Barrels, Bells and Fish

wyeth n c Dark Harbor Fisherman

I don’t believe in God,

Though I have studied the monotheists contradictions,

The vindictive omnipotent man in the sky,

Imaginary friend,

Who allows the ravishing of his blessed creations,

With the promise of a paradise upon death,

Causing me to wonder why not now;

And while I am as yet not smote,

I recall,

One of Jesus disciples saying something like;

“Give a man a fish he eats for the day,

Teach a man to fish and he will eat forever.”

But not us fools,

We are depleting our stocks,

As our systems,


Are in decline!

The dark sky,

A transformative canvas,

Black slate to record the singularity events,

Strings attached, everything,


We’re barely yet to understand,

The theory of our own magnificence instead,

Praised flagellating accolades, unearned,

Sycophantic dilettantes,

Living daily without consideration or contemplation,

Compassion or reason,

Yet, in front of our very eyes,

The bounty,


In a barrel,

We are.

Beyond the surface, horizons seen,


To the reality painted before our eyes,

Ones and zeroes,



Blessed tree, trees, nature, Druid Gods,

Real and not supposed,

Supposed as not real,

From which our existence is unabated,

As we slaughter you whole, one by one,

Fish in a barrel,

For another floating city,

Or dastardly extinction level event machine.

Choking as you do on our avarice,

Only to breath back fresh insinuations, disregarding our malice,

While like gluttons,

Sucking back the seven deadly sins,

Bent on allowing us to thrive and continue to survive,

Despite the persistence of our choosing,

At your expense,

To ignore the actuality of space and time,

The phenomenon of our survival,

Will short be lived,

Regardless of reverence of it,

Dutifully recorded;


Now eerie reflections,

Haunting spectacle of troubling beauty,

Ominous, foreboding and yet curiously inviting,

As three dimensions squeezed into two,

Maroon sun spot captured in time,

An ironic reality as from almost one hundred million miles ,

You travel to reinforce our intimidation of beings,

Great and small,

Feasting upon our ancestors,

Like the ugly fools we are,

Landing in mere minutes upon this empty field,

The mossy green skin of Gaia,

Longing for a pick up game of soccer,

Or children running at ease,

Unaware of the realities approaching them,

Approaching us,

Like a freight train on a crash course,

With one on the same track,

Vivid surreal impressions,

Broad strokes,

Broad strokes,

Bizarre versions repeated,

Dangling like fish on a hook, or a whale a harpoon,


A veritable palate of universal conversation,

Like a forced upon blind date by your best friend,


In pigments, shades, hues and tones,

Millions of them,

So delicate only our mind can make sense of them,

Yet at the same time,

The perpetual Déjà vu,

That keeps us in suspense,

Or so we delude ourselves into believing.

Brought to the forefront of consciousness, astute,

Though the machinations of our thought process are foreign,

Our misguided and ill advised machinations,

At the expense of others,

Not realizing that in the end,

It all ends the same,

Just as the sun, the moon and the stars,

Our ignorance,

Subtle influence of the eye contained,

In colours that drip like honeycomb,

Painting both angels and demons,

Gods and Devils,

In a space contained only in the brain, rightly so grey.

A puny yet mighty instrument,

Capable of so much more,

This wonderful computer,

Three pounds, perhaps a little more,

The central question, importance and measure of our lives,

Delicate haunting arms outstretched,

Branches like an awaiting mother,

Daughter unseen for a semester abroad,

You beg to be held, touched, loved, understood,

As the tree of life is currently of death,


Magnified in astonishing events,

As water, the source and course of our existence,

Holds captive,

In symbolic prison and prisms,

The intention of man,

Concentric circles casting crushing cynicisms,

Cascading wonder at the idiocy of man,

This blessed gift, Gaia,


While feeding men for a day,

Save the multiple solitudes in this moment,

For when looking and seeing,

That laws of nature reveal,

The answer to all our questions,

In an instant,


And without,


“Believe in God, but row away from the rocks!”
Hunter S. Thompson said that…

I say believe nothing,

That may learn everything,

Like how to fish!




Written from Photo prompt at my good writing companions over at  




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2 responses to “Barrels, Bells and Fish

  1. Karen S.

    Lovely, vivid lines, branches like waiting mothers, as just one and by your poem’s end if they never learn to fish, they’ll have their stories.I really like Leonard Cohen’s song, I still have it playing in the background on my computer!

  2. Tess Kincaid

    How to fish indeed…I like the way you think SDM…fun to have you back at Magpie…

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