"fishtail" poems
what had happened
what we made
may be compared to a fishtail braid
the situation
the mess we made
may be likened to a fishtail braid
just as it takes the braid a few minutes
this "love" we had took a few years
woven slowly, outcome dainty
despite the flinches and the fears
just as beautiful the braid is
our "love" was magnificent
oh! the beauty! with sorrow i'll miss
never desired for it to end
and then it happened; then you stopped
the fragile masterpiece, the work of art
slowly, the plait became undone;
messy. ugly was the result
i, the fog that fades
you, last farewell bade
us, the ruined fishtail braid
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.
She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh
But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.
And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
fishtail braids
sock and sandals
drawn mustaches
left over food
songs on repeat
semi stinky feat
sweatpants and suits
unicorns and cupcakes
phone charger cords
long summer nights
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
I avoid Marble Arch like I do the armed police men,
And happily walk an extra two streets
Just to reach a place I don't recognise.
Like the bar we went to,
Now changed as a lot of things do,
Or the underground station
Where we unknowingly said goodbye the last time,
Kissed,
And saw each other,
Not via pictures, writings, or pixels
But through rods and cones,
For the last time for a what will probably be long time.
But I will walk through Paddington,
Past the hostel you stayed in, the pub you took me to,
I still get my bus at that frosty corner,
And wear my floral dress, my hoodie, my fishtail hair braid.
And more importantly
My bold blue dress
That you zipped up,
Drunkenly spilled beer on, my uncle bought you ten,
And I told you that I felt the same.
Now I'm not that shade of blue,
But colour me naive,
After all the times I asked you to not say what you don't mean
I did just that -
I don't think it was the same
Because it should have cut deeper than it did.
And after seeing how sorry I feel
For the new her and you
Because one or both of you have to realise something soon,
I feel I should be there for you.
But I won't hold your hand at the bank
Get your favourite band to sign your birthday card,
I won't take your beer off you when you can't stop,
Get on another plane,
Or stop writing poetry because I know you will see it.
I won't walk through Marble Arch for you.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:19 PM UTC
tangled together
like fishtail braids
as if they had never parted
and never again would
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
I don't like ponds
I can't stand the distrust in koi,
Or the bitter mess of plants on the surface-
Sometimes leaves sink past its edge into the faded water.
Their resemblance of shakily build reasons
For people pursuing careers they don't like
laps like waves with every change in environment.
All the same
I don't like people.
I can never shake your sadness
and the delicate mess of hair daintily reaching past your shoulders - a fallen-apart fishtail braid.
why did you become a bus-driver when the world is full of waves
and every change in environment comes a new person entirely.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Messy fishtail braids tickling your collar bones
as we both lie on this secret place; only our hearts know.
No stranger; no-one will ever whisk it away from our lips.
For, this map, atlas, bearing
is etched and inked
on the edge of
our bruised and loved hearts.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
I've stopped wearing seat belts
And looking both ways before I cross
Because when I hear the screech of tires
And feel my car slip and fishtail
It makes me feel something
When all I feel now is nothing.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
she's an island;
pale as the ocean mist
veiling the rugged shoreline.
with chubby freckled cheeks
framed by coppery red curls,
lashed up in fishtail braids,
or left loose in the salty breeze,
falling down to her shoulders,
broad and wind-weathered.
her laughter is the crash
of waves on the dock.
or the roar of the eastern winds,
that scour the northern seas.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
I remember braiding hair
at the mouth of the river,
golden strings weaving
between my fingers
legs stretched roughly
across long grass, the
itch of it spreading
under our cotton
dresses
I imagine, the waves
washing over my face
as I swim down consuming
the deep black drop
of nothingness,
as I cover my ears
to the roars
of planes,
turn my guts away
from the motion
of a boat
I listen,
to the beat of
your heart as I thread
strand over strand
and pull
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
Daybreak on the River
Daybreak rippled sounds
And silver morning flow,
Cool the ire of the beaten night.
Such beautiful disturbance,
A surface shimmer gleam.
The river greets the end of the greylight
And passes by colour streaked,
Endless and resurgent,
Under the firmament aglow.
An eventual sun
That breaks the horizon,
With teasing rays.
The best of times,
The dawn of days.
And let the water breath
Kiss the sallow mists.
A final caress.
Vanquished to daylight.
Whispering willows talk,
Shadow borne on dappled waters,
Bank bowed swaying dance.
Weep willow, weep now,
For the day has begun.
Joy sapped, seeping
From trunk and branch.
Where the breeze wakes
To stir the nest dwellers.
Safe haven for birdsong
That is carried
Upon each gentling ripple.
A new day! they sing
And the river ripples its applause
In the first swish of fishtail
And dragonfly sorties.
Oh glorious dawn,
The day begins!
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
It’s fifteen below
And a fat buck lurches,
Spindle legged, four pointed,
And cardinal -
Fishtail and brake.
I don’t trust this road.
I don’t trust these tires.
I don’t trust these ditches,
Smoothed and driven with snow.
I’m a six-layered pig at the wheel -
Unsleek unchic -
But I’m warm, **** I’m warm,
And the road slides like pinstripe
On white gabardine.
And the waning moon,
The waning moon,
Low in the rise,
Gibbous and garish,
Scabbing a cloud,
Spills the whole thing blue.
I don’t trust the red eyes of mailboxes,
Always willing to dive the grill.
I don’t trust the farmer
That lives on the hill,
Behind the blue spruce line,
Behind the blue flickered window,
Counting on futures,
Clumsy as mittens,
Still as the finger drift
Thudding the glide
Like dull scissors
Snagged in gridded giftwrap guides.
I still taste the coffee
Down under the tar.
I trust my smokes.
Yes, I trust my smokes.
I trust my hat. I trust my boots.
I trust I’ll never find my roots.
I trust the jumpers, there in the trunk.
I trust every single roadkill thunk.
I trust every knuckled ill-advised ride
To tell me yes, oh yes, I'm alive, I’m alive.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 5:26 PM UTC
Hmm, perhaps titled,
aye poem already didst aired
though revisiting said theme
downplayed as thoughts blare
though similar con tent
invariably communicated
sans, trademark pi Seine fishtail career
as applies to other questions,
this chap asks himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm'n weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely
a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear
this penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
word ** seeking me own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile materiel undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,
and webbed woven semi colon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma own home spun faux
cambridge analytica gimcrackery defaced book best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest!
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
Pluck from the front,
Pluck from the back
Give in to your addiction
That glues your head to a hat
You want to wear your hair down in curly waves?
Or fishtail braid it,
Or twist it to the side someday?
You can't even part it down the middle,
Without revealing a bald spot
That is the size of your face
You feel the stress, so you pluck it all away
Black out; keep plucking and
Forget about the time
See the hairs on the floor and mourn over what once was mine
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
In enough said
Keep the poem
Ponytail rides
Winning water
Time to time
All for
What manner suppose
Grim bib enchilada
Darker beans
Fishtail
Knows
My way out of
Cramped neck
Bee cross
Locked in candidate
Smock now
Look at that
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Sometimes,
when I step outside the dream and
look behind the scenes
there's a technical crew with cameras and,
do you think it's right,that the features that run through
my sleep late at night, should be captured and framed at
24 per ?
I stand there (behind the scenes)
where dreams are as real as the dreamers that dream them and the men that watch them with squinted eyes through a fishtail lens
bend into the ambient light,
it could be that what I see is not a dream at all,
it could be real,
the deal being that when I'm awake
I'm awake in a dream and each scene is but a picture I see within another dream and who,
I ask,is dreaming of me?
Sometimes,
awake or asleep,day or night if I'm right or when the mood hits the light that bounces off the window panes
I play games
I write books
give girls longing looks,
and I'm never sure if I am
dreaming or not.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
Drinking black tea early in the morning
Watching vistas of the fishtail mountains and the rising run
shaking my Styrofoam cup on my table
and reading the newspapers outside in a sunbath
Isn't that beautiful ?
It's my wish for after retirement.
I wish for a life of goodness and peace
But it's just a wish, a simple wish of mine.
Life takes us so far and so high
So down and so daringly deep
I wish to enjoy every bit of the journey
but It's just a wish, a simple wish of mine.
When I become old after many ages,
won't it be cool to spend time gardening ?
Hearing the bees singing
and watching bird dancing?
Bit it's just my wish, a simple wish of mine.
Whether it's fulfilling or unfulfilling
I will keep wishing, I keep dreaming
Cause that's how I can keep my hope alive
But it's just a wish, a simple wish of mine
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
You told me everything that was bothering you.
And I did the same to you.
And we were together, which is what I wanted.
It’s still what I want.
It’s still what I hope and pray for.
I guess you could call me pathetic.
Or a loser.
Or a lost cause.
But I was not a lost cause on that night.
Because I found myself in you.
I found myself in your problems.
I found myself in your presence.
And I never wanted that moment to end.
Because for the first time in a long time, I found myself with you.
And the only thing I was lost in was your eyes.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
as if sleep is surrender, beckoning to me, as some sort of a menacing creature from a cartoon series,w ith a fishtail and a gibbering little smile, beckoning, and I am defenseless yet also powerful, sitting on my carpet, contemplating, fathoming both at the same time, some sort of monster of expressionless decodiing, opposites etracting, the big electron molecule, formulating, loving, inspiring, some sort of microscopic revelation fuming at the nostrils, tainting your insights, understnadinging your favorite disvoering, letting it be what it is, letting it go away peacefully, the biggest challenges in life, making their way to the center of your nut, and your whipping for breath, bearing the best and manliest ******* bandana, and you are wearing a mustache, in deep trying to let go of hostilities, but your are swept with madness, your eyes hurt and your mind flickers with the pride of others, interested in telepathy, the kunds of shops where they take your money for their intuitions, spirituality as a mystery that is uplifting, some sort of malice that has wreaked havoc and yet brought on the curious which brings on the mystery which brings on the fun, you’re at it
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
Cruising down the highway the high beams on
The image of driving thru space as the snow falls
Hydroplane here and a hydroplane there
The adrenaline rushing but there is no fear
Six o’clock Sunday traffic is pretty light
Exiting the expressway and gliding thru the stop sign
I hit the accelerator; fishtailing is such a delight
At the stoplight as the snow still falls
Under the streetlight it looks like a waterfall
The light turns green and as I start to go
The flashing slip light is putting on a show
The snow-covered road with its shining white
The appearance of a lighted runway
As I begin to take flight
Heading toward my final exit on downhill slope
I tap my brakes and slip sliding I go
A couple more taps: I navigate the turn
Gliding thru one more stop sign
I hit the accelerator going for a one hundred eighty fishtail turn
After correcting I continue to go
The car moving from side to side as if I’m drunk or ******
Arriving at works entrance I hit the brakes hard as I make my turn
The car spinning around this race I just won.
Jan 22, 2023
Jan 22, 2023 at 8:22 AM UTC