"gill" poems
The truth is this:
every monster
you have met
or will ever meet
was once a human being
with a soul
that was as soft
and light
as silk
Someone stole
that silk from their soul
and turned them
into this
So when you see
a monster next
always remember
do not fear
the thing before you
fear the thing
that created it
instead.
-NIKITA GILL
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:44 AM UTC
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This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
– Ezra Pound
How would they style themselves for the net,
the little fishes of the lake?
Not robes of purity, Ezra,
but sequins cut from trash,
brands bright as lures,
fashioned to catch the eye, a glint of sun.
Would the big ones strap on knockoff fins
to flex in shark cosplay near the shore,
snapping reels in the reeds,
captioned #greatwhitevibes #apexpredator?
Would carp veil themselves in algae,
funeral couture,
posting stories of their grief in green?
Would they admire the fishery tags:
industrial piercings they can’t remove,
or the hook-slit scars from catch-and-release,
each one a verified badge,
proof they were trending once, briefly,
before sinking out of frame?
Would they tilt to the water’s glass,
checking which gill looks slimmer,
tails arched like influencers at golden hour,
the shimmer hiding shame,
the shame we taught them to wear?
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:34 PM UTC
Fields stretch, of paper white
And grey as day is losing light
Alone I rally muscles fight
So I be home before the night
Wind will chill me gill to gill
As ice will render muscles still
Sheltered not from cruel chill
So I will make my journey still
Long I jog, through howling clatter
Jaw wont move, unless to chatter
Hearing sweat drops frozen, shatter
Movement warms my sleepy matter
Locomotive losing speed
Juggernaut has lost the need
Lifeless muscles need to feed
Yet still i beg them, "forward heed!"
In the distance- lights are lit!
I call, but silenced in a fit
My throat is scratched by icy spit
As I collapse in snow,
that's it.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
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.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
from robin d. gill's fantastic Rise, Ye Sea Slugs!, a compilation of 1,000 Japanese Haiku on Sea Slugs
because sea slug
has no eyes, the poets
write about them
(eyeless especially seaslug's eyes haiku-in often see)
The Turtle's Translation of a Translation
A sea slug's eyes open
only in Haiku. Slugs
are blind in the water.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
This pond is where I will die,
Squandering in owl hours to ****
Still, the Ducks swim by.
The blue moon is a Julia Dragonfly
Haunted by a lethal, green dream thrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Threadbare Marauder Rooks squawk a cry,
The stickleback flakes its dithering gill.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Importunate possums chase ducks to comply,
How could my moon mother be so ill?
This pond is where I will die.
Bluebirds deflate their keels with a sigh,
I gravitate towards their beauty, I am still.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Aureole Sirius tip toes the sky,
Nimbus withers, Kamikaze men shrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
For the sake of discretion, when I retell this story, I am a fish, gill-hooked, near gutted, and thrown back. You are a goose with swan beauty, but not swan grace. There is a girl throwing bread onto the water above my head. Competing for the same crumbs, through what could be a mirror, our mouths met. You took the bread, but I kissed you.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
Glad to know this girl, with intellect and quirky wit,
I long to have her company and with her sit
Long discussing life’s complexities and simple truths.
Love fosters trust, then no thing's hidden or obtuse.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
“Poor Harry Gill” I will say never,
Yet what a fate befell that wight:
For dead and buried long, still ever
He shivers morning, day, and night.
And so long chattered all his teeth
That not a tooth his sad mouth owns:
Pass by his plot and hear beneath
The clattering of frigid bones!
O.O
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.
He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?
Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.
I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 9:47 AM UTC
Cinderella did not teach me stand up against the wrong.
She did not teach me to be strong.
Katniss Everdeen did.
Aurora did not teach me that I don't need a man.
She did not teach me I am independent just as I am.
Cleopatra did.
Snow white did not teach me that real beauty has nothing to do with physical appearance.
She didn't teach me self love or acceptance.
Winnie Harlow did.
Ariel did not teach me to resist and fight.
She didn't teach me to raise my voice for what is right.
Malala did.
Ashley Graham gave me confidence.
Michelle Obama gave me inspiration.
Tris Prior taught me sacrifice.
Hermoine Granger showed me it's not only boys who can fight.
Nikita Gill taught me I am enough even without a man.
Joan of Arc showed me I can do anything he can.
Let's read to our girls stories of such badass, incredible, fierce and confident women.
Instead of stories where they are painted weak and can't do without men.
Let us teach them that they are powerful, they are strong.
And anyone who tells them different is wrong.
Let's read them stories of brave, heroic women instead of ones where they are shown weak and helpless.
Let's teach them to be warriors and not some princess.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
this former guttersnipe doth harbor no ill will
while lain in the gutter of this conventional ville
where some insomniacs take nigh quill
your plea 4 money, but a confession
that my life like a bitter pill
shape n size like n opal battling uphill
monetary resources nil
yet surges of imaginative days with hew fill
me jet throw toll aqua lung gill
lug gin islands n tandem with my mind till
death dew eye part, but social security disability
just barely amp pull - this no pitiful poetic swill.
at this juncture
my self confidence fuels me with greater skill
2 take risks, such as reach out n smooth over
ruffled n ridged feathers emanating
from sputter ring unthinkingly sans my virtual quill
i.e. emails n such prods awareness
2 maximize opportunities that could fill
a void - specifically a marriage bereft of compatibility -
n figuratively i jumped in2 this drama OUT of desperation
years ago when hot n ***** pangs would not chill
plus my then living mother n now octogenarian
widower father raged against me, their sole
soul less son, who daily they did flip their grill.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Remember all the old familiar faces?
Helvetica's the nicest of the lot.
Gill Sans and Johnston take the second places;
It seems as though the serif has been shot.
Verdana has its own intrinsic glories;
The fairest text that ever left my desk
Was set in these-- for essays or for stories.
But using them for sonnets? That's grotesque.
And gravestones are a special case as well:
A mortal lack of serif fonts would be
A certain kind of typographic hell
With Comic Sans for all eternity.
In death, the Roman lettering is best.
May flights of serifs sing thee to thy rest.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 6:19 PM UTC
Kinna ruwayegi menu
Aj ta had hi ** ***
Prabh gill da nawa song chal reha c
“Rooh da rukh”
Sala rona hi nai hatea
Ena jyada miss kita
Ena jyada gussa aya apne te
Aj ta salia cheeka bi niklia meri
Te sab to wadiya gal kisi nu pata bi nai chlea
Eh fayda he gaddi da
Unchi awaz wich gaana repeat te chal reha c
Te meri cheeka nikal rahiya c
Kher tenu keda koi fark pena
Na pawe
Tenu ta udan bi fark ni pena jidan me mar jana
Rab kare tenu meri yaad hi na awe
Rab kre tu menu bhul jawe
Rab kare tenu sade bitaye koi bi lamhe yaad na awe
Ena na ruwa kudiye, andro mar chukea ha
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
the silk won't stop you
it'll only act as a soft-to-touch glaze for a scar yet to form
and by all means fall over into pretty positions
but don't blame the alcohol.
That breezer-pint-shot-and-gill in your limp right hand
is a mask: a tied at the back ribbon to cover up your desired task of falling into the arms
of him,
or him,
or him,
or him,
or him over there.
just because drama school and it's endless auditions
didn't let you in, doesn't mean this Wetherspoons should either:
take a knee
have a breather
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Her kite strings are caught on a gill
She’s refusing to let go
Grains of sand have formed to hands
And are trying to hold her toe
No dad it’s not that
It’s an airship bound for Mars
With hands out the window
Waving king-sized candy bars
No son surely that’s not right
It must be a school bus full of children
With coloring pages
Half-way to all the way filled in
Dad don’t be silly
It’s Harold and his Purple Crayon
But he fell out of his balloon
And is trying to draw the ground
Oh no, will he make it
I don’t know
I do hope he will
I do think so
That’s good son
I’d hate to see him fall
I know dad
Wouldn’t we all
But you’re sure those aren’t whales
Floating through the skies
Because it sure does look like it
Dad! Whales aren’t that size
Besides even if they were
What would whales be doing up there
Well, I mean they are just clouds
Not if you try real hard, I swear
Silly little humans there on the sand
Humphry, surely they’re little bugs
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Neelam Gill showed off her figure in a very risqué gown with a split running from her shoulder down past her bottom.
How cheeky - Neelam Gill went all-out on Wednesday night as she flashed her *** in a rather risque dress.
The stunning model - who is rumoured to be dating former One Direction man Zayn Malik - stunned at a glitzy event in London this week.
Wearing a floor-length green gown, Neelam gave onlookers a bit of an eyeful with a split down the back of the outfit, revealing a hint of her bottom.
With layers and a front split showing off a lot of leg, the 20-year-old certainly made an impression during the party.
She stepped out at the London Evening Standard's Progress 1000 Most Influential People launch, and showed why she may have grabbed Zayn's attention .
The star - who has made her catwalk debut for Burberry - is reportedly planning on jetting to Los Angeles, where the singer is working on his debut solo album, so they can spend some time together .
According to Mail Online, Zayn and Neelam first met in London back in March, but nothing happened because he was still engaged to Little Mix star Perrie.
They bumped into each other again at the Asian Awards in London a month later, with Neelam later writing on Twitter: "Congratulations on your award tonight zaynmalik, catch up again soon!"
The pair reportedly stayed in touch as friends until Zayn and Perrie called it quits at the end of last month.
A source told the site: "Neelam doesn't know if she wants all of the drama that comes with dating someone in the public eye. She is going to LA to spend some time with Zayn and see how things go from there.
Last month, the model, who worked with Romeo Beckham in Burberry's Christmas advert last year , wrote on Twitter: "to live and die in LA, it's the place to be..."
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Clogged up, runny nose
Messed up, ***** clothes
Always running slow
Don't know where to go
I'm finding it
I'm finding it
I'm finding it, though
Help me fit in your shoes
What do I need to do?
You can ride on my coattails
Whenever I'm through
Hungry for knowledge
I'm picking up speed
I want it much more
It's lust now. It's greed
I want to know more
Than you ever will
When it's all said and done
I'll be stuffed to the gill
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
You sat in the stern
minding the motor.
Bib overalls and ball cap
the Captains uniform.
Your sanctuary invaded
by invitation only.
Giggling girls
playing in the tackle box.
Stink bait loaded
we focused on bobbers.
Intently waiting
for the catch of the day.
Crappie, Blue Gill, Sun Perch,
Laughter, Compliments,
Encouragement.
Our live well was full.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
The
shallow
waters pool
between my toes
shoreline shark vigils:
hungry liquid shepherds.
I wade past respectfully...
I am no seal, to be broken
littoral edges drawn crestfallen
the point of no empyreal return.
Crepuscular accession, immersion
salt stinging my eyes as I gill bliss,
pressure slowly crushing my lungs
burst capillaries tandem,
bones imploding in deep
thought actinism.
An organic
plight to make
the lost
light.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
I Hear All The Outlawed World
I
I hear all the outlawed world in harmony,
The marshling stalks the green and gaunt
Destroyers who heed not sparkling deserts
Charged to the gill, nor candles pitching down
Like doom. I note the scale of fossils
In cloud covered peaks, record
The seemly count of bodies by square root
And irrational number, I am witness
Bound to bounty to all who blaze in gray
And shallow grooves seeding their ends
In strikes on the ripe and smoldering fields.
II
I see all the outlawed world in harmony,
Barking wood bracing by the bud,
Where runs of blue, bury in vain
Down slash of mountain forest, cascading
Into august, rising after the fall,
As do kind-killers blasting from shells
To die as snails creeping under flower,
Who saw the past wasting away
In filed futures, slipping by blades in neck
Of wood, sightless as gallows of trees
Try ****** each time they make their leaves.
III
I know all the outlawed world in harmony,
By seamless song of stuttering gulls,
As in conches, waves of providence,
Cell from the center, beating musseled shoals,
Where wailing ghosts and wing-tips point
Printed nails to the silent capes,
And bumble hairs comb round the broken yokes
Stirring streams of babble baited
By flowering psalms, engaging arms to prey
On tales told by the rood and drown
In eyes turning like sands on the sea.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
From order to out, there a smile place
On high; you fly without a pause and still
With lighting precision nothing off base
And so to me the drink is worth a bill
As much as I take in, soon will form a gill
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 10:07 PM UTC