Tuesday, 18 September 2012

By The Gaze Of My Goldfish A Ballet Dancer In A Spaceship Pirouettes Bubbling Gravity

I've written a,
This one.

I'm not sure,
If it's,
Oh, you know - any good?
Do you think it's..


Don't worry. I know, I know;
It's all so..so..

..when I've recited my poem to my pet goldfish..
Yes you heard right, my pet goldfish,
He nods his head for three human seconds whole,
Then he swims around inside his little glass universe,
Musing and acontemplative.

Acontemplative -
What a word!

Round and round he goes,
Five or six times he goes.
Like he's been bolt-blue-struck by lightning,
He mermaids; vaulting, water-winging:
A ballet dancer in a spaceship pirouettes bubbling gravity..

His gaze just floors me..
Water floods his eyes.
Oh those water-flooding eyes..

He is the goldfish with water in his eyes.

So we flow, we flood, we glow.
I willingly recite this poem again for my devoted goldfish,
Easily generating the same emotional feeling so it doesn't come off as rote.
(I'm no hack stand-up poet gruelling in some lucrative, 
but ultimately soul-destroying poetry arena tour.
I hope and pray that will never happen to me,
And if I'm not careful, it could,
I know it could.)

The goldfish and I reiki duplex-hours hourglass.
He swims,
He stops,
I recite this poem,
He gazes up at me for three human-seconds whole,
Then swims around his little glass universe musing, acontemplative..

Oh and how his little puppy-like gaze floors me.
I feel privilileged to be floored thus by the gaze of my goldfish.
(Please imagine for one moment,
A poetry-loving, puppy-eyed goldfish,
Living inside a goldfish-bowl-universe gazing through a tear.
I know you can do it,
Close your eyes and imagine..
..with water in his eyes..ayearning..)

Ayearning -
What a word!
With real water flooding in his eyes..

We become this for hours and hours..
It's so lovely..

So both of us end up with water in our eyes,
Like we're overwhelming ourselves,
But in a good way -
Not like Tony Blair.

I'm a man.
I cannot display my emotions to a woman,
Quite as freely as I can to my beloved goldfish.
And I'm not sure if that's a good thing,
Or a bad thing,
For my goldfish.

For my goldfish,
If I was a traditional haiku poet,
Here I would observe,
That my goldfish has the scent of cherry blossoms,
But I'm not,
So I can't..

Don't they say that goldfish can't understand poetry?
Well they would, wouldn't they?
Goldfish being such a modest bird..