"guppies" poems
A moments shy smile,
Two guppies intertwined
Crafty hand work
With something swimming viciously through your
Dark eyes
I long only to ask;
Assist you
As you've done to me
But I know you'd only close me out
Bashful Mr Pisces
Weakness is not defined by the admittance
To not being strong
For I've seen terror and sorrow
In your gaze
For far too long
My concerns and listening soul
Will be postponed until next week
For I cannot bear to see
Your frosted eyes melting
&
The Ice Queen making you weep
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
For my muse, I choose the euphoric source
Of my most transcendent -
Lovely
- Muddy
Memories.
Perceptual flashes ― slosh slushing
Approaching an untamed blue-green pond
Just your average amphibian gone blonde.
In sunshine or windward shower.
Loitering around the grassy brim,
On that one slick rock, I stood up
Catch a fish ― oooooh you swift ⁓
Let it back in?
Or you could...
Run screaming like the flaming river rumbling down the mountain.
To the lunulate lagoon?? in the front yard
Hop & stand
Fish in hand You. Have. To. Make. It.
But the gargantuan estate. . . it's too late.
That tiny t-rex gait ― might just seal
That golden guppies fait.
Cause you sprung like spring
And set that little sucker free.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
The last time I saw you
We were trying to blend orange into green
In a huge painting for a fund raising auction.
Surprisingly, I see you again in yet another colorful adventure,
In a dark room with bright blinking lights where
We gave 80's dance moves to pop rock songs.
Then we plunged into the night and let
Our laughter and high pitched voices pierce the chilly air.
We balanced our books as we hurriedly jaywalked
Through the 10 pm traffic jam.
Though the ads in the mall were right at our faces,
You pulled me to a big blue aquarium
To marvel at the goldfish and guppies
Staring at our shiny eyes the same way.
We tried to understand the math
On how our corals cost 3 times more than the States
Even if we have 20 times more species than them.
We couldn't, but we swore to each other we'd stop it.
And as we shared a glass
Of too much ice and no more tea
We fought back passion filled tears
When we told each other story after story
Of our government's inadequacies.
We argued, but finally agreed that
It's not over population, it's urban planning;
It's not poverty, it's inequality;
They're not imbeciles, just ignorant;
And our nation maybe unfortunate,
But our trust is not in fortune, but in grace.
Then as we bid each other goodbye,
Unsure of when will we even meet again,
I prayed to God that
If our school chaplain becomes the president
I'd like him to appoint you and me as the
environment and finance secretaries.
I thanked Him too because
Now for the first time in my life,
I'm not ashamed, I'm not embarrassed but
I'm happy
To be a geek
Because you are with me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
K.p’s dad was a Science Fiction author,
While his son and I learned at school.
The teacher talked about planes, bombs, and towers-
Explosions, debris, and jet fuel.
We were poised like guppies, fidgeting with our lips,
Our bodies seemed made of lewd rubber.
Not one of us understood the weight or gravity-
Of one person killing another.
K.p’s dad wrote about a fair United States,
Called: “The Defined Territories,” rather tenacious.
A satire exploring justice with exaggerated sameness-
That most readers found to be tasteless.
His main character was a ‘rookie cop,’
And every skin color was uniform and equal.
Homosexuals gladly aided population control (by not making babies)-
And bullets were designed to be non-lethal.
In the story: a group of smugglers find a stockpile of real guns,
Automatics, ammunition and bombs.
The valiant cop pursues them through page turns and plot-
With sweat budding on his palms.
K.p and I fought over a girl at school,
I broke his nose and we each served detention.
At the end of his dad’s story the smugglers are caught-
Fined $1,000 and given lethal injection.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
My thoughts are merely a tangle of non-conformant
chemicals in an ultra-responsive setting;
echoes of scarcely delayed feelings,
millimetrically placed and ready to be felt;
remnants of cromagnon desires,
keeping me occupied, unassuming and tame,
while life rolls on silently, reflexively and impressively,
with all its humiliating nerve.
Rumination is for cows, guppies, and humans alike,
and saffrons, sapphires and the snow all reason in their own way,
no less conscious than our total unconsciousness.
Like a rock or plant, man is authoritatively ignorant of his ignorance,
and in his metaphysical realism lives and loves and dies,
without a clue that he never lived, never loved and was perpetually dead.
Thought’s true thought is to block awareness
by darkening the place where true awareness lies.
We think therefore we think:
to god (I mean exact-Nature) no other valid reason exists.
We conveniently overrate rationality
in self-serving cycles of chronic urgency and folly,
leaving us continually stuck to our cyclic fate.
Life is Nature’s grunt or roar
(whatever and the same)
all just a sound, faint or not.
We are unsubstantial and chimerical animals by excellence,
and in the circle inside the box we live in, our fancy appears really real.
As a feeling awaits its chemical fate, in the millimetric second that lingers,
whole worlds are imagined, and our universe and all is perceived:
violence, joy, depression, hope, and unbearable pain are unleashed,
cities are wanted, planned and assembled,
while man, impeccably and in turns, plays god, king and beggar,
and true lives, true loves and true deities are born.
As man progresses (i.e. transgresses his own nature)
and as he overcomes thought, word and feeling,
he ceases to be restrictively alive: he is released, he is now free.
Thought stands alongside feeling,
without communication nor vibration,
and gradually and painfully amalgamate into a new corrosive mix,
directly eating into spirit, flesh, and understanding,
until our wholeness wholly disintegrates.
The world as we know it folds upon itself, layer by layer,
in an inner spectacle of perfect annihilation and renewal.
The chasm separating man from himself contracts
(eventually to nil)
and man plunges from the edge of this last plank (4).
As he falls, in mid-flight,
the ultimate metamorphosis occurs,
and an übermensch is born.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
I mean, it felt like I was a dead fish
Or something, left to rot out there in the sun,
Left there on purpose, you know, like it was
A threat—and Charles, it stinks—you know that?—
—the stench of all those old thoughts—
Yeah, thoughts…you know,
Like guppies maybe, sturgeon, or flounder.
You laugh? Why? Fish can think, can’t they? They flounder.
Suppose as we grow old the ancient thoughts
Appear as songs a child might sing—sotto voce.
Suppose they’re like the masks the actors wore
In some Commedia dell’Arte farce,
Or like the web a spider strings across
A road, hidden, dark, all subtle tension,
The strands still wet with the coagulate air…
Too wet to breath, Charles, way too wet.
There’s more. Suppose a face inside that mask
Looks back, looks out. Suppose the rings run circles round
The eyes, for fear. Suppose it’s an old face of yours,
Charles, smiling too, with all that sullen pride
You once were so capable of…so proud.
This is not the Lone Ranger, kimosabi.
Not Zorro either. Man is least himself
When he talks in his own person. So let’s
Try on that mask, shall we?
One for you and one for me.
Masks aplenty, masks abound,
Masks askance…
There, it fits. Welcome, Charles. Welcome back.
And welcome ghost.
…a ghost to prompt you in your mask, a ghost
off stage, and hoarse from shouting, diaphanous,
just like the real thing: for curiously,
at that moment while he is in you,
in situ, as it were, I will be left
au naturel—yeah, me—king for a day.
We were all meant to crawl away from the sea,
were we not?
…and I count the collective ghosts here too,
Charles…
… atavistic, frightened, unaneled,
and openly integumentary
(thus, open to the sea, but repellant
to air)
—owls, Orion, a star-scarred sky,
too cold to breath that night,
too cold not to, eh, Charles?
Like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza,
like Hamlet and Horatio,
out with the watch, in search
of ghosts and fathers…
ghosts and fathers, Charles.
You remember that?
Back then, when you used to listen to me
when I spoke. You did listen, then, Charles when
I said things, right?
All those old thoughts…
When I could sing…
Charles?
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 8:52 AM UTC
As I record my thoughts down, new memories resurface.
The dusty-green leaves of the lemon tree—
swayed gracefully beside the tranquil pond,
where the fish wandered in liberty.
Moss had begun to propagate around the curves of the pond. Intermittently, koi and guppies-
the size of a human pinkie—
would leap into the air briefly
before plunging back into the water,
disrupting its placid surface.
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 9:07 AM UTC
Society has shaped us into Guppies
Guppies that swim on the same wave
Wave that leads to the same place
Place where freedom is rare.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
Was it Witchcraft?
Magic?
We weren't sure.
We were just children.
But we were witness to a manipulation of all things that abound. There was influences on objects of nature. Emanations of psychic force.
Like on cold nights where an ethereal spirit box would quietly hum as it breathed warm air into our play room. (turned out to be a heater).
Or where magically an upright coffin full of tasty morsels stood at the ready for hungry tummies. (Later we recognized it as a refrigerator).
Where mysteriously cold water turned hot, spilling from an orifice into a cauldron where upon us kids were placed like happy little guppies. (this we later knew as a bathtub).
Was it super natural powers,
magic,
sorcery?
Back then it was.
Because me and sister were just little kids.
And the SHE in control of all these magical powers?
She was our mother.
Happy Mother's Day
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 9:33 PM UTC
One thing I learned
in my long college career
is that
I don't know a thing
I cannot read minds
nor fix this world
I still fall back to
this broken poetry
The place to be
we thought as youth
though in this life
it's a choice we choose
where you desire to be
is a figment of reality
a plan so mismal
to the burning sun
What faith you lack,
oh guilty one
on this track of life
you chose death!
In this college degree
I learned to see
not through intellect
but through emptiness
Poetry flows like gentle tides
before a hurricane
her sandy shores
anticipate
Three jumps left
and two jumps right
the lord speaks
and I follow
Milk moonlight of divine delight
silky sheets of satin rose
nerves underneath
emit electricity
and birth
Lovers in my past
don't leave my mind
their faces exist
etched in time
Sink like a stone
through deep waters
fall to her blackness
and the dark sea's wonders
thin skin, a lighted hook
neon guppies glitter
in florescent
store light
Take heed when he calls
for the depressed ones
in your life
call
Always help
those in need
for you never know
when you, it could be
Solomon wrote
songs and poetry
they flowed from thought
as divine symphony
of what does this teach you of women?
Solomon had the most
of any man
Be true to yourself
and your dreams will come
not the dreams you've planned
but the one's- you stumble upon
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
The Willow's Long Locks Whisper A Soft Song,
As The Cloud Children Play On A Sky So Blue,
The Morning Glories Giggle All Day Long,
As The Linnets Wings Whistled While It Flew
A Stream Sprawls Underneath The Willow,
Swans And Other Waterfowl Swim Silent,
As Catfish Prowl Underneath The Billows,
To Keep The Guppies From Being Violent
The Golden Rays Tickle The Leaves So Green,
As The Breeze Dances With Lush Blades Of Lawn,
The Mayflies Wings Glittered Above The Stream,
As A Mother Deer Weaned Her Newborn Fawn
Each And Every Sparrow Sang All Day Long,
As The Willow's Long Locks Whispered A Song
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
The babble fish speaks words quite quick
His sly tongue moves with a click
Such elaborate stories he spins out
And none leave you with a trace of doubt
Some speak of joy some speak of woe
And yet we all believe in this spectacular show
He is so convincing, and so pristine
His rhythms and rhymes, visions of a dream
For each word spoken writes your fate
He becomes the candidate for your state
Such grace it is when he kisses your guppies heads
Oh what grace it is when he sold your guppies to the feds
But we’ve trusted the babble fish for so long
Why would he write lies where promises belong?
Oh we trusted him with a heart of pure gold
Yes we trusted him with our eyes, so old
But that’s just it isn’t it, the story to tell?
It is a well-made charade, it’s a spell
For those who trust the babble fish
Always happen to find their lives amiss
Blinded by truth, they never come out
They’ve lost their brains, it’s without a doubt
Their hero’s façade is dead and gone
And still the babble fish, babbles on.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Time passes...
While sitting on the steps
Waiting for the water company
To come and turn off the water.
My old home.
The one I grew up in...
Mom and Dads place,
Then my sons place.
Now sold..
Everything removed
But the memories...
Hard to turn off the tears.
I look at the iron railing
My dad made,
With marks pounded in it .
A curled end, with little rings
Between every other rail.
At Christmas I would tip toe down
And peek through the rails
To see if Santa arrived yet.
Dad made a bar in the basement.
On the front of it still
Are My initials JK
He cut them out for me.
I can't remove them now,
Because he used wood glue
To fasten them to the bar.
There is a shelf to devide
The dining room and front room.
Growing up we had a large fish bowl
On two of the shelves.
Angel fish,
And guppies...
Now shelves are bare.
A lot of stories to be told,
Created in this old house.
Giving me a lot of great memories.
Leaving this house
Is like leaving my mom and dad
Behind...
But I know they are
With me in my heart.
Thanks mom and dad
For giving me a great childhood.
Life changes,
As does the place to live...
Good bye
To my childhood home..
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
Let's call it Big Fish in Small Pond syndrome.
Trying desperately to get these guppies to see the beauty of swimming against the stream.
It's all about the struggle, man.
Do you know what I mean?
Forgive me for being so angsty.
Chalk it up to a Holden Caufield complex.
Too much time contemplating what comes next.
I guess you could say I'm obsessed with death.
I'll drown eventually,
meanwhile trying to get them to believe it's not my fault.
Blame it on a flawed support system.
Blame my family, blame my friends.
Blame everyone and anything but me.
I'm starting to see it a little more clearly,
(though I'm not about to go for a psychology degree,)
but I think I now know what my problem is:
Hubris.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
As I see your texts flash across my scene,
I notice how those letters
don’t look like they’re holding up your world.
They don’t look like they’re trapped on a single page of a hometown small atlas,
far away from any oceans.
As the first leashed fish I’ve ever seen,
I can see you tearing at your shrinking collar,
never having needed claws before.
Finding yourself belly up,
Accustomed to suffocating
On behalf of the guppies running from
Their own sharks.
I wonder if they know that they put their blood on you,
Making you smell like a prime target
For demons and sharks alike.
Hoping if you swim this way
And that
You’ll create a whirlpool,
Big enough, small enough,
Enough,
In your longer than expected attention span,
Hoping that the funnel might drag away their sharks,
But now you find it was not the demons,
But they who didn’t know how to swim,
And you
Struggling to teach what is innate to you,
Finding you’ve made your own endless funnel,
Drowning in the water that taught you to breathe.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
i was swimming
its more like flailing really
just trying to stay afloat
to return to shore
to move toward
a place where i could be sure-footed
or at least MORE sure footed
flapping my arms like this
hell
i would have settled for quicksand
thats when i realized how blue the waves were
how clear
the medium that housed
the vibrantly colored guppies
the sunset that illuminated them
palpabale and tactically enticing
clouds that you could
both consume and caress
how warm the water
how cool the breeze
then a relaxed posture
a calm breast stroke
to the nearest outcropping
and after i approached
scaled it to its pinnacle
bare feet and hands
****** now for good reason
but here i stand
atop lush grass
drip drying
with a view towards
the place where i floundered
ill stay up top
here with the magnificent view
you take the "hi" road
and ill take the high road
as long as we meet here
at the overlook
as long as we hold hands
gaze towards to waves
time the tide
encounter enchantment
we can swim later
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
My dam broke with you for good
A river repressed for years
Now I have a massive flood
Sweeping away all the fears
My chest exploded with words
All emotions storming down
Watering all the burned lands
Inside the ditches and ponds
Heavens for guppies and barbs
My birds are finally home
Butterflies are living here
The red soil is dark brown now
Uakari, and brocket deers...
Aguaje and row cacao...
No more dust, but lots of rain
Washing away all the pain...
This tropical life is nice
Please, don’t build another dam
And cut off the water from
This marvellous paradise...
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
water, crystal clear
moving around aloof.
clours glistening guppies,
floating clovers crinkle,
moving humans hover.
the. World. STOPS.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Sheep in the hallway
Coy in the sink
Couldn’t risk sleeping
Not even a wink
Guppies came
and guppies went
in bobbling bubbles
of discontent
This is the stuff
poetry is made of
When your poetic
*** falls off
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
I was the strongest swimmer
And I keep swimming
With my fingers
I am a wizard
Shooting spells and encantations
I swim up the river
While most drown in the mainstream
The shallow
I am a shark
And I eat guppies without a thought
I swim in outersapce
I paddle out on my board
And find a sound wave
I ride it into you heart
And you are for ever changed
I was the strongest swimmer
So its my own choice to drown
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Mi corazon
Mi Alma
Mi querida sombrita
I'm going to hell
Y tú, a la casa de tu abuela
Ms. Rachel and
Bubble guppies
And Paw Patrol
And plenty of snackies
But no mama
Everyone assures me you'll never remember
But I worry
That you'll always wonder
Why you worry about me leaving you
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 1:02 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClesrer
He thought we wouldn’t detect it
But it’s just like we first suspected
Though he claimed he would perfect it
He tried to change it but wrecked it
And as we might have guessed
His new health care is a mess
Leaving seniors in distress
While others benefit more or less
He thought we’d never know
To what depths he would go
But time moves on to show
You reap just what you sow
He has a certain knack
To present lies as a fact
Which he never does retract
Even when they’re stacked
It’s a tangled web he weaves
He thought that we’d believe
All he says he could achieve
Things most cannot conceive
He promised rainbows and puppies
******* his base in like guppies
Or like uninformed yuppies
Like we’re fools or inductees
He thought we’d blindly follow
When it’s a hard pill to swallow
Cos his guarantees are hollow
Get the picture it’s a Kahlo
It’s as clear as day from night
Healthcare should be a right
So his words serve to indict
On that he has taken flight
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
i put a door on my aquarium
so the fish could come and go as they please
although the idea might be scaring them
it's not like i made it screened
if they just barely open it
that will help to stem the flow
i know the goldfish are all hoping that
the guppies don't treat it like a swinging door
i'm sure they'll get used to it in time
as we all do things in life
and when they do they'll come to realize
above all else my genius mind
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
To
dream awake in a waking dream
and hear the scream of turbines.
Smoking Woodbine ready rolled
are 'Navy Cut' too strong
move along please
room on top
the night bus makes its final
stop
disgorging worn down
revellers,
the garden
party goers,
night shift workers
with
eyes like guppies
and in this narcoleptic throng
I'm still thinking
are ' Navy Cut' too strong.
If I can exercise
build up the muscle ratio
I'll wake and bear the weight of
being in the waking state
but
the pressure's on me
and sleep's so easy
what if I choose?
make the wrong choice
lose my voice somewhere
in the screaming of the turbines
where
I'm sure bad thing occur
or will occur if I decide to stir.
Half way here and not really there
I share my body with a smoke
a last smoke before
the door opens and when
I
the token totem cast my shadow
on the day
play the tune they like to hear
I wonder as I smoke my woodbine
am I truly here or is this just another's
dream?
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
one day has passed and your leaving has not passed
still as thick as molasses
a badgered beavered up creek **** it
puddles thicken flood
and their a'int no levy
to catch the overflow
gonna be
moss on every tree
vines grown like spiderwebs
Magnolia leaves floating down the creek
like paper plates
snakes enjoying a bath and guppies
on the banks flopping
in ecstasies jumping in like
we did way back when
on those banks of the Chatahootchee
a rope hanging
foreshadowed
something we knew
but ignored
you took a way I me mine
chose to see
yours and my destiny
we all die
someday
but my burden
seems to be I am still alive
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC