Call for Submissions from Goldfish Press

Goldfish Press is accepting poetry submissions for Chrysanthemum Literary Society’s 2020 Anthology. No fee.
Send submissions to or by snail mail to 4545 42nd Avenue SW, unit 211, Seattle, WA 98116
Please send 3-5 poems in one file in Microsoft Word. We use no theme but we would like poems that you like very much, so much that it is like a child leaving home for college.
Alert us if you are multiple submitting and if you are accepted elsewhere, notify us as soon as possible to withdraw.
Submission is open until December 31, 2019. There is no payment except one copy and addition copies at discount.  Please circulate this call if you want to help us out.


Goldfish Press


The Lifeguard

Donald was just beyond the breakers
when I saw him in trouble
struggling to stay above the water,
I was swimming to the rescue
when not a hundred feet
before I reached him, a huge grey fin
parted the water nearby,
before my very eyes he went under,
the sea turned red, a seal got tossed
up into the air by a great white
that swam away munching–
Donald came up gasping
“Help, help me!”, he cried, “Help!”
the real horror was, I had to think twice.



from Rayn Roberts

Garden by the Sea

If not for bouquets of summer glory gathered by gentle hands
What reason for gardens by the sea?

The muffled break of waves is not as loud
As the whiff and whirr
of hummingbird
Black and yellow bumble bee busy in the bloom,

Each comes to gather gold–
Drawn by sunlight and color,
The ladies in hats and summer gowns, baskets on their arms
Stroll down from the house.
When they return,
Marigold scent in hair, dahlia pollen on hem and sleeve,
They will fill the house with rainbows of stock and zinnia.

Even as Neptune sleeps, the sea a great blanket over him
Deep monsters and storms quiet now,

Everything is Energy,

Ocean air blowing streams of light
Whirling through bush and tree, grasses pushing up
Butterflies afloat, the mind brimming, spilling over
Spilling its delight…
Light as a finch skipping on air

I have dreamed such days, lived too few, when death
Did not seem final, truth not so rare:

Hours pushing open leaves and petal on petal
Unfolding in fragrance….

flooded with light, holding form
For what we call a day, but is, one flower each calls their own.




Everything Will Be Just Fine

If america were a man, let’s call him joe
a psychopathic killer
don’t you know
smilin’ in your face til you are gone
singin’ to your kids
“The beat goes on,
but not for you, no not for you”

Drums keep poundin’ rhythm
to the brain
the president has really gone insane,
la dee dah dee di, lah dee dah dee dah–
I’ll take care of everything
when you’re gone,
la dee dah dee dee, lah dee dah dee dah

Yeah, sing it with me now
while I push the knife in deep and long.

Rayn Robert


Chill: It’s just a poem.

screenshotClick Here: Killer Joe

That was my puff piece for April 11, Thor’s Day… 2019. If you don’t like it, eat me.

National Veteran’s Day March 29

The sky the clouds trees
reflected in the veteran’s wall
make it seem invisible
as if we could walk though
to the other side—

                Names written in air

ascending in light appear
to enter where they’re given
dreamless sleep or heaven,
who am I to say where names go
beyond the love we give them?

Some people thank the vet
for service to the nation,
I’m home alive, well as ever
suspicious of lay sympathy.

Those who trust tradition
do not know the pain of war
nor the honor of sedition.


Rayn Roberts 2019