a carp said to a guppy
why are you so grumpy
and the guppy replied
sometimes feelings are hard
Blake was right.
hell in heaven's despair,
and heaven in hell's despite alright.

ah, said the carp.
whether it is they who should be considerate,
or you?
which do you think is better of the two?
let it go and you'll feel more at ease.
one can never do as they please.

with that parting sentence,
down went the guppy,
in darkness, surprise and fear
without a scream no one would hear
into the carp.

Finally, thought the carp,
The Guppy shut up.

Anne-Marie Roarlingson.
Sat doing, as she always did.
On Thursday’s.
The thing she most like to do.
Eating chips, from out of old newspaper.

Tom Roarlingson.
Smiled at her.
And carried on feeding his guppy’s.
Look Anne he exclaimed.
The tail on this one must be a mile long.

He was wrong, as he always was.
It was only 2 inches.
Anne-Marie Roarlingson.
Died that year, and when the Doctors where ask why.
It turn out the Thursday ritual had killed her.

Tom Roarlingson.
Started to neglect his guppy’s.
As a man he knew, he was nothing without her.
In a fit one night, he dipped all the guppy’s in batter.
Then fried them up... You...Know...He...Did...Not...Have. THE HEART TO EAT THEM !!!

floody gusts of
            fought up clamoury
amour
      and the gums of our armoury
      that our cravy brain sustains
      mouthing
                              ...guppy

he named me after him,
his best ditty ever,
my inheritance,
a laughing brook of
guppy royalties,
that keep our Labrador
reasonably well fed poetically

and of course his name

his name,
which was not so much inherited,
as deposited, X-mark-the-son

they ask,
no, they declarative announce
as fact,
answered even as asking,
tho their voices rising
in a pretend-questioning format,
are you as good as he was?

Oh no, of course not,
I'm merely the son,
He was the father,
between us,
the
Holy Ghost of Rhyme