– Clarence Holm
We recently set up our pond for the summer and added some goldfish to add some flashes of color to the water. Our pond has a recycling pump that shoots the water through a filter up into an upper pond, where it drains back down. Because the pond is a little smaller I did not put any fish in that level. Two days later while looking at the pond I noticed one fish swimming in the upper pond. The only thing I could figure out was that the fish had jumped from one level to the other
I thought about the will of the fish and imagined what might have inspired it.
Goldiva the goldfish went round and round, twenty-four hours a day,
Her school swam right unceasingly, draped in glistening gold array.
If one slowed down, one sped up, to close up flaws in the rank
Precisely swimming, fins all churning, gently around the tank. Her school mates never shared their dreams much less even chattered
No plots were hatched, no songs were sung, play never mattered.
They swam their strokes; they pumped their gills, all in a similar manner
They kept in time; they cruised in line, like soldiers following a banner. Goldiva kept up with the pace, but watched the waters around her.
And as she went around to the right, a pleasant eddy struck her.
A watery tap had struck a nerve and got her senses going
Next time around she traced the swale and saw the water flowing. A separate pond above her head had water gently pouring
Across an edge, it tumbled in, Goldiva’s heart went soaring.
If I could swim up in that pond, life wouldn’t be so arranged
I dreamt one day it could be that way if my fate could be so changed. Next time around she thrashed her tail and her stroke grew even quicker
Faster and faster on she went until her fins began to quiver.
Up she soared into the air; it felt as if she was flying
She flew so far she got her dreams; there would be no denying. And as she opened up her eyes a world of wonder was around her
Things to see, places to go, and new fish surround like treasure.
Her school became a distant memory, as she quickly swam about,
Goldiva’s dreams were captured, once her plan was carried out.
Occasionally, when I leave the top of my fish tank open, I find a dried fish on the floor. I had never contemplated the depth of disappointment. Shattered dream!! My oh my, this dream has led this gold fish to her land of mammon. Oh my gosh, can it be that Goldiva is a pseudo salmon.
Try not to think about drying fish spread across the floor, the unfortunate result of an ejaculated fit. Sometimes a fish is just a fish!
Drying fish spread o’er the floor,ghastly horror, feeds my furor.
Erase this sight, try as I might,hopelessly haunted ever more.
Reblogged this on PrairieChat and commented:
A golden search for salvation.., Originally posted June 2014