Dave Lilly
There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,
But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fished out.
I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,
And I never quit without getting a mess of a dozen or so.
There was a man, Dave Lilly, who lived on the North Adams road,
And he spent all his time fishing, while his neighbors reaped and sowed.
He was the luckiest fisherman in the Berkshire hills, I think.
And when he didn't go fishing he'd sit in the tavern and drink.
Well, Dave is dead and buried and nobody cares very much;
They have no use in Greylock for drunkards and loafers and such.
But I always liked Dave Lilly, he was pleasant as you could wish;
He was shiftless and good-for-nothing, but he certainly could fish.
The other night I was walking up the hill from Williamstown
And I came to the brook I mentioned,
and I stopped on the bridge and sat down.
I looked at the blackened water with its little flecks of white
And I heard it ripple and whisper in the still of the Summer night.
And after I'd been there a minute it seemed to me I could feel
The presence of someone near me, and I heard the hum of a reel.
And the water was churned and broken, and something was brought to land
By a twist and flirt of a shadowy rod in a deft and shadowy hand.
I scrambled down to the brookside and hunted all about;
There wasn't a sign of a fisherman; there wasn't a sign of a trout.
But I heard somebody chuckle behind the hollow oak
And I got a whiff of tobacco like Lilly used to smoke.
It's fifteen years, they tell me, since anyone fished that brook;
And there's nothing in it but minnows that nibble the bait off your hook.
But before the sun has risen and after the moon has set
I know that it's full of ghostly trout for Lilly's ghost to get.
I guess I'll go to the tavern and get a bottle of rye
And leave it down by the hollow oak, where Lilly's ghost went by.
I meant to go up on the hillside and try to find his grave
And put some flowers on it -- but this will be better for Dave.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Related quotes
Lilly (Are You Happy)
Lilly, laughing lady,
does your smile disguise the tears inside?
Lilly, lonely lady,
only silhouette your happy side.
You give yourself to men who take your love.
Then smile and watch them walk away...
Are you tired of giving Lilly?
Are you really happy?
Lilly, laughing lady,
are you satisfied to live a lie?
Lilly, lonely lady,
is it in the stars for you to try?
Do you fulfill yourself with lies and dreams?
You seem contented with your life?
Does it only gild the lilly
or does it make you happy?
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lilly
Lilly, laughing lady,
Does your smile disguise the tears inside?
Lilly, lonely lady,
Only silhouette your happy side.
You give yourself to men who take your love.
Then smile and watch them walk away...
Are you tired of giving lilly?
Are you really happy?
Lilly, laughing lady,
Are you satisfied to live a lie?
Lilly, lonely lady,
Is it in the stars for you to try?
Do you fulfill yourself with lies and dreams?
You seem contented with your life?
Does it only gild the lilly
Or does it make you happy?
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dagenham Dave
Head in the clouds, and a mouthful of pie
Head in a blouse, everybody loves him
I see why
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dagenham dave
I love karen, I love sharon on the windowscreen
With never the need to fight or to question a single thing
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave
Hed love to touch, hes afraid that he might self-combust
I could say more, but you get the general idea
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Dagenham, dagenham
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Dagenham, dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dave, oh, dagenham, dagenham
Dagenham dave
Dagenham dave, dagenham dave
Oh, dave, oh, dave, oh, dave
Oh, dave
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lilly-Willy-Woken
Bill Vining had a sorrel colt
Some two years old or more,
But the colt was wild as a mountain deer
And a bridle never wore;
And so one day,
Bill took his colt
named Lilly Willy Woken,
And whipp'd him till his stubborn will
And the whiplash both were broken!
Broke! Broke! Broken!
Your stubborn will is broken
You will dance no more on the sable floor,
O Lilly Willy Woken!
Bill Vining was a banker --
He had a bag of gold;
And not only uncurrent coin,
But customers he sold,
But while he went to break his colt
Young Lilly Willy Woken
His teller told, with his bag of gold
And thus the bank was broken.
Broke! Broke! Broken
Your master's bank is broken!
He will count no more his profits o'er
O Lilly Willy Woken!
Bill Vining was a lover --
He had a lady fair,
Who had said thro' life she'd be his wife
And his bag of gold would share;
But when she saw that all was lost,
Save Lilly Willy Woken,
She felt inclined to change her mind
And so his heart was broken.
Broke! Broke! Broken
Your master's heart is broken!
He will sing no more at his lady's door,
O Lilly Willy Woken!
Bill Vining was a mourner --
He had a host of woes,
And grave despair was pictured where
A smile did once repose.
And so he took the halter off
From Lilly Willy Woken,
And from a shelf he hung himself
And thus his neck was broken!
Broke! Broke! Broken
Your master's neck is broken!
And you see what came of a stubborn frame
O Lilly Willy Woken!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Gone Fishin
When good ole spring comes rollin’ round
And the trout are in the brook,
A longing comes over me with a bound
To cast my feathered hook.
Then I get all my tackle out
My rods and reels and roundabouts
To go fishing for those trout
That I’ve read so much about.
There’s monsters here the circulars say
But every cursed day
That I go fishing out that way
Those monsters all go in to stay.
I never saw the sun once
During all my stay
But I’ll go home and tell everyone
‘Bout the big ones that got away.
poem by George Hunter
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Twelve Bar Lil
Sweet Lilly Larnie
plays the blues away
she plays a three quarter strat
like B.B King plays Lucille
She plays the twelve bar blues
like nobody else can
she plays a blues lick so fast and quick
it makes you sick
She's twelve bar Lil
the three quarter strat Queen
you wouldn't believe
she's only three
For my Daughter Lilly, who's now four.
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Lilly
I called her tiger Lilly
As she favored clothes with stripes
But I did not back away in fear
when she flashed her pearly whites.
There’s a chapel on the campus
And we both so liked to sing
There was just one little problem
Lilly wore another’s ring.
She’d been six months separated
From her lawful wedded mate.
She’d suffered two miscarriages
love had started to abate.
It still of course was possible
That they might work it out
But I found myself falling
Every time she was about..
We started sharing moments
At the ballpark and the shore
As much as we were together
I found myself wanting more.
I told myself its over-
that her man’s not coming back.
She’s a pretty, gracious flower
and a tiger in the sack.
And then one day it ended
Her parents intervened
They forced them back together
We never had our farewell scene.
A year after we’d parted
There was a story in the news
Lilly died in a car accident
Her husband had been stewed.
So every year on that same date
The day I heard you’d died
I lay a Lilly on your grave
It’s from your other guy.
There have, of course, been lovers since
Remarkable women who
I’ve had the privilege to have loved
But none have been like you.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
while the rain pours down
like water out of God’s hosepipe
with engines roaring in the ears
and clouds of smoke hang over the boats
with every fisherman for a moment being caught
in a own world while fog whirl about the boats
that rocks up and down to the harbour mouth.
The waves crash, the sea foams and bubbles
and “my girlfriend has a good lover, ”
is sung by one while the trawler sets its course
on the look out for barracouta, cod and sea trout.
“Look at the shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, ”
a fisherman shouts against the wind that pulls and pulls on the boat.
“Salmon man, salmon” roars the tiller man back and walls of water
roll past and the boat turns to get fishing gear ready.
“My girlfriend has a good lover and he’s a gelded goat, ”
the tune goes on and something clatters down
drawing the attention of the fishermen and the water shines
and when the boat is full they tell jokes that they guffaw at.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fishing in the Wei River
In waters still as a burnished mirror's face,
In the depths of Wei, carp and grayling swim.
Idly I come with my bamboo fishing-rod
And hang my hook by the banks of Wei stream.
A gentle wind blows on my fishing-gear
Softly shaking my ten feet of line.
Though my body sits waiting for fish to come,
My heart has wandered to the Land of Nothingness.
Long ago a white-headed man
Also fished at the same river's side;
A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish,
At seventy years, he caught Wen Wang.
But I, when I come to cast my hook in the stream,
Have no thought either of fish or men.
Lacking the skill to capture either prey,
I can only bask in the autumn water's light.
When I tire of this, my fishing also stops;
I go to my home and drink my cup of wine.
Lilly
I saw
my mother today
under a mystical
Coloured rainbow
I said
I thought you died
this day
when I was
just twentythree
I did my son
I just wanted
to come and see
my new
Granddaughter Lilly
smile at me
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Moon Fishing
When the moon was full they came to the water.
some with pitchforks, some with rakes,
some with sieves and ladles,
and one with a silver cup.
And they fished til a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
to catch the moon you must let your women
spread their hair on the water --
even the wily moon will leap to that bobbing
net of shimmering threads,
gasp and flop till its silver scales
lie black and still at your feet."
And they fished with the hair of their women
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
do you think the moon is caught lightly,
with glitter and silk threads?
You must cut out your hearts and bait your hooks
with those dark animals;
what matter you lose your hearts to reel in your dream?"
And they fished with their tight, hot hearts
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
what good is the moon to a heartless man?
Put back your hearts and get on your knees
and drink as you never have,
until your throats are coated with silver
and your voices ring like bells."
And they fished with their lips and tongues
until the water was gone
and the moon had slipped away
in the soft, bottomless mud.
poem by Lisel Mueller
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Fishing in the Sunset
Have you ever fished in the sunset?
I did so many years ago
I remember it like it was yesterday
I can still hear the water flow
I had used a little bobber
On the end of my line
Even though it was dark now
A bat found it a find
For it flew down and bombarded
The floating little ball
Thinking it was food I guess
But it wasn’t food at all
The colors of the night was
As beautiful as it could get
I will never forget the time
I was fishing in the sunset!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A Lilly
a scarlet rose,
standing in the crowd
its one of them
it doesn't stand out
it's like the rest
it's not the best
it's just a rose
like the rest
but then comes
the gardener
that planted them all from the start
he says
i'll trade you in for a lilly, if you'll bloom
and now the rose has the choice
using it's symbolic voice
to go on being a rose, or become a lilly and bloom
if just does that for him
no more worries, not problems
and so it makes the choice to swap the life of a rose
he dives into some water and blooms into a lily
and it that sense it's died
and it came back up and yes it didn't cry
for now it was lilly, and now it's life was pretty
no longer is it a scarlet rose
standing in the crowd
it's not one of them
it does stand out
from the rest
it's in of the best, worlds
it's not just a rose
like the rest
it's a lily
poem by Mona Willis
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Jigger
Jigger was a fisherman
and only had one wish
he really really wanted
to catch a friggin Fish
he fished for 39 years
didn't even get a nibble
after all his tears
he mouth began to dribble
On one warm sunny afternoon
he drew out his rod, was late June
low and behold on his line was a fish
after, he saw it was dead,
he had only one more wish
that he would never catch another fish
poem by David Darbyshire
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A Lover To His Mistress
Ile tell you how the Rose did first grow redde,
And whence the Lilly whitenesse borrowed:
You blusht, and then the Rose with redde was dight:
The Lillies kissde your hands, and so came white:
Before that time each Rose had but a stayne,
The Lilly nought but palenesse did containe:
You have the native colour, these the dye;
They flourish only in your livery.
poem by William Strode
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Today... 'Lilly of the valleys
My lover and Lilly of the valleys
kneels in the garden and alone He prays.
'If it's possible take this cup from me.
Yet not My will but Your will it shall be.'
Then into the valley of death He went
and to depths of Hell began His descent
and there He lay behind deaths dark door
waiting to rise and to blossom once more.
Then victoriously through deaths domain
He blossomed and He bloomed and rose again.
Alive once more, astounding all around.
Resurrected in new life from the ground.
This lovely Lilly continues to bloom
scattering away all darkness and gloom.
Risen with the power and might to save
delivering his people from the grave.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Mare's Nest
Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse
Was good beyond all earthly need;
But, on the other hand, her spouse
Was very, very bad indeed.
He smoked cigars, called churches slow,
And raced -- but this she did not know.
For Belial Machiavelli kept
The little fact a secret, and,
Though o'er his minor sins she wept,
Jane Austen did not understand
That Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay
Absorbed one-half her husband's pay.
She was so good, she made hime worse;
(Some women are like this, I think;)
He taught her parrot how to curse,
Her Assam monkey how to drink.
He vexed her righteous soul until
She went up, and he went down hill.
Then came the crisis, strange to say,
Which turned a good wife to a better.
A telegraphic peon, one day,
Brought her -- now, had it been a letter
For Belial Machiavelli, I
Know Jane would just have let it lie.
But 'twas a telegram instead,
Marked "urgent," and her duty plain
To open it. Jane Austen read:
"Your Lilly's got a cough again.
Can't understand why she is kept
At your expense." Jane Austen wept.
It was a misdirected wire.
Her husband was at Shaitanpore.
She spread her anger, hot as fire,
Through six thin foreign sheets or more.
Sent off that letter, wrote another
To her solicitor -- and mother.
Then Belial Machiavelli saw
Her error and, I trust, his own,
Wired to the minion of the Law,
And traveled wifeward -- not alone.
For Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay --
Came in a horse-box all the way.
There was a scene -- a weep or two --
With many kisses. Austen Jane
Rode Lilly all the season through,
And never opened wires again.
She races now with Belial. This
Is very sad, but so it is.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Vanishing Future
The Vanishing Future
The lake we swam in, as children, is now
a sea of knee high thistles, in summer
evenings, that had no night, we fished for
trout, now I see empty tins of sardines
blinking in fading sunlight
I had travelled long to get here fifty years
or so, my old home was an oblong square
on ugly ground, but I did find a rusty
spade to dig my tiny space while smoking
a last cigarette or two.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Jars & Pickles
Jars and Pickles
Our George was a pickler,
pickles were his number,
pickled eggs and cucumbers,
and pickled meats for dinner.
He kept ‘em all in pickle jars,
some small, some large, some, round
and they were in his out house
where pickles would abound.
Some had pull tops, screw tops, twist,
some were sealed with paper, greased
and he'd strive to fill them up with treats
as his wife Lilly loved her treats.
Oh yes Lilly loved a pickle,
cauliflower was new and so
George would endeavour
to pickle quite a few.
Oh yes George loved to pickle
and finally broke through
when he made his dear wife Lilly
the proudest gal, tis true
for there upon the table,
all tied up with string
was a jar called Picalilly,
that made Lil's heart go zing!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Who Caught Whom...A Shameless Plug For Mr. Wiffle Lures
I used to go fishing everyday....
well practically everyday....
Me and my buddy Jeff
would fish either day or night
Everyday....weather permitting
As a manufacturer of fishing lures
it was my job to fish....
But Jeff grew old...too old to cast a line
and I was poisoned when mistaken for a rat....
and lost my sea legs...
So now I am landlocked to a desk
Yet still.....even today....
I have people write or call me
and ask me for our lures....
'Which Mr. Wiffle works the best? '
they always ask....
'What is your favorite color? '
'Do you like the White with Red tail
or prefer like I do the White with Red head?
Or does it really matter...I mean they all work? '
We'll talk sometimes for hours
I'll give them my opinions....
What I would use and when....
knowing full well
I will probably never go fishing again....
They always thank me for my time
and promise to send me pictures
of their catch....or tell me of the one that got away...
Speaking of the one that got away....
Last night I had a dream...
I had just made a perfect cast into a swirl I saw in the water
(introduce shameless plug for lure here)
As my White with Red tail Mr. Wiffle Sonic Tail shad.....
slowly swam beneath the water's surface....
a ten pound plus Speckled Trout placed...his two pointed teeth
into the soft virgin plastic of that fine quality World famous lure
and took off.....stripping line like mad from my reel....
I was so excited to have hooked this fish....
even if I knew I would never land him....
2007 © Ted Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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