Adeeyoyo's Blog

I write what I feel…


Silver Fish

Post No. 855


Silver Fish


Flash of silver quick as lightning

Fleet of fin (ha) they catch a ride

On the backwash of each wave

Taking shelter behind cropped rocks

Knowing the music of the sea

Feeling the rhythm of the water

Breathing in, breathing out

Anticipating even the crabs’

Sideways stagger —

Silent hunters of the ocean floor —

Confident of the secret pathways

Shortcuts made to aid escape


©Denise G Allen, 15 August 2015 08:24


God’s Garden


From the rich and verdant greens
To bare rocks and mountain tops,
Waterless rivers with exposed beds
To those in flood, with banks of mud,

Infertile sand where naught will grow,
Deserts dry and baked by heat
Where the wind creates its art,
Grasslands and bushes of scrub,

Lakes and seas, reflecting
The breeze, a thousand trees
And animals galore with birds
And fish to complete the scene,

Flowers of every shape and hue,
Strong or delicate to touch or view,
Our earth is God’s garden,
Unequalled and unrivalled by man,

Original, unique and diverse
As only He can devise,
We have to maintain and sustain
This unequivocal treat for our eyes.

©Denise G Allen, 20 May 2014 14:48


Rock Pools

Fishing in the Rock Pools

Rock Pools

The waves break on the rocks,

White water sparkles as it drains

Over the surface and down

Into the crevices, cracks,

Holes and gaps

Where small children play

With their fishing nets.

They laugh aloud

As they try in vain

To catch the tiny fish

Who easily evade

The hunters’ wily ways

And swim from pool to pool

Through narrow tunnels

In the stone.

Photo’s: Author – Apologies for the quality – copied from an old video.
©DGA 26.10.2010

Where are the little fish?

Here's one!


The Fisherman

The Fisherman

Every day, no matter the weather,
Wind, sun, cold or rain,
The fisherman would make his way
Down the dunes towards the sea.

If the tide was low, he would fish from the rocks,
Getting his bait from the rock pools first,
Then stand in the spray facing the sea
And cast his line beyond the waves.

When the tide was high, he would lie on the beach,
With his bag stuffed under his head,
And the line hooked round his finger to feel
If a fish had taken the bait.

I saw him catch a fish or three
And carry them, thread on a piece of string,
As he passed me by on his way back home
With a smile on his face and a soft greeting.



The Hunter




The branch reaches down towards the stream,

Cool, clear and translucent.

All is silent save for gurgling and soft splashing

As the wavelets pass obstacles in their course.

A peaceful, serene and tranquil scene.


A flash of red, a dash of green,

A streak of colour, bright as paint,

A bird alights back on the branch,

Water dripping from his wings.

And in his beak a small fish wriggles.


With a stretch of his neck, the fish has gone,

Swallowed whole, while the bird sits still,

Motionless, as the keen eyes scan the water.

A frozen image of a hunter seeking out his prey

While the fish, unaware, continue to play.


Photo: Wikipedia