Watching me…. Curls and twirls. Swoosh. Eyes wide open, smile almost coming. The... GLIDE... is what I need to learn from them, maybe I should live in water? This one in an aquarium
Red Fish Cafe gallery, in Brooklyn, still but gliding, a swish of art, a magic of music. You can… GLOW… gold here; with coffee, with superb eats, with that dash of mind of matters, do they call it harmony/intelligence (emotional?) I call it essential sparkling air or is it water. Can only be done with the love of water. Liquid and warm and certainly no jerks. By a river.
Clear/ water/ bubbles/ soothing sounds/ humid air/ wet whoosh/ salt/ ease/ refreshing/ BLUE GREEN/ rocks/ rock face whispers/ chatty mangroves/the soft Sun ferry/pink beaches/duck nests/ dogs in caves/ flashy pelicans/ story nodding reeds/ river-fog/ moist/ pebbles/ moss/unknown/ near Red Fish.
When finally stuck in a bed I will think of red fish gliding (no beds for them). Perhaps I can add red fish to the end of every poem I write. To make it stick. To have a place, in my meaningful memory folder if there is one
Will orange and yellow striped fish join- seeking truth, will green fish watch= spreading WOW wonder, will there be light blue fish coming in with rain. Every orchestra pit may have a watery spot of indigo blue fish. Navy blue pink gold fish will follow red. As red fish lead.
To that purple gold white. CACOPHONY/SECRET/ books. Words. Conversations. Children gathering Ah Red Fish Ps the Red Fish gallery (on the ground) is run by Myff Sharp, Peter Davis and ORIGINAL thoughts in Brooklyn on the watery strong Hawkesbury River.
Art by Gerd Schmid