2015 poetry marathon poem #3 spawning season

It’s spawning season You baited your hook carefully They come into the shallows to spawn What about the mommy fishes? I worried You won’t be catching mommy fishes will you? No mommy fishes, you reassured me Even as you cut into the glistening bellies scraping…

#3 Not Much for Fishing

Not much for fishing, but I caught a lot of tadpoles with my hand and a jar.   Not much for fishing, but swimming in the river a turtle caught my toe.   Not much for fishing, but I washed a picnic bowl and caught some minnows.  …

good catch

Poem Three for the Hour Three my father was a fisherman he had his fishing tackles kept at the backyard store room i loved the fresh catch freshwater fish, prawns and shells i would asked him why he needed to fish his answer was, ”i…

Selkie

You have my heart, take my liver. My spleen. You f*cking Butcher. Carver. Carving me up. You can’t dissect me anymore. Not any more, than I dissect myself. Every word, Every touch, Every moment. I have picked them apart. At seeing them broken, I have…

Weeping Weather

  The familiar sounds of sorrow Seeps down windowpanes Trickling teardrop kisses Splash on the pavement below

Poetry Prompt One: Underwater

You are not here with me, As often as I can’t breathe, As if you have taken my lungs as well as my heart, deep down with you, far into the beneath. With what could be, A steel coffin wrapped around you all, I wish…

(#2/12): “The Spider And The Roach”

  Sensing me, it pauses. Uncertain of what I will do. But I am certain of my mercy. With overturned pill cup and stiff card, I trap it, carrying gently, My little arachnid, Out into the garden, Releasing it to the wild.   Sensing me,…

Hour 2 — The Morning After

Early morning I sit at the table Groggy and hungover from last night’s debauchery My saintly roommate comes in He screams “Good Morning!” His words bounce around in my head Painfully I can barely look at him The daylight blinds my sore eyes “So, how was last night?”…

Gone Fishing

The boat sways with the water, fisherman sways against the wind, wipes sweat away from brow, pulls another net in. The fish gasp in oxygen – thrash in agony – fisherman sighs against the rising sun. This heat is unbearable. This oxygen is unbearable.  …