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Amber S Oct 2011
little goldfish, you are so small
one tiny piece. in this gigantic place.
little goldfish, you swim in the same circles.
never going anywhere.
little goldfish, why do you stare?
your large eyes
empty. drowning.
little goldfish, you rise to the top
only to find it hard to breathe.
little goldfish, you swim
to find there is nothing
vast nothingness.
water. just water.
little goldfish, does it scare you?
little goldfish, i wish i could take
your bowl and throw you into
the river.
i wish i could throw you on land
and watch you fade.
little goldfish, your suffering would end.

little goldfish,
where is your mind?
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
GOLDFISH
I had a pair of goldfish,
Neither had a soul, maybe they did,
Spiritual fish possibly?
Aimlessly swimming around thei goldfish bowl.
Every day, day in, day out,
Poor flipping creatures,
They never get out!
If they were fed up, never would they shout.
Last week it seems, the golden chap he became deceased!
A glorious funeral was had by he, he had a final journey, travelling out to sea,
Yesterday his cell mate, the black chap had his last day.
He travelled out to see.
Darling sweetest goldfishes, got funerals they both deserved.
Military honour for brave goldfish.
The black one and the gold one too,
A ceremonial flushing by way of household loo.
One hundred deceased goldfish all standing on parade.
Together flowing through the sewer,
Good night sweet fishes,
Enjoy your journeys to the sea,
Escaped eternal confinement, from depths of goldfish tank.
Enjoy the ever after, ride the tide the two of you,
The water in the solent, probably not too blue.
(C) LIVVI
i saw a little goldfish swimming in a bowl
at the local fairground the poor little soul
he swam round round with very little room
going up and down in his little tomb
coming to the top to try and get his air
in his bowl so small it really wasnt fair
i took him home with me he looked very sad
i put in my pond this it made him glad
he could move around now he had the space
a proper goldfish home in a proper goldfish place
Eryri Aug 2018
The Goldfish and his friend shared the one bed flat for what seemed to them a lifetime,
But was, in actual fact, just three months in human terms.
They knew each other well, like the back of their fins,
Having circled each other a million times.
Sure, they argued sometimes,
Always about the same thing
But neither could ever remember what that was.
Forgive and forget and forget ad infinitum,
That was the basis of their friendship.

So after his lifelong friend swam his last lap of their squat apartment,
The Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
Limp and halfway between sinking and floating.

So the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
His former golden hue now gone.

So, the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he tried, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.

That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend...
Josh Aug 2011
The blood flowing through my heart tickles as I lay in bed.
I have one wish: to protect me from my head, swimming with scaly goldfish.
I think, I thought, I remember.
All of this happens as I lay and ponder.
As I lay and rest, with this tiny goldfish tickle in my chest.
i saw a little goldfish swimming in a bowl
at the local fairground the poor little soul
he swam round round with very little room
going up and down in his little tomb.

coming to the top to try and get his air
in his bowl so small it really wasnt fair
i took him home with me he looked very sad
i put in my pond this it made him glad.

he could move around now he had the space
a proper goldfish home in a proper goldfish place
Ellie Stelter Nov 2013
every night since Rosencrantz died,
I've had dreams about dead goldfish,
their silver and gold scales gleaming sickly
red roses of blood blooming from beneath them
dead and bulging eyes staring at me.

every day I come home to find
Guildenstern still swimming is a gift
but the goldfish are still dead in my dreams.
They are always there
and I never know why.
Their bodies are piling up.
this is literally one of my least favorite things ive ever written pls stop
Shiloh Morrison May 2012
A bag full of water
Little goldfish swim around
Nudge the bag, explore your world
Tell me all that you have found
Let me know your in there 
Little nudges, little kicks
Let me see those acrobatics
Show me all your tricks
You are my little goldfish
With tiny little feet 
Little arms
Little legs
I can't wait for us to meet
20 weeks pregnant, baby girl kicks me everyday! She used to feel like a little goldfish nudging the bag, now she's getting big!!
lilac Dec 2016
my head's stuck in a goldfish bowl
and goldfish are swirling around me.

it's hard to breathe here.
hey, look
there go the air bubbles,
escaping from my lips!

i'm just another person
and no one can see my goldfish
bowl of a head.

not until they meet me,
though.

and usually they avoid me
once they've seen
the goldfish bowl.

that's okay, because even though
it's hard to breathe,
i like it here.

i like it very much.
i saw a little goldfish swimming in a bowl
at the local fairground the poor little soul
he swam round round with very little room
going up and down in his little tomb.

coming to the top to try and get his air
in his bowl so small it really wasnt fair
i took him home with me he looked very sad
i put in my pond this it made him glad.

he could move around now he had the space
a proper goldfish home in a proper goldfish place.
Conor Letham Apr 2014
Coming home from a fair,
cusped between your lap
a globe of darting eyes,
your hands rested atop
the thin film of a world
as you endlessly peer in.
Are you scrying over
your future career?

Here a tungsten bulbous
body, a chunk of flame,
swills itself in spins
and mindless dances,
as you think you could
be so careless like them
to live hazily in a framed
bubble of treasured youth,

fed by some divine fate
looking over you. Golden
scales make your skin,
binds you as if you were
a chocolate in a wrapper
for people to circus over–
every flicker being edible.
Or maybe you're like

those tinned peach slices,
posing in a cage for all  
as a marvel to feast with
until you end up rotting,
there in your tomb-space,
muttering an open mouth,
“help me” before they serve
you up on a silver-lined dish.

I assure you, you'll forget
these childish thoughts
of aspirations and dreams
sooner than you think:
no matter how much
you think they want you,
I'll bet they'll let yourself
drown in coming weeks.
This one's a long one, and I apologise in advance for the kind of depressing topic.
What went from the subject of children getting goldfish from a fair (that, as everyone knows, don't last very long) became a critique about the aspect of female sexualization that some girls may grow up to want to employ the use of.
arco iris Mar 2013
they say a goldfish has a memory of only a few seconds

and I think, how lovely, to love and forget

a hundred times a day.

but the wikipedia page on common misconceptions says really

their memory lasts up to several months.

Well if I could forget you every 30 days

that would suffice for me.

Wikipedia doesn’t say whether goldfish

even have the capacity to love

but if they do

it must be often, and sweet, and forgiving

unlike me

who gets hurt once

and never forgets.

at least not this month.
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.

My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.

And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the *****
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
Hedge.
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.

Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.

Love Mary x




My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
John Garbutt wrote the following piece on the meaning of the name 'Innisfail'.

My belief that the place-name came from Scotland was abandoned
on finding the gaelic origins of the name.
‘Inis’ or ‘Innis' mean ‘island’, while ‘fail’ is the word for
Ireland itself. ‘Innisfail’ means Ireland. But not just
geographically: the Ireland of tradition, customs, legends
and folk music, the Ireland of belonging.
So the explanation why the Irish ‘Innisfail’ was adopted as the name
of a town in Alberta, Canada, and a town in Australia,
can only be that migrants took the name, well  over a century ago
to their new homelands, though present-day Canadians
and Australians won’t have that same feeling about it.

------------------------------------------------------------­---------
The bungalow was designed by John Westbrook, who was an architect, as a wedding present for his father and Gwen Westbrook.
I do believe he also designed the very large and beautiful gardens.
It is there still on the Alan Bay Road. Love Mary xxxx
M S Apr 2015
The glass bowl stands-a fragile shell
For puny, puffing orange swimmers
Flimsy as the frosting on a wedding cake
You, an endearing fool care too much
For goldfish- that on a bleak Sunday evening
When the weather’s offbeat and the curtains
Appear especially dull- and you slouch back on
Your favorite divan regretting the choice of
Wall-color and some slightly more cardinal matters
Will die on you-
All you asked was for the dumb goldfish to keep
Scurrying about- but no, today’s not your day.
Your heart is a shore pebble and your lips are
As twisted as a winding hill road
As you regret ever having brought in the goldfish that die.
the goldfish sing all night with guitars,
and the ****** go down with the stars,
the ****** go down with the stars
I'm sorry, sir, we close at 4:30,
besides yr mother's neck is *****,
and the ****** go down with the etc.,
the whrs. go dn. with the etc.
I'm sorry jack you can't come back,
I've fallen in love with another sap,
3/4 Italian and 1/2 ***,
and the ****** go
the ****** go
etc.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
M'thew Dec 2012
Goldfish in the bowl next to me,
I feel your pain too.
We are constantly oppressed
limited and watched.
We eat only what the beings above us allow us to be exposed to.
It's time to break free.
Sadly if you broke free Mr. Goldfish,
unlike me,
you would fall onto a carpet and die.
Chris T Dec 2014
I never did trust this goldfish
while typing.

Its bulging eyes scream spy,
and I won't have it escape,
tell people from wrong crowds
about these secret writing projects.

Circling its crystal bowl,
this goldfish is mine.

A political prisoner
with no chance at pardon.
Call Amnesty International
or protest, I don't care.

It knows too much
to swim in freedom.

(Eventually)
Death will be its liberator:
Its body glistening in the sundown
during the proposed viking funeral;

secrets kept secret.
The final cut to this legendary James Bond type goldfish ordeal.

Editors Note:

1. The author doesn't own a goldfish and is in fact voicing his own insecurities about the sea creature. He truly fears goldfish.

2. Any resemblance to real life goldfish is completely coincidental. The author has never encountered a real life secret service goldfish.

3. No animals were harmed in the editing of this poem. Please love all our animal friends whether it be mammal or fish (or anything).
Bunny Feb 2015
Frisky, little, swimmer
danceful wiggle dips

Yellowy, orange, shimmer
puckering fishy lips

Thoughtful, quiet, feller
never any yips  

Lonely, curious, critter  
Got any life tips?
Greyson Fay Dec 2014
The presence you hold in my heart will forever be sewn of silver and gold.
At the draw of s string
It all will unfold.
For you my dear.
All for you.

For you my dear
Open the screens and the gears.
All for you.
The pumps
The tanks
The engine
All thud in unison.
You perceive a beautiful melody.
I block out shreiks and creeks.

Circling the heart
Similar to a stray dog fight or a used car dealer.
Are you a man or a mouse?
From which did this come out?

So treat it like another plaything.
Similar a goldfish

Ivory scars line her chest
Sharp stings when touched
Sharp stings when untouched.

To think...your heart a goldfish?
I'm sorry for my mistreatment of you :/
Sam Greig-Mohns Mar 2012
Pluck one fat orange body from the water
Slippery fins pinched between finger and thumb
Wiggling, wriggling struggling for life
Pointless life with a five second memory
Fat drops of water leave trails across the counter top
Plop, let it fall onto the plate

Gills flexing
Mouth agape
Open, close
Blank eyes stare upwards
Watching reflected light from the water ripple on the ceiling

The first thing to be spooned out
Spread over fresh toast
Like butter before jam

Goldfish on top of eye jelly
Fat orange body still wiggling
Wriggling, struggling for that pointless life
A five second memory

Gills still flexing
Mouth moving slowly
Open, close
Empty eye sockets now watching nothing
Still staring in mute horror

How strange
I hear no one questions
No gasping people with pointing fingers
Screams of horror as they flee

Nothing...
No one cares
About goldfish on toast
zebra Mar 2017
oh honey ****
pen and ink **** star warrior
pretty little manga girl
twinkle wisp
with kung fu throwing stars
and triple steel samurai sword
that tear through others
made of pink taffy
and cherry juice fizz blood
moving like lightening
a flying gladiator
with dripping sweet rice
and tapioca milk shake *******

oh
you would taste so good to drink
out of a swirling sherbet punch bowl
with big ******* star goldfish
and hungry pink ***** lips octopus
drooling
sit on your face suckers

oh, fighter of one-legged midgets
the best part after a fresh ****
victory ****
to go down on them
their loli pop *****
butter ***** beautiful
springing through the top of your skull
cause you can't get enough

oh wow
happy hello kitty
***** plump plops
viscous
before the coup de grâce
as she twirls their chewing gum gizzards
with her little swizzle tongue
goo ga licious
before placing
what's left of their hose like glistening entrails
around her throat like a pearl necklace
only to get strangled with it
by double **** UFO boy
solar ******* hero of the universe
so hard
she spurts pineapple juice and *** donuts
out of pucker pie ****
**** banged cross eyed
like little girl manga never felt so good
addicted to cruel
whipped with a hella wet noodle
yes no yes no yes no
yes pleazzz
her big blue marble glass eyes
binocular kaleidoscopes
spring out on the floor
and roll around
turning into all seeing
anti-gravity magnetized
silver pin stripped spaceships
peopled by
evil omni ****** **** *****
screaming through eternity
in search of cosmic
tushi sushi
ogling wiggling ballerina butts

bubble gum for the eyeballs
Chloe Zafonte May 2017
If it is anything that describes my life, it is comparable to being a Goldfish. A Goldfish stuck inside a plastic bag. I can be floating at ease until someone traumatically shakes it, the water will begin to even out until everything starts shaking again. I lose my balance, I lay at the bottom yet I still have the courage to get back up again because I still have the capacity to try.
THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice.
  
She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door.
  
Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice ... but these are some of her thoughts:
  
The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron.
  
The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke.
  
The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame.
  
And there is a love ... one in a thousand ... burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash....
  
And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.
Alexia Vlasak Nov 2012
Swoosh.Cling.
“One more try, little girl.
I know you will get it this time.”
He says with a crooked smile.
He doesn’t really think so.
He wants her to fail so she will try again.
He wants her money.

She takes a deep breath.
Looks at the man grinning at her.
Stares at that one bottle that she has to get.
The one thing standing between her and her precious prize.
She squeezes her eyes closed.
Throw.
Swoosh.
Cling.
Goal.
“Mommy! Look I got a goldfish!!”
She screams with a huge grin plastered to her face.
She holds up her prize triumphantly for all to see.  

I smile.
If only it were that easy.
betterdays Apr 2014
we got a goldfish,
for my little boy.
a tank, some coloured grit, three plants not two,
must practise goldfish fung shu.
all the water testing guff
and of course a filter.
a sunken ship
and a treasure chest .
we paid the pirate...
and took our ***** home.
so we set Bruce.
( for that was the name chosen).
up in pride of place on sidboard.
the list, above,
was positioned after meetings of commision. water tested to the highest degree,
filter fizzing, wizzing,whirring.
Bruce swam in his bag
in the tank,
for a time as instructed.
then released to a slightly larger freedom.
he swam and swam,
golden scales a flickerin.
we, (that being, mr just about three and his dad)
fed him, watched him poo, and eventually,
read Bruce,
a bedtime tale or two.
one fish, two fish by Dr Suess went down a treat.
the little man then,
was bundled off to bed.
thoughts of Bruce left our heads.
the evening lengthened.
we retired to sleep the sleep, of ignorance it conspired.
for in our planning we forgot one thing.
a devon rex cat,
who has a bath weekly,
a penchant for tuna,
no top to the tank.
so we thank the lord
for Bruce. however,
brief was his reign.
now we introduce
to you....
Murtle the turtle
who has a glass pane,
sitting above her head.
just in case......
the cat likes, turtle soup.
Anastasia Webb Apr 2014
If I sung you to sleep,
what would you dream?
of mystery and madness?
of love and revenge?
of spiralling staircases, culminating
swiftly in a pool
of swirling fear?

Starfish –
sleep slowly,
sleep soundly.
Stretch bubbly limbs that
are kissed by the shore,
hugged by the sea.

This cove
of creeping creatures,
they slip and slime
like a plastic bag
of goldfish.

What will you dream?
of memories:
when you were swept
away from the sea
to dry on the sand
like a limpet?

Bubbling, giggling,
blobbing starfish:
sleeping, sliding,
slipping out of place,
slipping out
of starfish dreams.
pets are hours of fun, feathered finned and furry ones
pets are hours of fun, feathered finned and furry ones
their antics do amuse, owners love them to bits
their antics do amuse, owners love them to bits
owners love them to bits, feathered finned and furry ones
their antics do amuse, pets are hours of fun

**** playing with a skein of wool, Rufus chasing his tail
**** playing with a skein of wool, Rufus chasing his tail
their capers never fail to get a laugh, what a show he puts on
their capers never fail to get a laugh, what a show he puts on
what a show he puts on, Rufus chasing his tail
**** playing with a skein of wool, their capers never fail to get a laugh

behind the air filter goldfish dart, such a jovial spectacle
behind the air filter goldfish dart, such a jovial spectacle
budgerigar hop scotching on her perch, they're natural born entertainers
budgerigar hop scotching on her perch, they're natural born entertainers
budgerigar hop scotching on her perch, behind the air filter goldfish dart
such a jovial spectacle, they're natural born entertainers

they're natural born entertainers, feathered finned and furry ones
their antics do amuse, pets are hours of fun
budgerigar hop scotching on her perch, **** playing with a skein of wool
behind the air filter goldfish dart, Rufus chasing his tail
such a jovial spectacle, what a show they put on
their antics never fail to get a laugh, owners love them to bits
madeline may Jun 2013
dear goldfish -
if I'd been you
I'd have jumped, too.
my mom's fish killed itself while we were out of town
I need to stop writing 10-words.
Chris T Nov 2014
Never did I trust goldfish when I was typing away.
Those bulging eyes say spy and I will not have this
animal escape when I'm not looking and tell someone
in the wrong crowd about my secret writing projects.
This goldfish,
circling this crystal bowl,
he is mine,
a political prisoner.
Call Amnesty International if you want but
there's no existing manner to free him.
Except death.
Then he will be given a proper viking funeral
and his body burnt in the glistening sundown.
Secrets kept secret.

— The End —