"fisherwoman" poems
Look woman, you are my woman
as I am your man
And I fish all day
and sometimes nights too
and I come back from the dangers
and the labor and ****** ********* customers
who haggle over my fish at the marketplace
and they devalue my fish
and demean my labor
And then I come home with the coins
and I put them in your palms
and no doubt you cook me a sumptuous dinner
but come night, when the breeze carries the scents of the jasmine in
I’d expect a little fishing between us too, you know
You know, I’ve got me fish down my bottom
that’d I like to release, let it swim deep in your pond –
but this pushing me away at nights, and whispering ”You smell like a fish”
or “I’ve got a headache now” -
this will not do, cause you know,
my fish does swell much and that causes me pain and anguish
Because my blowfish really does want to move
and there you go telling me:
“You smell fishy” – what do you expect?
You married a fisherman, you know!
I’m not going to smell like a goat or a pig or an ox
cos I’m no butcher
And that makes me think
maybe you’re doing a bit of your own fishing all day
when I’m gone
so really you ought to
let my fish swim nights free in your pond
or surely I’ll bring my coins to a woman
in the huts at the marketplace
who’ll freely let my blowfish swim easy
whenever I put coins in her palms
And I can get me a change of woman too
So what will it be tonight? – does my fish swim free?
So, woman, you are my woman
as I am your man
And let us do what a fisherman and fisherwoman do together
when they are each other’s
and so let us add another chapter in the Manual of Love:
Fisherman’s Fish and Fisherwoman’s Pond
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
I. The Minor Poet
His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale's was born
Within his throat; but he, too, laid his breast
Upon a thorn.
II. The Pretty Lady
She hated bleak and wintry things alone.
All that was warm and quick, she loved too well-
A light, a flame, a heart against her own;
It is forever bitter cold, in Hell.
III. The Very Rich Man
He'd have the best, and that was none too good;
No barrier could hold, before his terms.
He lies below, correct in cypress wood,
And entertains the most exclusive worms.
IV. The Fisherwoman
The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for every day,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!
V. The Crusader
Arrived in Heaven, when his sands were run,
He seized a quill, and sat him down to tell
The local press that something should be done
About that noisy nuisance, Gabriel.
Vl. The Actress
Her name, cut clear upon this marble cross,
Shines, as it shone when she was still on earth;
While tenderly the mild, agreeable moss
Obscures the figures of her date of birth.
2.2k
you say it's not about the ***
but the declaration does nothing
to ***** the boiling terror
to shoo away that yawning hole
digging deeper and deeper
into the root system of my ribs
tilling the lush soil that is
my traitorous stomach
and ever shrinking lungs
it uproots me
grinds the stump where I once stood
a towering oak
or was I only ever a sapling
that was snapped in half
severed the exact moment
that the floodgates opened
and the raging storms remnants
poured forth unshackled by the walls
I carefully constructed around my trembling heart
how I screamed when they fell
the resounding crash
of my fingers digging into your back
pulling you closer
and closer
I can't stop wanting you closer
to inhabit that feeling
the safety of a harbor in a storm
you somehow can protect me
from the radioactive wasteland
that I am still traversing
dodging gamma rays of manic frenzy
and alpha particles heavy with the
black hole that swears it will consume all of me
its final sacrifice demanded my life
how can I trust this?
when the reality of the matter is
you are no lead apron
absorbing the radiation for me
some kevlar vest that can ever protect me
from the bullets of vitriolic bile I hurl inward
not to mention grenades thrown my way
by wayward neural firings
which find me craving my blood
a box of razors is
a box of friends
and reality diverges into an orthogonal plane.
you could be snatched from me
you are a small worm on
the biggest hook to make the juiciest
most succulent amuse bouche
for a big world of sharks
how ******* stupid am I
to be a fisherwoman who has
fallen in love with her bait?
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
my delphine, dauphine de joie,
sovereign as the sea, I thought you were
a queen, a siren, my sin, with your fisherwoman's soul,
but you are a seal girl singing sweet nothings
and your gleaming gold hair is all a-tarnished from the sea.
I never knew it could be so lonely by the sea.
I am windswept. We do not weep.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
I am there
but time is standing still
though the river rushes past
to remind me of the grave grip of gravity,
the rolling of this tiny rock
and the necessary fiction of minutes
no wound clock woes me
no hunger torments me
no trail awaits my feet
I am there
with my line to the depths I know hold treasures
blocked from my deluded eyes
by reflections of blue-gray skies
a simple tug on my wrist
pulls me farther from the burdened banks
to which I must ultimately return
but not for an eternal while
while my line is taut
and the curse of time is not
menacingly marching
in this dreamy flow
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 6:15 PM UTC
Drawn in
with the largest shrimp,
she hooked him,
that tough old grouper
swam outside his rocky lair,
was so willing to lick his chops
on her tasty hook.
She pulled him up
struggling from the depths
& after just one look,
threw him right into the cooler,
iced him along with the other fish
that fell for her tantalizing bait.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
It was overcast that summer day
long ago,
I remember
a light cool-mist
covered our faces.
The way you looked was magnificent.
You wore a straw brimmed-hat
with a single fake daisy.
Even the way you baited my hook
was hot.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC