Stripping away the rose colored glasses of denial concerning my reality. Getting in touch with truth. Reaching out to others in empathy concerning their reality and their walk to truth.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Just another fish tale

There was a family fishing hole,
but I never liked to fish.
They cast with wooden fishing poles,
competing for a wish.

But I sat on the rocks and looked,
at gemstones in the stream.
As one by one the fish they hooked;
I chose another a dream.

Rubies sparkled just beneath me,
were scooped up in my hand.
I listened to the shouts of glee
of those fishers near the sand.

So once they caught their fill,
they thought to leave this place.
My treasure gave me such a thrill,
that showed upon my face.

They made their way to where I sat,
inquiring what I'd found.
I let them peek at this and that,
the stones from sandy ground.

We headed home at sunset,
exchanging funny tales.
Me with shiny rubies;
them with slimey scales.


  1. Funnily enough poets and artists have seen the scales on a fish as 'jewels' at various times!
    Click here for Bazza’s Blog ‘To Discover Ice’

  2. Well, my oh my, giving them thar shiny rubies, any time :) Then again, if a wayward oyster ended up in that fishing hole, it might be a pearl of an opportunity.
    This poetic posting was right off the scales....
    Hope you are well, Dixie.
    And notice, no fish puns. That's because I'm being koi and wouldn't want to carp on....

  3. Dear Dixie,
    Nice poem. Personally, I never "got" fishing. Sitting down by a riverside all day waiting for a bite isn't really my idea of fun. Fishing for rubies, on the other hand...
    Take Care Dixie.
    With Very Best Wishes,

  4. That's cool, bazza, But I think cleaning of the scales is a nasty business. "Every kiss begins with fish?" (instead of 'Kay' jewelers).

    Thanks for tripping the riff.

  5. Ha, Gary!

    I shudder to think of your response if I'd written about great northern streams. Pass the salmon and grey poupon.

    Carp on with ya bad self.

  6. Hello David.

    There was too much violence for me to fish. I'd miss the worm and stick the hook in my thumb. I'd toss the line and catch the hook on my shirt. Or, my personal favourite: Go to cast my line and through the entire fishing pole into the water.

    Glad you liked the poem. :)


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