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| More Fish | |
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| More Fish With baited breath I waited, kept my gills wet while I played it, for the pieces of them Pisces, while the church drown in its crisis. Found an hear close to the plank, where a starry eyed dreamer sank, felt the shark's fins spell I got 'em, lick the salt rimmed guppy's bottom. held my breath for way to long, but something um..fishey was going on, Like God's aquarium had broken, schools of herring skydive soaking, coming down in silent splash, then bones going higher fast. All the signs of reinvention, giving all that swims the wisdom, and all that walks a wish, behold the miracle of fish. As told by Jesus, substance leads us. baptised by John, reborn in the water beyond, All the symbols of giving, you don't need air to live in, just your favorite Friday dish, All hail more fish… All pray more fish… -Chadwick James (songwriter, poet) Tucson Arizona (Half Drunk Muse) Half Drunk Muse has submitted the text to our publication, but has been delayed in getting us the authors name and the city, state, country of the author. Contact us with the title of the totem, first line of your poem, and this important information. We will be happy to give proper credit to the writers. I devour the bones of my children. Ingest, ingest my ancestry. I was provoked to do this Because my cruel peers laughed at my mother, the fish, and the gills on my neck, and the scales on my back that once shimmered in youth, Lacking human ears and tongue, I was still deaf and mute, Or just young. I am appraised by no one now Because I destroy every mocking eye, Sneering mouth, I sever every ear. I will drown in my own kind, I will drown in fish like rain. I look to the sky as they drop. Like a bird, dumb as a turkey I swallow death, I allow its passage down my neck, My back, into my lungs They, smoking, seep and drown the Breath I sneaking steal from the private air. This air is not mine, It's for this fine company surrounding me. Instead of swim, ill sink slowly. The bottom's where I'm meant to be. (Half Drunk Muse) More Fish The day my Martha died I rang the sanctuary bell. Its stony sound reminded me of the 'Harrowing of Hell.' It was the day to remember, as I and others cried, it was the day my Martha died. I'm Davy Jones a Welshman from Swansea, love to sing ever Sunday morning in chapel choir on the hill, best tenor I be. It's a place I can find some comfort, my prayers are so intent, trying to capture some happiness, lost love, and sins I must repent. Then as I sang I heard a voice , come from a creature so diving, she a blonde with lights in golden hair and a face so full of shine. Before I knew she 'd taken me, gripped me by the hand, jumped with me into the sea. It was the last time I saw the chapel or dry land. Her mermaid body floated by my eyes then she took me deep,then deeper still. To the land of coral, green algae things and wrecks of ships and floating rings . “This is your Locker, Davy Jones,” the mermaid said as the sharks went cruising by. “Dead men tell no tales and only bones of fish can lie.” I watched the shape of many a grave rear up right in front of me. I saw 'Titanic', that other famous lighthouse and a church with bells ringing , all beneath the sea. Now friend or foe, I really don't know but adore the mermaid's charm. If chance she be evil bent , then I'd have been sent to Hell a long time ago. It filled me with courage to whisper His name for saving me from deep despair, finding me a new mermaid wife, I thanked Him too, from the bottom of my heart, for giving me a life. -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, United Kingdom |
