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Icthus (JS#5)
Epiphany 5
Many fishes
Jesus fishes
Peter no fish
Jesus “pish pish “
Peter empty dish
Jesus full dish
Peter bare dish
Jesus extra dish
Peter one dish
Jesus many dishes
Peter fish
Jesus fishes
B.C. fish
A.D. fishes
B.C. Moses
A.D. Jesus
poem by James Hart
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Jigsaw
Here we hear that a perch stands for fish or for pole, -
though this pole can be twenty four feet long or square –
or a pole upon which
a kingfisher can perch
before diving to fish for his dinner dish.
Don’t consider it rude if we add that a rood
is the same as a perch, or a pole or a rod,
and a rood is a Cross, so please don’t become cross
as we must get across that this cross can be square, -
and this square cross can lengthwise be measured – so there!
A pole, too, is a fish, somewhat flounderish
with fine fins which swish and a face like a dish.
Thus kingfisher must fish for his dish, and that dish is a dish,
so lets face it in anguish, - a dish is a dish is a fish!
As a face is a head, and a head is a poll
which tells who is ahead, or shows what each prole
thought of what someone said:
and a wat, as all know, is a temple Cambo –
all the sages who sow seeds of wisdom say, - oh,
to all this don’t say ‘No! ’
Then watt brings us a light which shines down in the night, -
though this seems ‘out of sight’, you should now see the light, -
that kingfishers alight as they perch on their pole
ere they pounce on their poll
for to search for their perch,
for the soul of the sole in the shoal.
What rude fishermen do
before rod poles align
with a line from their perch to their perch.
Like the kingfisher too, bird of brilliant hue,
is our parrot, Poll, who is no stranger to you.
When he’s not being rude he tends somewhat to brood
or repeat through and through, as in these lines I do.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Selfish Fish
Once upon a time
a very small fish
started to change his dish
was envious of others
and did not feel fine.
The bigger fishes
creating big bubbles
and were honored
as respectful swimmers
and producing no trouble.
Instead of normal eat
the small fish now ate
the letters and words
of a newspaper found wet
in the sea of the state.
Now he also earns
lovely returns
of the bigger ones
creating big bubbles
and was heard with his words.
But due to the food
he got thinner
and blow up himself
with air
to be the winner.
Now he looks
like a blow-fish
but empty and thin
only the air and the
words were in.
The time has come
to select the best
the blubber of the year
a national
fish poetry test.
So astonished he was
chosen as the one
he got the best reputation
and honored by
the whole fish civilization.
For the next contest
he was invited
to speak in front
of all animals
united.
But therefore
he had to went on land
publishing his words
in books
which were sent.
The publishing house
give to understand
they will create
with him
a very new brand.
But just when he was
starting to bubble
at land his first big bubbles
he died
loosing all air and his trouble.
So the morality could be
watch and comment
the bubbles of the others to learn
and to earn respect and knowledge
and to stay proud and happily
as a fish in the sea.
(c) Floyd Floydson,08/22/2012
poem by Floyd Floydson
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A Delicious Fish's Wishes
Fish, fish, what do you wish?
To each his own,
BUT
I wish
for a fish
on a dish
(mmm... delish!)
'Ah, pish! '
says the darned fish.
'I wish to be
in the sea
swimming free
and...
perhaps...
drinking...
so me...
tea? '
(muttered he,
dreamily.)
'But all in all, just me being me.'
But suddenly!
A bee
stung me
on the knee
(ouch! said I. er, me)
Back to earth with Bree!
And I'm left to wonder
If me the fish would berate
Were he not lying postrate
dead
on my plate...
poem by Breanna Cazalet
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A Whale Of A Poem
Recently,
As stories go,
A tale was told,
About an old man,
And a fish,
He really wasn't a real fish!
He was a whale you know!
Anyways,
It seems that fish shallowed the man,
And inside the fish he did live,
Seven days and seven nights.
Oh what a fright,
That man did go through,
He inside of a fish,
Could have easily ended up his dish.
That story although a whopper,
I thought could not have been top,
Except in the second grade,
A student chimed in,
Oh great, now I know where my dad has been!
poem by Nadalia Bagratuni
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Gefilte Fish
My version of a Jewish folk song;
the 2nd stanza should start slow,
then get faster & faster to the end.
Gefilte fish, I love you;
I love you, gefilte fish;
I swear by the stars above you,
You're such a tasty dish,
Hey!
You once were free
Out in the sea,
Until somebody caught you,
But now, wise guy,
'You'll see that I
Will eat you 'cause I bought you,
Hey!
Gefilte fish, I love you
I love you, gefilte fish
I swear by the stars above you
You're such a tasty dish,
hey!
poem by John Bliven Morin
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Fish of a Different Color
Big fish and small fish
Swimming here in this pond
Fast fish and slow fish
And now one is gone
Poor, foolish fishes
Just make a few stronger
And watch how these fishes
Devour each other
To be the small fish
I'm sure none would bother
But oh, don't you wish
You could make the pond smaller?
I've found my own niche
To live my life fuller
For I am a fish
Of a different color
Animal Rights (A Restaurant Sold Fried Fish Cruelly)
In Taiwan, there was a restaurant,
sale promotion gimmick of which was very abhorrent.
It was a smoky fried fish,
a spicy and good -smelled dish.
There was a glass fish pond,
swimming in it were fish...big, fat and long.
Beside it was a fish net,
by which the chef would catch.
Then he quickly removed the scale with a knife,
and on the body he cut and sprinkled with salt and spice,
while the fish was still alive.
Then with wet towel he grabbed the fish head,
while the gill huffing and puffing to catch the breath.
Into the sizzling hot oil, the body was slowly dipped,
which in painful agony, flapped and flipped.
The fish struggled in a desperate attempt,
causing the hot oil to splash,
onto the chef's hand,
making him cry in pain as if the world was going to end.
Before the fried fish was going to be served,
he put into the mouth of it the lighted cigarette,
an act so sickening,
horrifying and disgusting.
Then the Animal Rights Group lodged a strong protest.
The chef was afraid his business got into the red.
removed that dish from the list of menu.
He was almost legally sued,
making his mood get into the blue.
The chef sells the fish in a way so cruel and selfish,
to the animals he shows pity, not a little bit.
Brain Food
An Urang-utan lived in a tree
at the top for he wanted to see.
He spent most of each day
climbing up the down way
twas each time when he needed to pee.
On a Sunday, it was around nine
he was just getting ready to dine,
when a bird dropped a fish
right into his dish
and it tasted like fish and devine.
Fish is brain food, that's factual, you see,
for big apes who reside in a tree,
thus this fish did bestow
what a human would know:
He could pee from the top of the tree.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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{{{ A Special Fish For Me? }}}
Yes there are many fish out in the sea,
but why can't I find one that will
best suit me,
well, I mean the fish in the sea are free,
yet all I keep doing is coming up is empty,
I start to believe,
then I begin to see, that, well, there just isn't one out there for me.
I go down to the sea, and I just look around,
well, again, there are no fortunate fish to be found!
Everyday I still continue to go down by the sea and sit down on the sand,
I look across the ocean and wonder is there another kind of
land to see,
to be able to relax and not have to act on command?
There is a fish for me,
because this is the way I was told it IS to be,
there has just gotta be that
special fish for me!
poem by Linda I. Weischedel
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The fish in me
Iam vegan, but! There is a fish in me.
The selfishness in me starts fuming,
..Every now and then makes me feel like crawl,
I make my world as small as possible,
Am I selfish?
Whenever “this fish” dominates
Its only one letter work “I”, “I” and “I”, I ponder
“This fish” screech
What about me? ? What about me? ?
This fish is whirling in the sea of jealousy,
I wish this sea of jealousy get dried up
And the fish to die in want of water.
poem by Tara Chettur
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Fish ‘n Chips - Food of Life
Oh how I crave for fish ‘n chips:
Our fine cuisine of world renown.
I dined on such a subtle dish
When QEII received her crown.
Oh how I need some fish ‘n chips;
I'll queue in pouring rain or snow!
What better way to warm my hands,
As soggy chips make fingers glow.
We Brits are famed for culinary finesse,
Like steak ‘n kidney pud no less;
Wondrous tripe; cottage pie;
Bangers and egg in lard to fry!
But fish ‘n chips - the crowning glory -
A dish to trounce the great kebab!
You think I care for chicken masala?
It's cod and chips that grow my flab.
Oh how I yearn for fish ‘n chips,
All poshly wrapped in the Daily Star,
Then caked and drowned in salt ‘n vinegar -
And stinking out my brand new car!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Food food food food food food food of life
Food food food food food food food of life
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Fish Dinner
I don't want to swim the ocean
I don't want to swim the sea
I don't want to eat the fish
And I don't want them eating me
I'm sure I wouldn't make a tasty dish
So I won't bother them, if the fish agree!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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A Very Angry Fisherman
He'd battled waves and elements
Had risen before the sun
Took grandaughter and fishing partner
Headed off.....as all for one
Cleaned the decks, checked the nets
Before setting of out to sea.
Followed the path, known by all
Out to..... best, place to be.
They fished all day whilst sipping
Hopeful of fisherman's tales
Chirpily wishing for that perfect catch
Prepared was the ice, decks and pales
The day was ending
Nets still empty
Barring a few small fish
Nowhere enough to make a living
Nor enough to fill a dish
The seagulls they came to beg for the off
Was.... too much ridicule to bear
Angry is an understatement
Risen upon his neck, his hair
The birds they screamed and begged and swooped
Hoping to steal, small prize
Angry and spitting feathers
(He grabbed and stared one bird in the eye)
'Will you eff off? ! ! '
He screamed at the bird
Who stared and squawked and flew
The angry fisherman returned home
With barely a cud to chew...
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Penguin Paradice
Each penguin's such a precious thing,
Content to honk all day!
Each wide-webbed foot, each floppy wing,
To them, they're quite OK.
The water's cold! They walk on ice!
Do you hear them complain?
To them, this place is Paradise!
They say, 'No p.p.p.pain, no g.g.g.gain! '
You won't catch me in ice cold sea
And gobbling ice cold fish!
They'd soon lose all their novelty -
They're not the ideal dish...
The easy life, that's all I want -
Not fish day in, day out...
My choice in every restaurant!
Yes, that's what life's about!
And central heating suits me fine
And clothes and jewels, too...
Some champagne or some fancy wine
And then I'll muddle through.
But fish, fish, fish would drive me mad!
I'd soon curl up my lips!
With no potatoes to be had,
There'd be no fish and chips!
No telly and no radio,
No papers to peruse...
Live as a penguin? No, thank you!
This human life I'd choose...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Penguin Paradise
Each penguin's such a precious thing,
Content to honk all day!
Each wide-webbed foot, each floppy wing,
To them, they're quite OK.
The water's cold! They walk on ice!
Do you hear them complain?
To them, this place is Paradise!
They say, 'No p.p.p.pain, no g.g.g.gain! '
You won't catch me in ice cold sea
And gobbling ice cold fish!
They'd soon lose all their novelty -
They're not the ideal dish...
The easy life, that's all I want -
Not fish day in, day out...
My choice in every restaurant!
Yes, that's what life's about!
And central heating suits me fine
And clothes and jewels, too...
Some champagne or some fancy wine
And then I'll muddle through.
But fish, fish, fish would drive me mad!
I'd soon curl up my lips!
With no potatoes to be had,
There'd be no fish and chips!
No telly and no radio,
No papers to peruse...
Live as a penguin? No, thank you!
This human life I'd choose...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Remembering A Friend Through The Fish
we keep when we were children
our treasures in a form of a fish
inside our own little secret ponds
we never intend to share them at first
we fear the adults who steal
we dislike them minding us
telling us that fish is not interesting at all
that the pond is just a very small world
where our minds are convoluted
like intestines of a fish
do you remember the flood
of adult water spreading rising higher than our knees?
it was very sad
all the fish we kept were taken away by the indifference
of the majority
we give up
we went to other places
and then we became too lonely
they want us to hate the fish
to be like them
and so here we are still keeping the fish
in anger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mr. Fish
One day mr. Fish,
was making a pasta dish,
then suddenly he thought,
about what he was taught,
his teacher would always say,
'no fish can go out of the sea anyday'
he shook his head,
then clearly said,
'I will go out of the ocean,
to breathe I'll take a potion'
mr. Fish said farewell,
to his freinds and family aswell,
for safety he bought a whip,
then he set off on his trip,
he made it to the shore,
but he still wanted to do more,
he flopped onto the road,
his backpack was a very big load,
so he started to tire,
then he saw a very big fire,
'aagh' he screamed,
then he dreamed,
that he was back in fishville,
because the fire was burning over his hill,
he went back on the beach,
then there was a loud screech,
mr Fish didn't make it,
because seconds before he was hit,
he died of burn,
all the fish had to learn,
to not go out of the water,
because it would end by being slaughtered.
poem by Svenili Hughes
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31
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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