The Koi Poetic

Australian poet and blogger friend Gabrielle Bryden has written a poem about my koi and remembers our mutual friend the late Paul Squires in whose poetry magic got caught using words.  I feel very honored to have my koi swim in a poem, and when I tell the koi they will be splashing.  Read it, experience it,  here.

Fish swimming wildly in the pond today

The koi swam in synchronous syllogistic curlicues/in anti-haiku alterred upside downedness

being fish/singing something only fish can hear/some of the fish are bold/some serene/the bold ones seem confident, resolute, fast, rash, nimble

the serene ones seems settled, exuberant, stately, munificent with blue-in-green soft serene cloud-like floating aspect

questions have become all in all

being fish/remembering

Pensive and Coy: Je pense donc je suis

In one picture he wears laurels and looks timid and childlike
in another scene he ventures down into the dark
depths of a familiar unknown
and looks at you as though you understand,
which of course, implies that you’re there although you’re not.
The light strikes the undersides of his face making it luminous pearl
and yet there is no light.
It’s a downward path and into this dark finds comfort
you feel the pull of gravity strenghthen and water above you weighs
on your edges, pushing from all directions and you push back with
muscles meant for exactly this
and all the water above you only puts more distance between you and the
non-fish world.
So security goes downwards until you reach those planes
where you go forward like a swift swimming fish, weight glancing 
away and folding into substance
you slip streaming from its incasement
its pressure pressing you onward.
Your eye globe gleams reflecting back depths to depths
who to see but other strange creatures
either those you eat or those who eat you
(all which would be metaphorical were you human and thinking
but you are fish and slip streaming).
A channel drilled through the planet in the space-time
marks your mass’s trajectory
not part of history but more part of what exists you are
not thinking, yet am-ing.

I am in full fish-mode

A very pencil-y fish here, where lines wiggle like waves of motion in the stream of ideas.  This one has lovely dots, too.  When my daughter was a baby and got her first lessons in art, they consisted of me dotting a paper over which she crawled, which I did while saying, “dot, dot, dot, dot” as I watched her laugh and squeal with delight.

[Top of the post:  Drawing of a Fish I named Pixel, by Aletha Kuschan, pencil]