GOLDFISH
I had a pair of goldfish,
Neither had a soul, maybe they did,
Spiritual fish possibly?
Aimlessly swimming around thei goldfish bowl.
Every day, day in, day out,
Poor flipping creatures,
They never get out!
If they were fed up, never would they shout.
Last week it seems, the golden chap he became deceased!
A glorious funeral was had by he, he had a final journey, travelling out to sea,
Yesterday his cell mate, the black chap had his last day.
He travelled out to see.
Darling sweetest goldfishes, got funerals they both deserved.
Military honour for brave goldfish.
The black one and the gold one too,
A ceremonial flushing by way of household loo.
One hundred deceased goldfish all standing on parade.
Together flowing through the sewer,
Good night sweet fishes,
Enjoy your journeys to the sea,
Escaped eternal confinement, from depths of goldfish tank.
Enjoy the ever after, ride the tide the two of you,
The water in the solent, probably not too blue.
(C) LIVVI

we own teacups
of porcelain   that
make up a couple
her always filled with coffee
mine with tea
this was what became
our morning routine
to spend time until the cups are emptied

we talk about irrelevant things
matters and thoughts that do not
have acquaintance with consequence
how it'd be possible to raise goldfishes in ***** bottle
we kept for remembrance or how many cookies could
the porcelain beauty we held so dearly possibly contain
sometimes we waste a good morning
watching wisps of steam          rise                    and vanish
like the way people seem to get out of sight after bidding goodbyes
after a certain distance they'd be nothing more than a sihlouette
and after time     slowly they get out of mind

one day you'd realize
that no longer can you conjure their sihlouettes   in memory     nor
can you remember the way they walked away
were they off in a hurry or their footsteps
heavy as the heart the carried that very winter morning
when snow didnt fall like predicted by the weatherman the night before
(and that was when you realised the weight of goodbyes)

these are the thoughts that occupy
my mind when I wash our cups
and notice (everytime) stain rings around the innerside of the cups
three quarters full of coffee          and half a cup of tea
we'd store the cups after
hers always facing left
they would sit silently       never a word of complain
as such nice mannered tableware,     cups are.
they'd wait silently for every next morning
to be filled,        coffee          and         tea.

I always thought of her          as a hot chocolate person
until one morning I saw sunlight caught in the dark lazy curls of her hair
until how the dark coloured liquid resembled the colour in her eyes
and came to a silent agreement with myself
how she suited coffee on lazy mornings the way
coffee suited her when she tipped her cup ever so slightly
and     sipped       like she'd found peace in mind
now I smile when she asks why I stopped telling her teacups are meant for tea
(that there are no absolutes in the things we do)

there are mornings she would wake to find me
already awake and silently staring at the rain pelted windows
legs crossed at the foot of the bed and singing
singing softly in russian

I'd end
always at Дорогая
and asks    if she
wants coffee.

have you heard about the goldfish,
with the three-second memory?
lost, helpless, forgotten...himself.
they said, "in this unforgiving bubble, give it two days, he'll be dead."
he swam around aimlessly, swallowing their words;
waiting for death.

but he came upon an orange fish, much like himself;
and then another,
and then another.
he stopped and realized, he was not alone in his woes.
they supported each other through the cold waters,
for they knew they could not make it alone.

emerging from the depths not many have been,
they could finally say it with enough certainty -
"PS: did you know?
goldfishes have months-long memories."

when the Spice Girls came on
I knew it was time to leave

hour hand poking midnight
red cups bloated
with spit and tangerine *****

back slaps from strangers
opening and closing their mouths
like goldfishes on morphine

try to find you
through tobacco whispers
***** shots and near-**** Twister

and you're by the front
jacket in hand
we simply nod enough's enough

halfway home you ask
what a zigazig is

You smell of sour milk
Marijuana
And no flowers

You sound like the sea
In the deadest
Hour

You taste of sugar
Cigarettes
And no sleep

You look like one
Of the thousand
Goldfishes I’ve had
As a kid

I wish I could make you cry
But I’m happy enough
Watching you breath

It would get me so hyped though, man