Category Archives: Fish


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it’s a something different that dances inside me

it’s a light that renders me muted~untouchable

it’s an incomplete heartbeat rhythm~ bizarrely

violent and sweet; quiet riots of syllables

meet a tattered ball of storm that curls and uncurls

it’s a shimmer of mirror, a gaggle of shadows

it’s a soft brown animal, a bruteful of howls

if one attempts to fish or wish in these shallows

well, metamorphosis blinks a wink of a flash

it’s a something different still, neither bone nor flesh

twist of exquisite breaths


not a haiku


who thinks his body, like a woman.”

NaPoWriMo day 16:- Today, the challenge, to write a curtal sonnet. This is a variation on the classic 14-line sonnet. The curtal sonnet form was developed by Gerard Manley Hopkins, and he used it for what is probably his most famous poem, “Pied Beauty.” A curtal sonnet has eleven lines, instead of the usual fourteen, and the last line is shorter than the ten that precede it. Here are two other examples of Hopkins’ curtal sonnets: “Ash Boughs,” and “Peace.”

insistent joy — pouring

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pale-green tea in a delicate cup

unceremonious —

koi in a pond swimming up

miniscule coal glowing in foaming

waterfall in my infinite chest

autumnal tumble spring expressed

palms pressed, lips open

to happiness —

to all things beckoning

recognising every small thing as tasting

fortuitous —

that stuff of thankfulness 


oh, that soft embrace from — you know who

you are — rhymes of mint thyme coriander sage i

planted in a riot of wild flowers and trees i

will never see the shade of

oh, and that kiss — you know who

you are — amber and a thousand stars


in a pond swimming in

your mouth making the sound of

my name secure


oh, and that caress — you know who

you are — a sacrament of butterflies, thunder

rising on a summer breeze — a whole summer

lain in front of us to pray in 

cascades made of holy gifts sipped to my infinite limbs

in the pond swimming around 

winter hours shining in burnt orange glints

oh, and that gaze — you know who

you are — tiny tremors that become exquisite

shivers on a fresh blanched page

oh, and that hand in mine — you know who

you are —


you are


bubble-wrap pops

copper-blue eggs

nut-brown arms

cornflower silks

twitterings of little tits

snatches of salt-sharp winds

silver pepper-pot twists

dapples of yellow apples

white-linen billows

black-chocolate pebbles

thick-cream envelopes 

effervescent-cobalt soaps

ecetera eceteras

sent to my infinite heart

insistent persistent gift

oh, joy — you know who

you are


not a haiku


NaPoWriMo day 13.-

….in honour of the potential luckiness of the number 13, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the example poem here, joyfully states that “Everything is Going to Be Amazing.” Sometimes, good fortune can seem impossibly distant, but even if you can’t drum up the enthusiasm to write yourself a riotous pep-talk, perhaps you can muse on the possibility of good things coming down the track. As they say, “the sun will come up tomorrow,” and if nothing else, this world offers us the persistent possibility of surprise.

refusing blue

napowrimo day 12

blue pill

*you take the blue pill and the story ends. you wake in your bed and you believe whatever you want to believe

red pill

*you take the red pill and you stay in wonderland and i show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes



swallowing red

scrabbling on the edge of the rabbit-hole, bitten-lipped

footing lost, taste of red, vomit-ready, in my frozen throat

only the illuminated rumi in my apron pocket

letting go of everything known, wider awake than thought

falling up and into dirty soul

scrawling eat me, drink me, frantically



refusing blue

in refusing blue, i know it is the I that burnt the sky

standing on a rooftop poised to pitch forward, leapt, while you stepped

back while blaming me for killing us – knowing

the hole i had to go through was alone-shaped and mightily-icy – knowing

it was warmer than the bed i left – i swallow that 

while reciting sufism beneath my breath


one fish two fish red fish blue fish

wishes swimming in soap-bubbles i forget to notice

cherry blossoms sobbing sweetly as background noise

swirling purply



btw april 12 2021



Prompt:- I’m calling this one “Past and Future.” This prompt challenges you to write a poem using at least one word/concept/idea from each of two specialty dictionaries: Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary and the Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction.


* lines from the Matrix

red pill / blue pill reference found in …

rumi:- Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi (also given as Jalal ad-did Muhammad Balkhi, best known as Rumi, l. 1207-1273 CE) was a Persian Islamic theologian and scholar but became famous as a mystical poet whose work focuses on the opportunity for a meaningful and elevated life through personal knowledge and love of God. He was a devout Sunni Muslim and, even though his poetry emphasizes a transcendence above religious strictures and dogma, it is grounded in an Islamic worldview. Rumi’s God is welcoming to all, however, no matter their professed faith, and one’s desire to know and praise this God is all that is required for living a spiritual life.  

blue pill n.

a drug that allows one to remain ignorant of reality; cf. red pill n.

Often fig.


  • 1998 L. Wachowski & A. Wachowski The Matrix (shooting script, 29 Mar.) 29You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and you believe whatever you want to believe.

red pill n.

a drug that reveals esp. unpleasant truths of the real world; cf. blue pill n.

Often fig. Now often associated with right-wing or men’s-rights political movements.


  • 1998 L. Wachowski & A. Wachowski The Matrix (shooting script, 29 Mar.) 29You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
  • 2020 H. Kunzru Red Pill 171 Hari Kunzru bibliographySo much of what he said had that particular tone, that suggestion of double meaning. Come inside or stay in the dark, as if he were about to initiate me into a mystery, offer me the red pill.


Bowl of Reflections inscribed with Rumi's poetry. Early 13th century, Brooklyn Museum.

Bowl of Reflections inscribed with Rumi’s poetry. Early 13th century, Brooklyn Museum. (TRT World and Agencies)


flurry of fibs

fib i.



you made 

just for me

hung around my neck

filled with your broken music



fib ii.




my notice

two fat wood pigeons

chat on naked branch; sweet nothings



fib iii. – double fib




death; soon stink

but fish in water

flash life, salt light, elusiveness 


where there is true love of fishes

delight in movement


quick gasp





fib iv.



signs off

air plane lands

waiting past the gate

eucalypt sent to mesmerize



fib v. reversed

all that glitters isn’t wished for

peering down the well

picked-pin lights






fib vi. – double fib




thin glass dome

wondering why i

can’t hear dandelions’ song,

sense diamonds’ burgeoning presence 

oxygen escapes






fib i . –  fibanacci numbers up to 21




two small thumbs

rub it of its grease

make piles, bake, eat hot with butter,

choke; what’s the matter, they cry, gorging on damp fat crumbs

morning rises despite sifted protests to the contrary – nothing more to add.


april 7, 2021



And now, for our (optional) prompt! There are many different poetic forms. Some have specific line counts, syllable counts, stresses, rhymes, or a mix-and-match of the above. Of the poetic forms that are based on syllable counts, probably the most well-known – to English speakers, at least – is the Japanese form called the haiku. But there are many other syllable-based forms. Today, I’d like to challenge you to pick from two of them – the shadorma, and the Fib.

The shadorma is a six-line, 26-syllable poem (or a stanza – you can write a poem that is made of multiple shadorma stanzas). The syllable count by line is 3/5/3/3/7/5. So, like the haiku, the lines are relatively short. Rather poetically, the origin of the shadorma is mysterious. I’ve seen multiple online sources call it Spanish – but “shadorma” isn’t a Spanish word (Spanish doesn’t have “sh” as a letter pairing), and neither is “xadorma,” or “jadorma,” which would approximate “shadorma” in sound. But even if this form is simply the brainchild of an internet trickster who gave it an imaginary backstory, that’s no reason why you shouldn’t try your hand at it. Every form was made up by someone, sometime.

Our second syllabic form is much more forthright about its recent origins. Like the shadorma, the Fib is a six-line form. But now, the syllable count is based off the Fibonacci sequence of 1/1/2/3/5/8. You can  link multiple Fibs together into a multi-stanza poem, or even start going backwards after your first six lines, with syllable counts of 8/5/3/2/1/1. Perhaps you remember the Fibonacci sequence from math or science class – or even from nature walks. Lots of things in the natural world hew to the sequence – like pineconesand flower petals. And now your poems can, too.