Like a fish out of water (Poem)

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Like a fish out of water (Poem)

Pots call out to the kettle (,) black

froth boiling at the mouth

as the rivers kettle of fish

all end up hopelessly lost

in hot water pans, going to pot.


To a T, we are what? ‘til the end, floating,

carrying questions in streams we can’t see,

believing our presence with the current, devotion

until an ocean of realisation, we cannot flee.


Alas! I hate to be the fish out of water

although the waterfall is imminent

clogged up, bogged down like lavatories

ordered about until out of order


to have ever thought, we swam with streams,

wishing on wells with a 50pence piece

a well wishers dream, until time apportions

water to steam, it seems we were destined to be…

sleeping with the fishes.



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