10. The Fish Bar
When I walked into a fish bar
I fancied fish and fries
But when I got inside the bar
I couldn’t believe my eyes
The bar was full of many fish
I didn’t know what to think
Some were going to the bar
To get another drink
In the corner at a table
Sat a pair of Minky whales
Before them silver buckets
Both drinking large pail ales
Another fish came to the bar
A very large brown trout
He slammed his tankard on the top
And said another stout
The prawns sat sipping cocktails
Whilst the haddock had a smoke
Turbot’s had enough to drink
So finished off with coke
The mackerel had a lager
A squid just swam in beer
Eel swallowed all his olives
And made him feel quite queer
All the cod and whiting
With plaice sat drinking Pimm’s
Till a pilchard said it’s Friday
So they started singing hymns
An octopus was barman
With a hand on every pump
He gave a shrimp tequila
With a worm that made him jump
The salmon all drank shandy
From a bowl each had a straw
Beside a drunken manta ray
Now laid out on the floor
When I stepped up to the counter
I dared not order supper
So sat between two monkfish
And had a nice hot cuppa
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Related quotes
When I Go Fishing
when i go fishing
i am always reminded
of the fish in the pond
and the hook, line
and sinker
the bait is this worm
this shrimp
and objective is always
the fish
in there
one drinks so much silence
by the pond
i see the ripples
i see the shadows of fins
i drink so much silence
i fathom so much depth
i might have missed the elusive fish
losing my worm and my shrimp
what i bring home is this inner peace
and so i never mind the shadows of the fins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sky Skimmer
I made a wish,
Upon a fish,
Who swam through the sky.
It twinkled bright,
What a wonderful sight!
As the fish bathed up high.
It circled the moon,
Made the stars swoon,
And the fish lit up the night.
It’s tail was adorn,
With the colors of morn,
And it’s body shined like moonlight.
What was my wish,
Towards the fish?
It’s something I won’t deny.
All I wanted to see,
That would interest me,
Would be a fish swimming in sky.
poem by Micah Yates
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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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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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Fish Again on Friday
Fish again on Friday how predictable is that
It’s getting to the stage I’d rather eat my hat
Gotta grin and bear it, have no other choice
I’ve tried to have my say, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my voice
Yeah you can’t have your pudding if you don’t eat your meat
So the teacher says and I shuffle on my feet
Gotta grin and bear it, it’s just the way it goes
But I can feel resistance and it’s good to feel it grow
I don’t know all the saints, not personally anyway
Jesus now Mohamed and my hair is turning grey
Now there’ll come a fatwa because of what I say
So many rules I just wanna walk away
Well its fish again on Friday but I’ll suppress my grin
I’ve sort of learned to face it and take it on the chin
But fish again on Friday, I’ve just about had my fill
Fish again on Friday, I’ve had it to the gills
Fish again on Friday. Who invented that?
Fish again on Friday I’m gonna eat my hat
poem by Kris Whelan
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An Old Fisher In The Green
A man, this man, alone in the green,
a little, tiny sand, a speck in the sea.
He used to be a torrent, a veritable blizzard,
ready to weather the storms, this strong fisher.
Then these little fish, to him flocked,
and his heart gave in, collapsed in him, and gave him quite a start.
He took the fish and laid it out, gave it his breath,
and as it looked, its eyes glowed hot, and took from him the rest.
Then it became a fisherman, but one that knew its gift,
it indeed was a fisherman who helped its once-known kin,
what a wondrous man this fish did make, reveling in this skin,
it indeed was a better fisherman who helped its once-known kin.
And so this old fisherman, living on his last breath,
lived only to help the fish he helped, until his last, his death.
His last was given to a fish he deemed demure, a wriggling sickly thing,
he gave it his last, he did, he did, though it remained a fish.
He gave his all, he did, he did, till this fish became enlarged,
yet still not a man did it make, but instead became in charge,
a shark it made, it did, it did, and it hounded out,
till once again, it did, it hid, became the rounder out.
The fishermen were thrown on their guards, this shark was so enlarged,
till all was dust upon the sea, and the old man was set free.
The vision just though may it be,
became but dust upon the sea
till all was dust to dust upon the sea,
and the old man, weak, was at last set free.
poem by Kevin Maroney
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A Wet Whiskered Fishured Cat Caught Nothin' But An Empty Paw.
Tis' be fish-a fish of mine...
One that flips inside a pan o'thine.
That cat that swatted at a fish astray...
That cat had not caught a one'a fish that day.
Into the watery drink that cat did fall....
Kitty Kat-Kitty Kat is what he'd heard one call.
Inside the house he found me stearn...
But with fish in a pan he found to me to of learn.
Right off to market had i gone...
The Kitty Kat ate his share of fish b'fore fallen to
a sleep aft' last let out tired out, yawn.
Do you see? ...
Ssshhhhh!
ZZZZZZZeeee Zeee Zeee zzzz
zzzz
zzz! ! !
poem by Michael Gale
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Three Movements
SHAKESPEAREAN fish swam the sea, far away from land;
Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand;
What are all those fish that lie gasping on the strand?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Fish And Shadow
The salmon-trout drifts in the stream,
The soul of the salmon-trout floats over the stream
Like a little wafer of light.
The salmon moves in the sun-shot, bright shallow sea. . . .
As light as the shadow of the fish
that falls through the water,
She came into the large room by the stair,
Yawning a little she came with the sleep still upon her.
'I am just from bed. The sleep is still in my eyes.
'Come. I have had a long dream.'
And I: That wood?
'And two springs have passed us.'
'Not so far, no, not so far now,
There is a place but no one else knows it
A field in a valley . . .
Qu'ieu sui avinen,
Ieu lo sai,'
She must speak of the time
Of Arnaut de Mareuil, I thought, 'qu'ieu sui avinen.’
Light as the shadow of the fish
That falls through the pale green water.
poem by Ezra Pound
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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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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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Part 4: The fish saves the worm
The big-mouth fish, snatched the worm.
As the worm was afraid; a small piece of him,
was left, on the sharp object.
The fish cuddle him, in his mouth.
Swimming as fast as he can;
to make it, close to the shore.
The fish, spit him out, on the land.
As the worm landed, he look toward the fish.
And said, ' thank you for not eating me? '
I wish you well, the fish said. Take care!
As the worm grind his way, toward a new place.
Knowing this ain't his home, the ground was moist.
He drilled a hole, and discover a new home.
The End....
poem by Derrick Clark
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That Feeling
that feeling of being
a gold fish
inside a round glass bowl
where your world
is only water and
sand
and then hand takes
it and breaks the bowl on the floor
a gold fish wriggles
gasping for air
there is none
do you feel this now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lucky Catch
Once saw a small boy
Hand line a very large fish
Very lucky boy!
With expensive gear
Fisherman cast very far
Not a single fish
'Boy could barely cast'
Remarked the old fisherman
'Just beginners luck'
True about boy's skills.
Could only cast to the fish
Feeding at his feet
Not just gear or skill
To be lucky in fishing:
Fish where the fish are!
poem by Zen Bojczuk
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Tomintoul.
The highest town in Scotland is basking in the shade,
Our cabin’s by a woodland, set in a forest glade.
The wild Highland landscape, blue sky and breeze so cool
The rugged tors view lands so raped, up here in Tomintoul.
With no street lights the darkness falls, it seems night started early.
A thousand bats search out their prey, above they circle round
They dart past and skim our heads, with such an eerie sound
But weirder still to city souls, up here in Tomintoul.
Awakened by sweet nature’s light, a trait we will get used to,
The morning mist it drifts along, a sea of greyish blue.
We talk about our trip up here, whilst eating ‘til we’re full
Then drive down by the riverside, up here in Tomintoul.
The grassy banks by waters edge, in places standing high
The river here is not in spate but it’s certainly not dry.
Our quarry here is silver bars and we look out for pools
For they hold fish, quite big we’re told, up here in Tomintoul.
But an Asian man has bought the rights, to fish this part of heaven
And working class can afford no more, to fish for Scottish salmon.
Only those who pass his test of wealth, can feel the tug, the pull
Of mighty fish, all local fish, up here in Tomintoul.
These wealthy men and women too, they come in 4 wheel drives
To have some lunch and drink their wine, just after they arrive
All dressed up, can’t set their line and chatting break the golden rule
Hired ghillies have to net their catch, up here in Tomintoul.
We drive away to find a pool, a beat we can afford as friends
Amidst the towering Douglas firs and majestic Monarchs of the glen.
These timid beasts with massive eyes roam o’er every tor and hill
Their mighty antlers tell which one is boss, up here in Tomintoul.
We catch some fish, sea trout and brown, but the salmon they’re elusive
He’s too quick and far too sharp, our menu’s not exclusive.
This spectacular corner of our land, the beauty of the Highlands
Is with me now, forever will, up here in Tomintoul.
poem by Paul Colvin
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The Fish In The Fishbowl...
i see fish in a bowl
the size of the fish is just
enough for the bowl
and water is half-full
the fish swims freely and
breathes
air and lets it pass through
its lungs and three bubbles
rise up
and then disappears
at the surface
outside the house it is raining
heavily
the news of the river overflowing
the banks
is flashed on tv
warnings are given by the government
evacuation is eminent
carry only those which are necessary
foremost
save lives of the children and
the old sector
we are ready
we are not taking this fish bowl
the fish can take of itself
when we left
the fish flips its fins and breathes faster
releasing more bubbles on the surface of the water
it is the only creature i think
that is happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Old Man Who Likes To Catch Fish
A old man in a barage
likes to catch fish in a pond which is large
by fishing in day and night
he gets a lots of fish
he eats all fish in one day
poem by Shun Mathi
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First things first for my friend Ben
The moon is shining on the lake
where trout are rising after flies
this tells me that it’s time to fish.
The gentle art of casting flies
correctly as my father taught,
has filled full many a supper dish
A trout that’s fried in bacon grease
Has a unique taste all its own,
If I were hungry I would wish.
For a fresh trout upon my plate
A feast I would appreciate.
But first you have to catch your fish.
28-May-07
poem by Ivor .e Hogg
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Fish And Shrimp [1-2]
Fish And Shrimp [1]
I sigh with deep feeling that fish and shrimp are but children.
They are slap-happy to play in the net of the fisherman.
Seafood merchants become fierce and cruel butchers,
Who exhibit them in a pool to attract buyers.
Fish and shrimp[2]
You need not sigh furiously because of the gluttons.
Since ancient times, fish and shrimp have been cooked with onions.
Excessive catch should be prevented and even God says no!
We must protect the existing resource on the earth so.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
http: //poem.bestfd.com/bbs/forum.php? mod=viewthread&tid=12101&extra=page%3D1
poem by Charles WOO
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