"fillets" poems - Hello Poetry

"fillets" poems

January cold damp little snow. Cleaning two fish in the garage- a rainbow a brown both gifts. Dad taught me: Cut down behind the gill use the bend of the blade follow the spine flip repeat. Hold the tail slip the knife between skin and meat push let the knife do the work don’t waste meat. Two beautiful fillets. Half done with the brown his hands stiffen red and cold. He stops puts the knife down stretches them wipes them of slime blames the arthritis continues. His hands never get cold. His age never shows. Some day he will die I realize that now.

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Mar 22, 2012

Mar 22, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC

piersonpflieger

January cold damp little snow. Cleaning two fish in the garage- a rainbow a brown both gifts. Dad taught me: Cut down behind the gill use the bend of the blade follow the spine flip repeat. Hold the tail slip the knife between skin and meat push let the knife do the work don’t waste meat. Two beautiful fillets. Half done with the brown his hands stiffen red and cold. He stops puts the knife down stretches them wipes them of slime blames the arthritis continues. His hands never get cold. His age never shows. Some day he will die I realize that now.

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A shed, six by four, painted, Landy green, black roof Local fishmongers Down by the harbor gates Battered wooden, fish crates Smelling of the ocean, the waves, The spray Weathered, worn, faded brown Trawlers name a disappearing outline A boy in shorts, blond hair Tugging at his mother’s skirts Pointing, Spattered orange dotted flat fish Flapping, fresh from the boat. Propped against the side wall A box of jade, and emerald sea jewels Eyes frozen in time. Chalk board hung from open door, With names, prices , beyond understanding. To the boy fantastical creatures A man in a white coat, money rattling in pocket Scales set on a bench, ready to measure out scales For the women of the seaside town All the gossip, the fish, and the stories From one little shed down by the harbor wall A boys face mesmerized, by cod Larger than he, caught on a wall hook Swift knife movements, and fillets, Laid on yesterdays newspaper Bones, and head thrown into a bucket Large lazy yellow eyed seagull, Sauntering like a casual thief, eye On the bucket…

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Feb 17, 2015

Feb 17, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC

A Fishmonger and a Boys Memory

A shed, six by four, painted, Landy green, black roof Local fishmongers Down by the harbor gates Battered wooden, fish crates Smelling of the ocean, the waves, The spray Weathered, worn, faded brown Trawlers name a disappearing outline A boy in shorts, blond hair Tugging at his mother’s skirts Pointing, Spattered orange dotted flat fish Flapping, fresh from the boat. Propped against the side wall A box of jade, and emerald sea jewels Eyes frozen in time. Chalk board hung from open door, With names, prices , beyond understanding. To the boy fantastical creatures A man in a white coat, money rattling in pocket Scales set on a bench, ready to measure out scales For the women of the seaside town All the gossip, the fish, and the stories From one little shed down by the harbor wall A boys face mesmerized, by cod Larger than he, caught on a wall hook Swift knife movements, and fillets, Laid on yesterdays newspaper Bones, and head thrown into a bucket Large lazy yellow eyed seagull, Sauntering like a casual thief, eye On the bucket…

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Patches is a cat a very pampered cat She sleeps on silk cushiness and eats fillets of mouse Charming everyone, she has the run of the house She hacks up hairballs on the rug once I saw her eat a slug covered in fleas she's quite hard to please But she's our cat Our very pampered cat

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Apr 13, 2012

Apr 13, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC

The Pampered Cat

Patches is a cat a very pampered cat She sleeps on silk cushiness and eats fillets of mouse Charming everyone, she has the run of the house She hacks up hairballs on the rug once I saw her eat a slug covered in fleas she's quite hard to please But she's our cat Our very pampered cat

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i am lost in the wisp of your faltering the fluttering of concrete entrenched into stoic rigmarole to reach out layer by layer peeling unearthing a catatonic subdivision of disjoint subdivisions a limit ordinal between touch and feeling where we kiss on the cusp of that silent ocean on the edge of sound drowned in the nebulous familiarity of a distant melody a tired resolve re solve the old puzzle muscle memory's misted amnesia half the pieces falling out the warn tinderbox inarticulate drowned severed isomorphisms over brea(d)thless infinities self adjoint matted topologies nestled snugly in the amniotic absolution of form before being hands of matted ice contorted into perfection by the sculpting propensities of undulations of estrangement, where we touch in the cusp of self reflections thousand mirrors inverted propensities infinite infinitesimals nestled meromorphic partitions hidden corners in the brevity of dusk multiplicities fragmenting behind empty veils ( to be seen is to be made discrete to be discrete is to flicker and disappear (inevitably invariable inevitable invariability)) we stand in a waterfall of gravel and drown our voices in the choke of our cellophane hearts caked into fillets of aphasic tundra where we whisper our nothings in the desert on the boundary of silence our words escape us like rats from shipwreck we are disembowelled catharsis intentional and fatuous retching upon itself severed and free and dead

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Oct 15, 2014

Oct 15, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC

i am lost in the wisp of your faltering the fluttering of concrete entrenched into stoic rigmarole to reach out layer by layer peeling unearthing a catatonic subdivision of disjoint subdivisions a limit ordinal between touch and feeling where we kiss on the cusp of that silent ocean on the edge of sound drowned in the nebulous familiarity of a distant melody a tired resolve re solve the old puzzle muscle memory's misted amnesia half the pieces falling out the warn tinderbox inarticulate drowned severed isomorphisms over brea(d)thless infinities self adjoint matted topologies nestled snugly in the amniotic absolution of form before being hands of matted ice contorted into perfection by the sculpting propensities of undulations of estrangement, where we touch in the cusp of self reflections thousand mirrors inverted propensities infinite infinitesimals nestled meromorphic partitions hidden corners in the brevity of dusk multiplicities fragmenting behind empty veils ( to be seen is to be made discrete to be discrete is to flicker and disappear (inevitably invariable inevitable invariability)) we stand in a waterfall of gravel and drown our voices in the choke of our cellophane hearts caked into fillets of aphasic tundra where we whisper our nothings in the desert on the boundary of silence our words escape us like rats from shipwreck we are disembowelled catharsis intentional and fatuous retching upon itself severed and free and dead

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~ menu fixe for Chez Revanche Anxious Anaconda Antipasto. Mega Shark Soup. Grinning Crocodile Fillets. Prodigious Python Pie. All served up like revenge, appropriately cold. Presentation is everything. Tuck in, before they do. _ mce

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Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC

Devouring The Devourers

~ menu fixe for Chez Revanche Anxious Anaconda Antipasto. Mega Shark Soup. Grinning Crocodile Fillets. Prodigious Python Pie. All served up like revenge, appropriately cold. Presentation is everything. Tuck in, before they do. _ mce

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After our 3rd 16-hour shift we skipped down the gravel road in the 4 am dusk holding still numb hands hysterically laughing about a snowman made of ****** fish ice and decorated with intestines to our room of splintered walls and sand infused beds. Drunk on sleep deprivation and the movement of the conveyor belts Fiona demanded of the 4 am twilight that our work be easier tomorrow I told her that tomorrow could always be the hardest she told me that I’m Eeyore because my contemplation always looks a bit like pessimism. A week later I stuck my finger in the pus filled lesion of a salmon and worried that I wasn’t existing well enough I asked Fiona if she thought we were more ourselves dressed in layers of sleep deprivation She cut 3 tails and stated that we must experience more life when we’re awake for 18 hours a day. This place had forced the clean carefully constructed versions of ourselves to collapse but she didn’t want this coarse damp translation of humanity to be what we intrinsically are. Water and pink slime slid down my rain gear as I processed her words and the fillets sliding by 60 salmon later she spoke again “You said once that every person you meet has some sort of impact on your life. Maybe you’re always you but never the you that you were before this moment because who we are is infinitely changing we won’t always be grime.”

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Jan 23, 2016

Jan 23, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC

My Hipster Fairy Fishery Roommate

After our 3rd 16-hour shift we skipped down the gravel road in the 4 am dusk holding still numb hands hysterically laughing about a snowman made of ****** fish ice and decorated with intestines to our room of splintered walls and sand infused beds. Drunk on sleep deprivation and the movement of the conveyor belts Fiona demanded of the 4 am twilight that our work be easier tomorrow I told her that tomorrow could always be the hardest she told me that I’m Eeyore because my contemplation always looks a bit like pessimism. A week later I stuck my finger in the pus filled lesion of a salmon and worried that I wasn’t existing well enough I asked Fiona if she thought we were more ourselves dressed in layers of sleep deprivation She cut 3 tails and stated that we must experience more life when we’re awake for 18 hours a day. This place had forced the clean carefully constructed versions of ourselves to collapse but she didn’t want this coarse damp translation of humanity to be what we intrinsically are. Water and pink slime slid down my rain gear as I processed her words and the fillets sliding by 60 salmon later she spoke again “You said once that every person you meet has some sort of impact on your life. Maybe you’re always you but never the you that you were before this moment because who we are is infinitely changing we won’t always be grime.”

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A warped neck on a Fender Strat , a broken bottle of Johnnie Walker Black . Torn felt on a mahogany billiard table , catfish fillets scorched on the fire , rendered inedible .. A marvelous , precision tractor engine seized from loss of oil , a bumper crop of peaches killed by frost .. An empty bottle of malt vinegar , wind blown lovely cherry pipe tobacco lost forever .. Red ripe homegrown tomatoes shredded by hail , soft shelled pecans dropped in the well .. First snowflakes of Winter melted on warm city streets , green grass left to die beneath a cloth sheet .. Concord grapes dried on the vine , watermelon picked before it's time .. Homemade biscuits burnt in the oven , true love within reach left undiscovered ..

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Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC

randolph-l-wilson

The Good Die Young

A warped neck on a Fender Strat , a broken bottle of Johnnie Walker Black . Torn felt on a mahogany billiard table , catfish fillets scorched on the fire , rendered inedible .. A marvelous , precision tractor engine seized from loss of oil , a bumper crop of peaches killed by frost .. An empty bottle of malt vinegar , wind blown lovely cherry pipe tobacco lost forever .. Red ripe homegrown tomatoes shredded by hail , soft shelled pecans dropped in the well .. First snowflakes of Winter melted on warm city streets , green grass left to die beneath a cloth sheet .. Concord grapes dried on the vine , watermelon picked before it's time .. Homemade biscuits burnt in the oven , true love within reach left undiscovered ..

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Congrats! Your thin! Go home and grin, Freely roam Atone Forget former days And steak fillets Still a fake Just now tame when you're next to a cake Though still completely the same Which is really quite the shame So you went for fame To make a name Grovelled to beg Upon a bold mans leg Only to be told You were far too old You go back home, Alone. Eat heavy scones, The belt line becomes blown Up About the time you buy a pup Who'll be drinking next to you from a cup As the two watch TV, Never to flee. Finish alone Pup soon outgrown. Never leave the home, Or hear a ringing phone. But at least you're now a size three Eating no more than a cup of tea People really respond to that whole notion of not being fat

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Jun 4, 2013

Jun 4, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC

charles-lutwidge-dodgson

**** It and See? You Should Have Known!

Congrats! Your thin! Go home and grin, Freely roam Atone Forget former days And steak fillets Still a fake Just now tame when you're next to a cake Though still completely the same Which is really quite the shame So you went for fame To make a name Grovelled to beg Upon a bold mans leg Only to be told You were far too old You go back home, Alone. Eat heavy scones, The belt line becomes blown Up About the time you buy a pup Who'll be drinking next to you from a cup As the two watch TV, Never to flee. Finish alone Pup soon outgrown. Never leave the home, Or hear a ringing phone. But at least you're now a size three Eating no more than a cup of tea People really respond to that whole notion of not being fat

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March and April are the time when crappie bite and winds chime Cedar Creek, Prince's dock it's the spot do not mock Years of trees submerged there fishing rods used by the pair minnow on one jig on the other catching crappie is never a bother Medium shiner and red and chartreuse skirt cast em out wait for the **** cold Coors lite in the fridge if not biting here, let’s try Caney bridge Or maybe a dock across the way down on the dam at the end of the day but usually the dock will do just fine under lights at dark or in sunshine Fill the basket with white and black watch the cork, reel the slack when it bobs, set the hook paperlip slab, fillet and cook Electric knife and old butcher block cleaning fish around the clock cornmeal, seasoning and fillets a great dinner at the end of the day Shake in a sack and toss in hot oil toss in some hushpuppies' watch it roil. eating on the deck with family and friends our bellies full, the day ends

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Sep 16, 2016

Sep 16, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC

Fishing on the Dock

March and April are the time when crappie bite and winds chime Cedar Creek, Prince's dock it's the spot do not mock Years of trees submerged there fishing rods used by the pair minnow on one jig on the other catching crappie is never a bother Medium shiner and red and chartreuse skirt cast em out wait for the **** cold Coors lite in the fridge if not biting here, let’s try Caney bridge Or maybe a dock across the way down on the dam at the end of the day but usually the dock will do just fine under lights at dark or in sunshine Fill the basket with white and black watch the cork, reel the slack when it bobs, set the hook paperlip slab, fillet and cook Electric knife and old butcher block cleaning fish around the clock cornmeal, seasoning and fillets a great dinner at the end of the day Shake in a sack and toss in hot oil toss in some hushpuppies' watch it roil. eating on the deck with family and friends our bellies full, the day ends

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The night when the purple people landed I recollect I was brushing my pearly whites one popped out of nowhere shoved a probe up my *** a handshake would have truly sufficed I leaped bolt upright from the basin and shouted ****** hell, do you mind she said you just carry on then slapped my cheeks mumbling how tight and firm They walked through walls no one was safe they made themselves a public nuisance but none would ask them to ****** off well who would really knowing what they might do I am sure no one liked the purple sods taking such liberties thinking themselves gods Then a plan was hatched to rid these uncelebrated people for no more would they probe where no man could go so we invited them to Mac Donald's knowing all the purple people would choke and die they ate some cheese burgers even fillets of fish and fries and before they got to their ships all did die, and none did fly By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

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Dec 24, 2013

Dec 24, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC

christos-andreas-kourtis

When The Purple People Landed

The night when the purple people landed I recollect I was brushing my pearly whites one popped out of nowhere shoved a probe up my *** a handshake would have truly sufficed I leaped bolt upright from the basin and shouted ****** hell, do you mind she said you just carry on then slapped my cheeks mumbling how tight and firm They walked through walls no one was safe they made themselves a public nuisance but none would ask them to ****** off well who would really knowing what they might do I am sure no one liked the purple sods taking such liberties thinking themselves gods Then a plan was hatched to rid these uncelebrated people for no more would they probe where no man could go so we invited them to Mac Donald's knowing all the purple people would choke and die they ate some cheese burgers even fillets of fish and fries and before they got to their ships all did die, and none did fly By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

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I'll take it from here Hand off the wine glass and pick up the carving knife Her lythe body lay hacked clean of both right appendages On the center of our dining room table Mouth painted red and bruised We normally eat together I loved when he brought home beautiful women All tormented and smelling of sorrow Three raw, fresh fillets of meat lay out before him His teeth curving into a smile Gleaming in the bright light as he slices strips off Holds them out to me I **** at his fingertips while pulling away The meat is tender, she was in excellent shape I could taste her laughter melting into my jaws Reaching for him, unable to resist Sliding ****** hands down his torso to silk lounge pants Knowing what was beneath them well Anticipating what came next Feeding always evolved into ******* The soft whisper of clothes shedding Wicked heat radiating in waves He pulls tight on my hair Hiss Lifting up and over the warm form of our dinner Popping the head of his shaft into my tight heat Groan Slowly he grinds into me Escalating into a bass beat influenced pounding I scream into the dining room Always released with his jutting *** Slowing down to kisses and laughter Let's eat

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Mar 3, 2012

Mar 3, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC

I'll take it from here Hand off the wine glass and pick up the carving knife Her lythe body lay hacked clean of both right appendages On the center of our dining room table Mouth painted red and bruised We normally eat together I loved when he brought home beautiful women All tormented and smelling of sorrow Three raw, fresh fillets of meat lay out before him His teeth curving into a smile Gleaming in the bright light as he slices strips off Holds them out to me I **** at his fingertips while pulling away The meat is tender, she was in excellent shape I could taste her laughter melting into my jaws Reaching for him, unable to resist Sliding ****** hands down his torso to silk lounge pants Knowing what was beneath them well Anticipating what came next Feeding always evolved into ******* The soft whisper of clothes shedding Wicked heat radiating in waves He pulls tight on my hair Hiss Lifting up and over the warm form of our dinner Popping the head of his shaft into my tight heat Groan Slowly he grinds into me Escalating into a bass beat influenced pounding I scream into the dining room Always released with his jutting *** Slowing down to kisses and laughter Let's eat

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This human body of mine Craves the strangest of things at times... When I'm laying in bed at night, all I can think of Is how delicious some fresh macaroni would taste, Or how much I really want a corndog, Or when I'm sitting in class waiting for lunch, And I start thinking about fish fillets, And sandwhiches...With layers and layers of meat and cheese, Or when I've just finihed eating something, And a friend mentions what they just ate, And I begin to want it terribly badly... Why do I get these cravings at the weirdest of times? Why can't I stop craving spanish rice, Or Olive Gardens' breadsticks? Atleast I got over my extream cravings for fries... Nope, nevermind.

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Jan 12, 2015

Jan 12, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC

This human body of mine Craves the strangest of things at times... When I'm laying in bed at night, all I can think of Is how delicious some fresh macaroni would taste, Or how much I really want a corndog, Or when I'm sitting in class waiting for lunch, And I start thinking about fish fillets, And sandwhiches...With layers and layers of meat and cheese, Or when I've just finihed eating something, And a friend mentions what they just ate, And I begin to want it terribly badly... Why do I get these cravings at the weirdest of times? Why can't I stop craving spanish rice, Or Olive Gardens' breadsticks? Atleast I got over my extream cravings for fries... Nope, nevermind.

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frantic fingers in February frost bitten and fumbling the knots forbidden fish frolic, unsuspecting free fresh chum flows from the flower bucket as foraging future fillets flounder in the underwater foliage – fallen leaves create the floor frog feet rest in the funk finch feathers float on the ripples frozen fox prints dance fancifully on the fresh fallen snow field freely, my friends and I frolic also –

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Aug 13, 2015

Aug 13, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC

frantic fingers in February frost bitten and fumbling the knots forbidden fish frolic, unsuspecting free fresh chum flows from the flower bucket as foraging future fillets flounder in the underwater foliage – fallen leaves create the floor frog feet rest in the funk finch feathers float on the ripples frozen fox prints dance fancifully on the fresh fallen snow field freely, my friends and I frolic also –

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staring into the hollow pits i can't seem to find your soul your soul that links with mine you ignore my words. i plead, and beg, stop! Stop! Please! and then it's over you cry i cry and I forgive you why? i love you and I deserved it anyway your kiss burns against mine. it cuts through my pain and I want more but then again the memory of the kiss hurts more than your fist ever could she notices, though she sees the bruises "get help" she says "please tell someone" to tell someone would hurt you ruin you i can't do that you saved me I love you you say you love me too? you try your hardest to prove it "you're mine", you say no one else can have me your words burn more then the sun on my face and sting harder than the slap after slap i know you didn't mean it deep down, you're okay just hurting misunderstood wronged i understand i'm here for you after all, I'm yours and you're mine, right? love lasts longer than anger the punches hurt so do the pinches the twists the kicks leave me with a sick feeling i can't help but sob and cry and you cry too you hate to hurt me you just need a release so you comfort me with kisses i try to please you you rock me when I cry say you're sorry and I believe you "you belong to me," you say, "know that and never forget" "and you're mine" I reply "life is rough" you whisper, cradling my head so I cover up long sleeves even in summer people look at me funny but I know they're just jealous of us i'll be okay it doesn't hurt that badly you need it you understand me we belong together i crave your touch no matter what form you said you're sorry—it won't happen again. but your words they cut me like a knife the blade fillets my heart the bruises will heal the words will be forgiven scars will fade but you'll be with be forever because after all you love me right?

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Sep 3, 2015

Sep 3, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC

with you it's different

staring into the hollow pits i can't seem to find your soul your soul that links with mine you ignore my words. i plead, and beg, stop! Stop! Please! and then it's over you cry i cry and I forgive you why? i love you and I deserved it anyway your kiss burns against mine. it cuts through my pain and I want more but then again the memory of the kiss hurts more than your fist ever could she notices, though she sees the bruises "get help" she says "please tell someone" to tell someone would hurt you ruin you i can't do that you saved me I love you you say you love me too? you try your hardest to prove it "you're mine", you say no one else can have me your words burn more then the sun on my face and sting harder than the slap after slap i know you didn't mean it deep down, you're okay just hurting misunderstood wronged i understand i'm here for you after all, I'm yours and you're mine, right? love lasts longer than anger the punches hurt so do the pinches the twists the kicks leave me with a sick feeling i can't help but sob and cry and you cry too you hate to hurt me you just need a release so you comfort me with kisses i try to please you you rock me when I cry say you're sorry and I believe you "you belong to me," you say, "know that and never forget" "and you're mine" I reply "life is rough" you whisper, cradling my head so I cover up long sleeves even in summer people look at me funny but I know they're just jealous of us i'll be okay it doesn't hurt that badly you need it you understand me we belong together i crave your touch no matter what form you said you're sorry—it won't happen again. but your words they cut me like a knife the blade fillets my heart the bruises will heal the words will be forgiven scars will fade but you'll be with be forever because after all you love me right?

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that's basically me saying: welcome home baltic son - **** their sushi ****** those herring fillets a in cream sauce (with onions, cucumber & apple) - followed by some *amber vóda*.

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Apr 7, 2017

Apr 7, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

cultural reappropriation

that's basically me saying: welcome home baltic son - **** their sushi ****** those herring fillets a in cream sauce (with onions, cucumber & apple) - followed by some *amber vóda*.

Continue reading...