony Lama’s & driving Buicks,
this random selection of cells
I cannot keep inside me.
There are millions of things hidden
in my stronghold of words,
yet to be written.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Right...
catfish slippery
gourd slippery
and I am to catch this catfish
mountains stand behind
covered by mist
mountains have grown
as have my whiskers
and my clothes tear and wear out with time
and I am to catch
slippery catfish
with slippery gourd -
O god
of streams and mountains!
how do you catch, dear god of bamboo,
a catfish in a gourd?
and the waters flow
of many monsoons and storms
and the river has changed its course
many times
while I stand here with my gourd
and myself twisted and turned and all my virility lost
not a jot closer to my task
even with the god of riverbanks;
but all the while this catfish jumps around in the stream
mocking
clapping its fins like a pair of hands
and beating the water with its tail
and the message it sends is: *“Come on! come on!
Catch me if you can!”*
Right...
catfish in the waters slippery
gourd in my hand slippery
and I am to catch this catfish
O god of mist and rocks
how do you catch a catfish in a gourd?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 5:26 AM UTC
*Smile and lay your sorrows at the foot of the Earth ,
Climb the highest tree and shoot across the blue like your favorite bird..
Grab the Crescent Moon , swing like an Olympian effortlessly ,
Swan dive with confidence into warm tropical seas ...
Swim to the Coral reefs to say hello , saddle a dolphin at the surface then off you go ..Blue seahorses and red catfish , float like a Pelican to the white sand beach ..Tip toe through the green grass , dance a jig , find another tall tree and do it again* ..
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
Autumn flares out, its flame burst clouds
strewn about misted cliff sides, loam whites
of winter taking their place. A stiff willow breeze,
ten thousand things withdrawn to burrows and immortal
pine heights. First snows stream down, duckweed carpets
of August fade, jade peeking through white. I embark
on the seasons final sail in hardening ice waters.
Til spring my sails will be folded, my raft in idleness.
~~~
Rafting on moon drenched river, avoiding cascades and crash of
rapids and falls. Silvered driftwood a warning. Silent glide of
mulberry oar through dark azure, another crafts sail in silhouette.
From the deck a black spectre dives below, stillness follows
splash, re-emergence, beak wrapped around a dazzling rainbow.
From my raft dangling lantern sways, trout swiping at
gathered moths – scatter and return, some from a far off realm.
Some trout in the net, others not. Luck or the way – who can tell?
~~~
Dusk colour gorge sheathed in
emerald blankets, rising into sheer
cliffs of auburn cinnabar, all
underpinned by the fathomless
flow of azure clarity. Snowy Egrets
nest in pine top heights clear of dust.
On white sand shores gibbons howl
towards squawking beach gulls, squabble
over landlocked trout – debate without end.
Peach blossom petals swirl on spring breeze
over carpets of jade inter cut by king
fisher blue zipping over duckweed. Oriole
song weaves in and out of mulberry branches.
In these vast and vague waters -
coves, creeks and streams all one,
a river dragon lives an undetermined
existence. Mud stirs below, merely a
catfish airing grievances.
Red tail flares in dirt,
my mulberry oar rows me back home.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
I left the dust and tumble weeds
to be incomplete and moved
back east to where I was born
The trees crowded together
There was a change in the weather
I asked mom ,
"Is that rain?"
The people were crowded
With one thought and mind
Everything was designated
to be black or white
We caught catfish from
the Alabama River
Swam in pristine streams
full of soapstone
Then we moved again
Crossed Texas on our way west
Crossed the continental devide
Came to rest in Spokane
I sang God Bless America
while sitting on a fire hydrant
Looking at the purple
mountain's majesty
Then off again back east
Crossed Texas the third time
To Panama City , Florida
where we came to reside
There I learned
to abide by the tide
And that some things
you can't hide
Two and a half years
of bliss
Then we moved
once again
And again and again
and again and again
and again , again
again , again , again . . . .
All my travels
All my travails
I have found home
in the moment within me .
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
The stove tops warm
The chattering of dinner conversation fill the air
We would talk about our day, or something funny that we found
Sometimes our hands would smell like newspaper ink
from an article you shared
Or you would make fun of the chubby catfish in the tank
The food warms our hearts, no restaurant could compare
The softness of the rice reminds me of the softness of your heart
The vegetables remind me of your love
The meat and tofu remind me to stay strong
and that you are someone I can rely on
Friends may come and go
And all of us grow old
But your laughter at the dinner table
Is something my heart will always know
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 9:40 PM UTC
Two people lurk in everyone
the star and the scar
born from building high citadels of power
and cascading into smithereens
when the switch is tripped.
Maybe the voltage ran low
or the circuit breaker was poorly constructed?
I dont know.
I operate on a three phase armour
of emotional stabilisers
that spark and twitch when overheated
with too much energy. But I return
with black faced integrity
collars up and smoking
to fight on another electrifying moment.
'Thats life' I hear
the rollercoaster ride
built into the system
going around in circles
always facing the sunrise
and sunset. We scream and tumble
into the guts of the incline
the switch and roll of events
swerving around corners
holding on tight white knuckled
until it finishes its rumble
and we walk out wobbly and vomity
until the better side takes over.
The darker side recedes
into an unknown pocket.
Author Notes
Thanks to Cinderley13 who wrote about Catfish and Lydia and Lyda and made me wonder what the hell was being alluded to? It now makes a bit more sense.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
I hear water singing,
the different musical symphonies of the rivers,
lakes and the vast ocean sea;
The sweet sorrowful song of the whale--the same song as when I first heard it,
off the edge of a boat in a yellow rain jacket when I was less than nine years old,
The children laughing as tadpoles swarm gaily around their tiny toes--the cream colored foam swallows their legs up to their knees in the orange midday sun,
The chirping of a dolphin, kissing the deep blue waves each time it leaps,
The seahorses galloping and neighing in the salt sea and the catfish purring and licking their paws in the lakes of Wisconsin and Minnesota,
The seagulls calling to the fish to leap out of the water to become breakfast,
The sobbing of the naked woman in her bathtub at home, the suds up to her pink neck--toes turning to raisins,
The deep bellowing of a cruise ship, filled with all of the people laughing inside its belly,
The ocean whispering against the sand as the moon is gazing into the largest mirror in the universe,
The sun singing loudly in the morning time, peeking above the horizon and pulling back the curtains of the night, greeting all of her lovely friends; bold, sweet, and strange.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
After a satisfying fried catfish
dinner with collards and a sweet potato
I went for a stroll in the nearby plaza
I entered the Publix with a sweet treat
on my mind
And there I saw the watermelon woman
that made my mouth water instead
She was cutting up samples to be
passed out while wearing a sliced
watermelon costume
Long black hair rested on one of her shoulders
A small scar on the side of her mouth
was noticeable, but it was completely
overshadowed by her gaze
Our eyes met, and I was locked in
I smiled softly in reaction to the silliness
of the dichotomy between the woman
and the watermelon
A pineapple would've suited her much better
She responded to me by giving her own
slightly nervous smile
She offered me a sample, which I took
then she began to speak to me with her
chin pointed down towards the table
Her eyes never broke contact with mine
"They're two for one today. Really good too.
You should buy some."
"Have you tried it?"
"No, but I can tell. I can smell it."
How I'd love to try her out
Her body language said that she
was self-conscious, insecure
Yet her eyes told me that she was a lioness
ready to be dominated
I left the store empty handed
A missed opportunity on my part
It's been a while since I've done any farm work
but if I see the watermelon woman again
I'll plant seeds
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
We share our intimate verbiage
Tearful, tortured souls are bared
Ripples of poetry reverberate
Through myths and muse and fears
Who are these mysterious poets
With whom we write and laugh
Some could be different than they claim
A dark catfish in a poet’s guise
Worse, others playing nefarious games
Shall mysterious friends be trusted
We don’t even know genuine names
Yet, I declare, my mysterious friends
Names, ages, and past do not hinder me
We can hide our facts and our faces
Yet poet friends we will truly be
We’ve known people for many years
Spent hours on trivial small talk
We don’t know who they really are
We’ve shared poems in anonymity
Yet we’ve bled more deeply by far
To all mysterious friends, poets one and all
No need to inspect you face to face
To trust you with my naked soul!
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
From the visions of sparrow vanguards
that fly insatiably onward.
From the tombs of ancient hearts draped
in flowing, moth-eaten fabric.
From the fighter jets stalling somewhere
above solitary and succinct farmlands.
From the bottom of a broken purple
sunset that lies embossed on my brain.
From the silliest half-thought left
unvoiced in the vagrant light of a damp
and desolate lamp lying in a landfill.
From several mouths at once.
From oracles cross-legged in caves.
From the gills of a catfish on a hook.
From mythical forgeries and the perjurer's tongue.
To the subdued hope resting in a
trembling hand gripped round its pen.
To satisfaction that is oneness that
seems to never arrive but is there
all along.
To the peaks of the Himalayas.
To my spidered desk light, shallow with doubt.
To my flustered and torrential page.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
i would like to formally thank you
for not being a Catfish
emojis often spell out love
more than words spoken
thank you
for the nudes
i don't really know what
you expected me to do with them
but it's interesting how
we never touched electric skin
but i've seen all of you
there are secrets still buried in the deepest darkest
regions of my sim-card
thank you for being the receiver
of everything i wish was different
you should have seen my face
when my mother asked me
who sent a pizza to our house
on Valentine's Day
I wish
you were just a Catfish
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Pollywogs and dragonflies
Salamander slime
Some are dreamt and summer schemes.
Mud Daubers on the cattails
Catfish on the hook
Crawl daddy in the cranny.
Crickets with backward knees
Buzzing honey bees
Poets of a summer dream.
Martin Hunter
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
The speckled puffer fish was a greedy scavenger
a greedy thing with no agenda but to grab the hook
I used to hate to touch them.Big black eyes staring
Huge gopher teeth bare and sharp.
I was Huck Fin Carribean
Bare foot and rural as heck
Dirt ring around my neck
The dusty roads
humid.
The sweltering heat and the river would meet us
in the mangrove Forrest as we walked the
Picado road to river's edge.
A cranky dory sat tied of
for our convenience with a paddle or two.
We pushed of and fought the tide
to get us safe to the other side.
Aunt Doris would stand with'
arm akimbo a cigarette burning
between index and middle
a tiny smile stayed put.
The Muttruce , as we named it
Flourished because no one would eat it
so the river teemed with catfish and puffy.
we did not eat catfish either some cultural bias. Lucky cat
but that bias died when the market for him found Belize.
Scary little blacked eyed buck toothed *******
Dont know if they are on someones menu now.
They seemed a bit scarce last time i fished.
high priced export on the orient express I guess.
Price of popularity is no privacy
eaten to extinction.
Head up , eyes open
mouth closed.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Standing on top of this wooden old bridge..
I spit my gum down below to the clear slow moving water..
It was about 4 feet deep..
My gum hit and created a ripple..
As the gum sank a gigantic catfish moved from the shadows and swallowed it!!!
He swam back under the bridge and I never saw him again that day..
The following week I arrive at the bridge again and threw some bread into the slow moving stream..
Again the huge jumbo catfish ate and swam back under the bridge..
For months I fed this big catfish..
I return one day and find a note on the bridge..
It said (THANK YOU signed ThE cAtFiSh WOODBRIDGE..)
I threw down some food but no catfish..
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC