With the help of my cousin, I have edited the FISH poem slightly in an effort to have it make more impact. Trying to be less clever is the main goal, less adjectives, or least meaningful ones, rather than just trying to be overly descriptive.

Anyway, here’s the latest.

The Fish

The fish draws a line in the sand an says “Enough!”
the Crow says back,
“I do not sing, so you do not paint”.
The moon hums “I am wounded, that is all”.
The Bee nods.
“See” says the Crow
Absorbed, the Fish keeps drawing.
Words inch out of the Spider: “You have the Ocean, we the have the Tress.
There is an order
of dust and bones and pain and stars.
Do not continue your shoreline expressions”
The Ant hears the static of the Fish drawing in the sand.
The Wolf says
“If you stay, I promise the wilderness will fall on you,
including my dear strong claws”
The Fish freely continues
The Adder admires alone and thinks paragraphs of praise
but stays silent.
The Mouse says “We have allowed this tourism, now go back!”
The Bear
exhales “This will end badly”
The Fish begins to run out of air but keeps drawing in the sand
The Beetle: “Look! He’s running out of life!”
The Dolphin radars a plea to return.
“He’s finished the drawing!”
“I don’t understand, why is he smiling?”
The Fish lay down.
“So it goes”,
“Silly dead Fish”,
“Good, I am restored”,
“Tragedy for a guardian”,
“Very close little fish”,
“Strange?”,
“I warned, I spoke”,
I take in the portrait, the flower in my palm smiles.

After days of apathy towards our rather untidy apartment (Em being away and all) today I decided to clean up. Unfortunately, I was distracted by the idea of a brave fish, so I took a break from the leaning tower of dishes that loomed and I wrote this. Any comments about it would be appreciated. Cheers all for stopping by.

The Fish

The fish comes out
and draws a line in the sand an says “Enough!”
the Crow barks back,
“I do not sing, so you do not paint”.
The moon hums “I am wounded, that is all”.
The Bee nods.
“See” says the Crow
Gleefully absorbed, the Fish keeps painting.
Words inch out of the Spider: “You have the Ocean, we the have the Tress.
There is an order
of dust and bones and pain and stars.
Do not continue your shoreline expressions”
Ms. Ant hears the static of the Fish drawing in the sand.
Yellowed eyes the Wolf leers
“If you stay, I promise the wilderness will fall on you,
including my dear strong claws”
Gossiping Swans tango and rustle of consequences
“Thissss isssn’t your ssssssand” hisses tanned and lazy Lizard
The Fish freely continues
The lonely Adder admires and thinks paragraphs of praise
but stays silent.
Stately and gaunt the Mouse retorts: “We have allowed this tourism, now go back!”
Cigarette ash falls from the melancholy Bear
he exhales “This will end badly”
The Fish begins to run out of air but keeps drawing in the sand
The Beetle: “Look! He’s running out of life!”
The Dolphin noiselessly radars a plee to the fish to return.
The Fish smiles. Then with his final breath he finishes his picture in the sand and flops down next to it.
“So it goes”, “Silly Fish”, “Good, I am restored”, “Tragedy for a guardian”, “Very close little fish”, “Strange?”, “I warned, I spoke”,“I don’t understand why”
As I take in the fishes portrait in the sand, the flower in my palm smiles.

So, I was at work the other day. One of the various jobs I have anyway. It’s menial type of work, just putting together CD’s and folding them and packing them. It’s not so bad, but I’m glad I only work sporadically.

Anyway, while I was there working at my desk, this poem just came out of me from no-where. Completely formed in my head so I went and got my notebook out of my bag, quickly wrote this poem out, put my notebook back in my bag, and carried on with my packing.

Very weird. I thought I would share it anyway.

Factory line

As if the world was

never hard

and the bugs never

knew it all

I sit in my low

easy comfortable chair

in my easy ignorant suit

and gorge on my

narcissistic thoughts

as pools of wasted

minutes collect at

my feet

I am a true

lizard of regret

Wrestling with these muscle thoughts

their sinews pull

tight till my feet and calves

are vulnerable as a babies balance

they hold me still

as if waiting for traffic

my eyelids like damp wood

not floating with the tide

I see the digestion of possibles

I am unsteady

exhausted by a predetermined pitch

I know where every song goes

but it’s only a faint impression

as much as

a spider nestled in my hair

So I

talk with a tongue on the table

over cutlery and bowls

its decided

between us

love and its mystery

is like a dark water

around rocks

there are only things to lay bare

I am a fraction

like dipping a cup into the sea

So, everyone talks about change. I had this thought today about change. We seem to always be re-acting to it, I mean “we” as in the general public. It seems change happens or is upon us before we realise or know exactly how to react.

A common reaction seems to be, stick with the status quo, keep using the same systems or at least use the same systems as templates and put some of our new ideas on top of them.

In my head I have the example of Aussie prime minister K.Rudd, talking about putting a bunch of dollars into the Aussie car industry. Worried mainly about jobs and un-employment. Could we perhaps find work for those people in fields such as re-newable energy industry?

Just a thought.

Change is gonna come.

This power plague is no mystery to us now. We should have enjoyed the sun throwing itself through banks and branches and been happy with beauty. Arm yourself, because the young will be the first to go. We’ll have to hunt for scraps left over from corner card games and desperation row. It’s about time I learned to work.

Sit back in your sea strong chair. Watch the easy end of time pushers and window watches and the inbetweeners. Only young have courage, the really young, they can rally their feet and mouths to co-operate to release their clouds and let their nimble fingers express everything that words leave out, of which there is a lot.

What is left for us to decide, is how we treat our bodies in this battle for mornings and hearts VS the mortgages on our souls and summers. I let go the string on my balloon a long time ago and regret nothing except with it I lost the ability to pour colour back into other lovers.

My only wonder is whether we can pull ourselves from this 50/50 world of balances, drains, elevators and edges and relate back that these eyes and memories were made the same as yours were. Optimism jumps where pessimism creaks. Villains will draw us in where heroes let us keep our ragged capes.
We need the change in winds to refresh our nostrils and remind us our memory has veins and rivers and footpaths along those rivers and bridges and lakes. I will meet you there on the shore of 9 autumns ago and we will smile and dance in our minds and let thoughts come out in smiles. We will shade ourselves from the belts that hold up insincerity or masks painted with ignorance and un-openess.

A new recipe for silence and its shadow will swell in the ears and give simple pleasures to anyone able to sit alone long enough to hear it.
And I will grow lazy and fat and young. And I will have a beard that I will scratch while I am casting Spells.