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Some things that can happen with a fish
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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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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Is it really like fishing?
They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?
How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.
Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.
poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
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Potassium Nitrate Bombs
'75% plus of world fisheries
are fully exploited or over fished
others are completely fished out
how were some fisheries terminated?
Potassium Nitrate bombs
destroy natures beautiful coral reefs
indicted is stupidity greed
no reef no fish'
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Jigger
Jigger was a fisherman
and only had one wish
he really really wanted
to catch a friggin Fish
he fished for 39 years
didn't even get a nibble
after all his tears
he mouth began to dribble
On one warm sunny afternoon
he drew out his rod, was late June
low and behold on his line was a fish
after, he saw it was dead,
he had only one more wish
that he would never catch another fish
poem by David Darbyshire
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O My Fish
O MY FISH
O my fish
Fishermen have
Fished you
Lying in a basket
Senselessly senseless
In dark oblivious
Nay anaesthetised
You lie dead
With nobody to entomb you.
(karnailsingh Heranwale)
poem by Karnail Singh Heirwale
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Where Did All Large Game Fish Go?
an estimated 90 per cent
of all large predatory fish
are gone totally fished out
greed humanity gills caught
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bobber
On the Columbia River near Vantage,
Washington, we fished for whitefish
in the winter months; my dad, Swede-
Mr. Lindgren-and me. They used belly-reels,
pencil-length sinkers, red, yellow, or brown
flies baited with maggots.
They wanted distance and went clear out there
to the edge of the riffle.
I fished near shore with a quill bobber and a cane pole.
My dad kept his maggots alive and warm
under his lower lip. Mr. Lindgren didn't drink.
I liked him better than my dad for a time.
He lets me steer his car, teased me
about my name 'Junior,' and said
one day I'd grow into a fine man, remember
all this, and fish with my own son.
But my dad was right. I mean
he kept silent and looked into the river,
worked his tongue, like a thought, behind the bait.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Isaac Newton
Isaac Newton
For years he fished in the nearby lake,
but the fish would never take his bait.
So he baited his hook with crusty-bread,
but even that didn’t turn their head.
He changed the bait to a lump of cheese
and thought this would tempt and tease,
but alas no bites from dusk till dawn,
so he changed the bait to boiled corn.
With no success with boiled wheat
Newton would not accept defeat.
So he put a juicy worm upon the hook,
but even this got no second look.
He cast aside his tackle and thoughts of fish,
and became a mathematician and physicist.
One sunny morning beneath an apple tree
he sat reading a book of philosophy.
From the lake a fish leaped high above his head,
but an apple fell down and hit him instead.
He looked up for the fish and it fell onto his lap,
so he ate the apple and put the fish back.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Preserving Global Fishing Grounds
“2009 to 2010 tactics
fish stocks preserving
globally not when illegal fishing
is worth 9 billion a year
species fished into extinction humanity”
poem by Terence George Craddock
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what Anselma fished out of the sea
when Anselma's husband who was a fisherman
was swallowed by the sea and was gone
she says she cannot be outdone
by extreme grief and sorrow
she went out to fish one day
and fished out a man from there
and she explains
the sea took out her man
and so the sea
must pay back with
another man
and since then
Anselma lives happily ever after
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Benefits of 1995 Fish Trash Policy
policy no policy
policy of indifference
policy of stupidity
now reaps rewards
use “trash fish”
policy as animal feeds
and in fish farming means
bycatch
is increasingly
financially
attractive to fishers
fishers of world oceans
policy bad policy
1995 one study
showed 27 million tonnes
of fish being discarded
every year but
2005 an investigation found
figure had dropped
to recorded
only 7 million tones
good news
no amount
of bycatch
did dropp not
just deleted
from records
off hot books
policy of greed
a Bermuda Triangle mystery?
a mystery of 20 million tonnes
20 million tonnes of missing fish?
20 million tonnes
were being sold
but control without
what hope in fisheries
of achieving sustainability
if we don’t woe know what
is being caught?
time for television watch
sport big game fishing but
“an estimated 90 per cent
of all large predatory fish
are gone totally fished out
greed humanity gills caught”
partly because fish trash
part of food chain was never trash
what do you think big fish eat?
(Quotation is the poem ‘Where Did All Large Game Fish Go? ’ by Terence George Craddock)
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Tiny Rhyme
Fish oh! fish
swish a miss
wish on hiss
shush to hush
Push push
oh! fish
flush a blush
fresh 'n' mush
Fish oh! fish
slush the gush
slash in gash
splash the plush
Fish oh! fish
pose to posh
rush a mash
fish oh! gosh!
poem by Mubeen Sadhika
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Fishing in the Wei River
In waters still as a burnished mirror's face,
In the depths of Wei, carp and grayling swim.
Idly I come with my bamboo fishing-rod
And hang my hook by the banks of Wei stream.
A gentle wind blows on my fishing-gear
Softly shaking my ten feet of line.
Though my body sits waiting for fish to come,
My heart has wandered to the Land of Nothingness.
Long ago a white-headed man
Also fished at the same river's side;
A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish,
At seventy years, he caught Wen Wang.
But I, when I come to cast my hook in the stream,
Have no thought either of fish or men.
Lacking the skill to capture either prey,
I can only bask in the autumn water's light.
When I tire of this, my fishing also stops;
I go to my home and drink my cup of wine.
On A Rocky Beach
On a rocky beach
I fished my fresh fish
From that rocky beach
Some time ago
poem by Aldo Kraas
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When I remember the fish
When I remember the fish,
The river longed me to go,
Wriggling and meandering, slippery in this
Imaginary waters of my world,
I become a fish.
When eye sea them eat the fish;
They cast their nets for a random catch, they
Drop their hooks for a strangling pull, then,
I become a fish no more.
When them fail to catch the fish;
As the fish wriggles an escape,
Then eye long to be like one as eye
Wonder whether or not am a fish.
©1998
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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At dusk as I urged the fish too bite
I remember the lake light shining
Like a disk as I fished for perch or pike
At dusk as I urged the fish too bite!
Bite a spoon of shimmering bait…
I remember bats flitting and circling
Like the insects they longed to catch…
And the ripples left by fish, that had.
I remember the blunt roll-call home…
The boathouse like a sarcophagus…
With its two well rotten doors
Gaping open; like malnourished jaws.
Awaiting, deaths ferrymen back.
Back to them; keep net shores.
I remember the rolling. Fog, rising
About the gnarled chestnut trees
Billowing-out; into brackish reeds…
And then a slice of moon leaping,
Frantic; pulling line from my spool.
I remember the lake light shining
In the scales of a real; living ghoul
Plucked out of the waters fighting…
Was a fish that wasn't preschool.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Moon Fishing
When the moon was full they came to the water.
some with pitchforks, some with rakes,
some with sieves and ladles,
and one with a silver cup.
And they fished til a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
to catch the moon you must let your women
spread their hair on the water --
even the wily moon will leap to that bobbing
net of shimmering threads,
gasp and flop till its silver scales
lie black and still at your feet."
And they fished with the hair of their women
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
do you think the moon is caught lightly,
with glitter and silk threads?
You must cut out your hearts and bait your hooks
with those dark animals;
what matter you lose your hearts to reel in your dream?"
And they fished with their tight, hot hearts
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
what good is the moon to a heartless man?
Put back your hearts and get on your knees
and drink as you never have,
until your throats are coated with silver
and your voices ring like bells."
And they fished with their lips and tongues
until the water was gone
and the moon had slipped away
in the soft, bottomless mud.
poem by Lisel Mueller
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 24
A weak fisherman caught a strong fish in his net and not being able to retain it the fish overcame him and pulled the net from his hand.
A boy went to bring water from the torrent.
The torrent came and took the boy away.
The net brought every time a fish.
This time the fish went and carried off the net.
The other fishermen were sorry and blamed him for not being able to retain such a fish which had fallen into his net. He replied: ‘O brothers, what can be done? My day was not lucky but the fish had yet one remaining. ‘Moral: A fisherman cannot catch a fish in the Tigris without a day of luck and a fish cannot die on dry ground without the decree of fate.
Not For Me
Not for me she said
I don’t want to end up
like my mother
I want to reach out
and touch real life
and not end up
some man’s wife
and be endlessly
at his beck and call
and she sat
by the pond
looking over
to the other side
where the woods were dense
and reached out
and touched your hand
and you wondered
if there were still fish
in the pond
and if when
you brought your rod
the following day
you’d catch any
and you liked the way
the sunlight caught
the pond’s skin
and she said
I want to feel
being alive
feel the electric of life
run through my veins
and she leaned over
and kissed you
and placed her hand
between your thighs
and touched the hardness
of your crotch
and you said
do you know how big
the fish was
that got away
when I fished here last?
And she said
no but I know how big
the one I’ve caught is
and laughed
and released her hand
and gave you one
of her stares with her
large passionate eyes
and you noticed
a lone big bird in black
moving across
the bright blue skies.
poem by Terry Collett
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