Ode to a large tuna in a market

Here,   

among the market vegetables, 

this torpedo 

from the ocean   

depths,   

a missile   

that swam, 

now   

lying in front of me 

dead. 

Surrounded 

by the earth's green froth   

—these lettuces, 

bunches of carrots— 

only you   

lived through 

the sea's truth, survived 

the unknown, the 

unfathomable 

darkness, the depths   

of the sea, 

the great   

abyss, 

le grand abîme,

only you:   

varnished 

black-pitched   

witness 

to that deepest night. 

Only you: 

dark bullet 

barreled   

from the depths, 

carrying   

only   

your   

one wound, 

but resurgent, 

always renewed, 

locked into the current, 

fins fletched 

like wings 

in the torrent, 

in the coursing 

of 

the 

underwater 

dark, 

like a grieving arrow, 

sea-javelin, a nerveless   

oiled harpoon. 

Dead 

in front of me, 

catafalqued king 

of my own ocean; 

once   

sappy as a sprung fir 

in the green turmoil, 

once seed 

to sea-quake, 

tidal wave, now 

simply 

dead remains; 

in the whole market 

yours   

was the only shape left 

with purpose or direction 

in this   

jumbled ruin 

of nature; 

you are   

a solitary man of war 

among these frail vegetables, 

your flanks and prow 

black   

and slippery 

as if you were still 

a well-oiled ship of the wind, 

the only 

true 

machine 

of the sea: unflawed, 

undefiled,   

navigating now 

the waters of death.

2,3,4 stanza analyses 

The example's symbolizes the tuna's speed

torpedo from the ocean depths, a missle that swam, like a grieving arrow,

sea-javelin, a nerveless oiled harpoon, barreled from the depths, 

Launderette and Ode to a large tuna

LAUNDRETTE

We sit nebulous in steam
It calms the air and makes the windows stream rippling the 

hinterland's big houses to a blur
of bedsits ­ not a patch on what they were before.

We stuff the tub, jam money in the slot
sit back on rickle chairs not
reading. The paperbacks in our pockets curl. Our eyes are riveted. Our own colours whirl.

We pour in smithereens of soap. The machine sobs through its cycle. The rhythm throbs
and changes. Suds drool and slobber in the churn. Our duds don't know which way to turn.

The dark shoves one man in,
lugging a bundle like a wandering Jew. Linen washed in public here.
We let out of the bag who we are.

This young wife has a fine stack of sheets, each pair
a present. She admires their clean cut air
of colour schemes and being chosen. Are the dyes fast? This christening lather will be the first test.

This woman is deadpan before the rinse and sluice
of the family in a bagwash. Let them stew in their juice to a final fankle, twisted, wrung out into rope,
hard to unravel. She sees a kaleidoscope

For her to narrow her eyes and blow smoke at, his overalls and pants ballooning, tangling with her smalls
and the teeshirts skinned from her wriggling son.
She has a weather eye for what might shrink or run.

This dour man does for himself. Before him,
half lost, his small possessions swim.
Cast off, random

They nose and nudge the glass like floatsam l

This poem has no tone since no one talks

The first three stanza are about describing the launderette

The poem itself is positive but has some negative stanzas and some rhetorical question's such as "Are the eye's fast?"

Whether there is a negative or positive there is a meaning behind it and describes the personality or what has happened recently with that person

Stanza 6 Analysis 

This woman is deadpan before the rinse and sluice
of the family in a bagwash. Let them stew in their juice to a final fankle, twisted, wrung out into rope,
hard to unravel. She sees a kaleidoscope

Another wife comes in to wash her family's clothes she is more experienced but her life is depressing the quote "let them stew in their juice" is symbolic to her family.