The Palace of The Goveners, Santa Fe
Along the wall,
deep in the shade
of the Palace of the Governors
Indians recline,
casting invisible lines
with slender wooden rods,
nudging their rings of soft green
and glittering silver, hoping
to catch the eye of
a lingering tourist
fishing
for a spark of interest.
But every angler knows
that if you show
your desire,
the fish
will pass you by.
And so they idly glance
into the bright, busy
city square beyond
as we slowly walk by,
nodding politely,
inspecting their rings
gleaming like lures,
when at last we come
to the smiling potter.
Gently he pulls us into,
the curving, perfect void
to touch this black-ware,
to feel what it holds:
the smooth darkness of
everything.
poem by Steven Federle
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 03
The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The second bell is crimson,
And I think of a holiday night, with rockets
Furrowing the sky with red, and a soft shatter of stars.
The third bell is saffron and slow,
And I behold a long sunset over the sea
With wall on wall of castled cloud and glittering balustrades.
The fourth bell is color of bronze,
I walk by a frozen lake in the dun light of dusk:
Muffled crackings run in the ice,
Trees creak, birds fly.
The fifth bell is cold clear azure,
Delicately tinged with green:
One golden star hangs melting in it,
And towards this, sleepily, I go.
The sixth bell is as if a pebble
Had been dropped into a deep sea far above me . . .
Rings of sound ebb slowly into the silence.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Is it really like fishing?
They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?
How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.
Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.
poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
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But, I Can't Stop Fishing! ! !
But, I can't stop fishing,
I told my new wife.
It's an integral part,
Of all young men's lifes.
But she laid down the law,
It was fishing or her.
Get rid of the tackle,
The rods and the lures.
She wanted no part,
Of those smelly fish.
To tell you the truth,
She was really a...pain.
Well I don't know what happened,
But after a while,
She just let it go,
Like a bright eyed little child.
And I took her fishing,
For the first time in her life.
And she caught more than me,
My wonderful new wife.
It's close to forty years now,
And she never stays home.
She says it's not right,
That I go fishing alone.
12/21/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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My First Fishing Trip
Went with dad to Port Isabel to learn to fish,
‘Cause to catch a fish I told him that I did wish.
So to Purdy’s Court fishing pier,
We went with all our fishing-gear.
Yes, that fishing trip with dad I’ll always cherish!
There we were, him giving me casting instruction,
Then he baited my hook with a live crustacean,
I cast out high in the sky.
To catch a big fish to fry,
But instead, caught a sea gull - as consolation!
poem by Bobby Beddoe
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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
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Rings Around The Moon
Rings around the moon
(written by b. r. & m. gibb)
If youre lonely in the black of night
If you call me, Ill be there
I was falling and you helped me get it right
And I thank you girl, and I thank you
And I pray for the sign
And I wont be too late
If you just come down
I can look you in the eye
I can tell you that I love you
And my love will never die
And its time that you know
Just how far I mean to go
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
Come tomorrow, candle burns
And I wake up by your side
All my sorrow, you made it disappear
And I thank you, and I thank you
And I lay down my life
And I wont be alone
If you just take time
And be sure of who you are
We can take it up to heaven
We can walk amongst the stars
And I know if you stay
I will never turn away
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
And I pray for the sign
And I wont be too late
If you just take time
And be sure of who you are
We can take it up to heaven
We can walk amongst the stars
And I know if you stay
I will never turn away
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
We fly rings around the moon
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beautiful City of Perth
Beautiful Ancient City of Perth,
One of the grandest on the earth,
With your stately mansions and streets so clean,
And situated between two Inches green,
Which are most magnificent to be seen
The North Inch is beautiful to behold,
Where the daisies and butter-cups their petals unfold,
In the warm summer time of the year,
While the clear silvery Tay rolls by quite near,
And such a scene will your spirits cheer.
The South Inch is lovely, be it said,
And a splendid spot for military parade,
While along the highway there are some big trees,
Where the soldiers can rest or stand at ease,
Whichever way their commanders please.
The surrounding woodland scenery is very grand,
It cannot be surpassed in fair Scotland,
Especially the elegant Palace of Scone, in history renowned,
Where some of Scotland's kings were crowned.
And the Fair Maid of Perth's house is worthy to be seen,
Which is well worth visiting by Duke, Lord, or Queen;
The Fair Maid of Perth caused the battle on the North Inch
'Twixt the Clans Chattan and Kay, and neither of them did flinch,
Until they were cut up inch by inch.
The scenery is lovely in the month of June,
When trees and flowers are in full bloom,
Especially near by the Palace of Scone,
Where the blackbird is heard whistling all day
While near by rolls on the clear silvery Tay.
Of all the cities in Scotland, beautiful Perth for me,
For it is the most elegant city that ever I did see,
With its beautiful woodland scenery along the river Tay,
Which would make the tourist's heart feel gay,
While fishing for trout on a fine summer day.
There, the angler, if he likes to resort
For a few day's fishing, can have excellent sport,
And while he is fishing during the day,
He will feel delighted with the scenery along the river Tay.
And the fish he catches will drive dull care away,
And his toil will be rewarded for the fatigues of the day.
Beautiful city of Perth, magnificent to be seen,
With your grand statues and Inches green,
And your lovely maidens fair and gay,
Which, in conclusion, I will venture to say,
You cannot be surpassed at the present day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consequences
Recently i been feeling left out
alone in my sorrows and my fears
this phone no longer rings
this face no longer show emotion
its like am slowly losing this
raging war deep in me
it eats up everything i have ever
fought for and all i can ask is why
why i have chosen to go back
but now i wander if it was a mistake
for am no longer happy
and am no longer smiling
the void in me you filled when we talked
is gone and honestly
i just want that back
poem by Robert Roberts
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Like a Boss
Sometimes......
She wants to sweep her fingertips over the base of his throat as he throws his head back to laugh.
She wants to smell the salty ocean air through the pine trees and hear her own soft whimper as he bends to kiss her.
She wants to feel him whisper sweet, crazy words close to her ear and delight in the hidden shivers he brings to the depths of her.
She wants to let the heat from his hand burn her thigh.
She wants to pull his sweet breath inside her chest and hold it until she knows it has travelled to the centre of her.
She wants permission to stand close...very close...
Can he tell that his name starts deep inside her and rings and rings and rings? .......
Slowly, she opens her eyes and, ever ladylike, crosses her legs, hands folded over her knees, as the world comes back to focus
She wonders if this too shall pass
So she can get back to work!
© 2012
poem by Ruby Honeytip
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Future Imperfect
Beneath a gray and weeping sky
I watched a horse drawn hearse go by
A sight we very rarely see
It seems to have more dignity
Than any slowly driven limousine
Two horses black as ebony
A well matched pair walk sedately
Almost as if the horses know
The must put on a finer show
Than any slowly driven limousine
The hearse itself is gleaming black
With etched glass windows in the back
Through which it’s possible to see
The coffin more respectfully
Than any slowly driven limousine
The cortege as it passes by
Is guaranteed to catch the eye
It is a sight that seemingly
Most people would prefer to see
Than any slowly driven limousine
Though fashions change there is a cost
The sense of dignity is lost
Although I’m sure they do their best
Nothing attracts less interest
Than any slowly driven limousine
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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An Angler
Now as an angler melancholy standing
Upon a green bank yielding room for landing,
A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook,
Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook:
Here pulls his line, there throws it in again,
Mendeth his cork and bait, but all in vain,
He long stands viewing of the curled stream;
At last a hungry pike, or well-grown bream
Snatch at the worm, and hasting fast away,
He knowing it a fish of stubborn sway,
Pulls up his rod, but soft, as having skill,
Wherewith the hook fast holds the fish's gill;
Then all his line he freely yieldeth him,
Whilst furiously all up and down doth swim
Th' insnared fish, here on the top doth scud,
There underneath the banks, then in the mud,
And with his frantic fits so scares the shoal,
That each one takes his hide, or starting hole:
By this the pike, clean wearied, underneath
A willow lies.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Beside Love Men Need Fishing & Faith
Besides love men need fishing
And for both, most are wishing
Catching trophies chosen best
To be envied by the rest.
Fishing is a game of sport
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish's eye
If we plan to stir and fry.
Some use boats while others wade
As they fish the sun or shade.
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day
While life's troubles fade away.
Most men feel they've everything
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake
We all pray our line won't break.
FAITH
So perfect is nature, though not by man
It's the brush of our Master that paints the land.
The sun comes up and sun goes down
As in every direction God's wonders are found.
The tide comes in and the tide goes out
Our faith in eternalness is what life is about.
Contentment depends on which path we walk
By daylight or darkness; our faith is our rock.
Our confidence and trust in a higher power
Helps guide us through every moment and hour.
Fidelity to one's promise and observance of law
Lets our Lord know we heed His call.
Fire-Fly City
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting,
Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love's delight:
Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting,
I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night.
Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing,
Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream;
Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing,
A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam.
Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions;
Long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green;
Clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions, --
Oh, who will tell the city's name, and what these wonders mean?
Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me?
Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine:
Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me:
A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine!
Look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting, --
Softly the breeze of night, scatters the vision bright: and, passing fair,
Over the meadow-grass and through the forest drifting,
The Fire-Fly City of the Dark is lost in empty air!
Girl of the golden eyes, to you my heart is turning:
Sleep in your quiet room, while through the midnight gloom my train is whirled.
Clear in your dreams of me the light of love is burning, --
The only never failing light in all the phantom world.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Hedgerow Inferno
Tiny pools with water,
For two or three fish,
To be comfortable in,
While constantly being poached,
By the sadistic red knomes,
And there thin lines of fishing rods,
The hedgerow is an inferno,
Or danger for unsuspecting,
Tresspassers or wellwishing,
Truants and bullies,
The fish would only spit at them,
If they could and the knomes,
Give up their idle fishing,
In pursuit of a more,
Interesting past time.
poem by Nick Hilton
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Blue Wall / Green Wall
What comes to my mind when I see a green wall?
A green wall reminds me of the grass so green
And the emerald most rarely seen
A green wall reminds me of the leaves so green
And a forest where I have never been
A green wall reminds me of trees with a lot of shade
And the fresh vegetables kept for trade.
What comes to my mind when I see a blue wall?
It reminds me of the sea so blue
I feel like jumping in it too
A blue wall reminds me of the blue sky
You can’t touch it cause it’s very high
A blue wall reminds me of the deep blue bear
It is very dangerous so beware
A blue wall reminds me of a blue whale
To reach it from the shore you have to sail.
poem by Risha Ahmed
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Silver Rings
Silver rings dazzled, the lit amber moon
said to thee-'one give to me'
Someone stood there,
bright green eyes
and curly hair
jaded greetings of welcome
for there is less in the company of miserys delight.
in distant, hale bins of hay
4 cukoo clocks echoed in dismay
the time of yesterday is to begin
Fair boy, oh moon,
theres still to little sewn to soon
and shock on the sun
reddened cheeks
drew past the silver rings
in merry queer leaps.
poem by Candice Renae Williams
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Fish Fever
This week end I went fishing
A fish in mind to catch
I went wishing, wishing, wishing
To catch a perfect catch
I wanted to catch the big one
The one that always gets away
I waited under the hot, hot sun
I waited for that fish all day
Then there was a pull on my line
The pull so full of magic
It made me think mine, mine, mine
Me, the fisherwoman classic
This fish was big I could feel
Big and strong, a winners tale
All I had to do was reel, reel, reel
In order not to fail
Me and this fish fought a moment
Tugging and yanking, pulling and reeling
Until I screamed net! Net! NET!
Is this a winners feeling?
In that moment I knew that it was this
The moment I caught the one that got away
I caught it, I caught it, I caught it
Fishing fever is what I caught that day
poem by Cheré Mason
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Persistently Pursuing Piscine Protein
Once again whilst fishing at the beach,
The fish they all stayed out of reach,
I think they knew that I was there,
And so my fish bag it stayed bare.
Nothing in there for me to eat,
The scaly ones had me beat,
But such is the nature of this fisherman,
I'll be trying again as soon as I can,
And next time I'll catch fish a' plenty,
Not going home with my fish bag empty.
This optimism keeps shining bright,
No matter how often on a cold wet night,
I venture out and fail to catch,
I know next time will be game, set, and match.
To me the stupidly determined one,
Who keeps on fishing when all hope is gone!
Tom Higgins 19/11/2012
poem by Tom Higgins
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The Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
And there to meet me is my mama and papa.
Down the road I look and there runs mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing tho the paint is cracked and dry,
And theres that old oak tree I used to play on.
Down the lane I walk with my sweet mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
[spoken:]
Then I awake and look around me, at four grey wall surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming.
For theres a guard and theres a sad old padre -
Arm in arm well walk at daybreak.
Again I touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the green, green grass of home
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fishing on a small lake
You had just left me
and I had relocated from Bellville
near Cape Town
to Centurion at Pretoria
and had travelled by airplane
and there was storm damage
to the roads
and I was still waiting
on my removal to arrive
and apart from going to work
I had a lot of time on my hands
and thoughts in my mind,
since I have lost
the only fish that really mattered
and I didn’t really know how.
My rods and reels and fishing tackle
from when I was a boy
was at my mother’s
where I now lived,
and the lake on the other side
of Centurion mall
caught my eye,
while I drove
over the bridge.
On the weekend
loneliness really caught up with me
and my mother
helped me prepare the bait
like she did
when I was a child.
It was nothing fancy,
just custard powder, baking meal
and honey
or baking meal and curry
or a fresh white bread and honey
that I used that summer.
At the lake some black kids
were selling tins with earthworms
to anglers,
but I wasn’t interested
as catfish goes for earthworms as well
and I wanted to catch blue kurper
or carp or maybe yellow-fish.
It was at about eleven o’clock
and some of the other anglers
had already being fishing
since six
and didn’t have luck,
but assured me
that the lake had
big kurper, carp and catfish.
They were very well equipped
with radio controlled bait boats
to take their lines in
and all kinds of modern gizmos.
I settled under a tree
next to the small red hanging bridge
with which visitors crossed the lake
and used two rods
and equipped two hooks on each line.
alternating between the custard
and the curry baits
and thought that I would have
some time to reflect on live,
but I didn’t even get time to wait.
Almost as soon as the sinker
struck the water
I had a bite,
and were catching two fish
at a time.
The biggest kurpers
that I have ever caught
were filling the keep net,
along with some rather large carp.
I came for solitude
and got everything but it
and was too busy
enjoying the experience
to notice
the three or four families
with children
who gathered on the bridge
to watch me.
Some of the other anglers
came over for a chat,
all of them believing
that I was using
some special secret
kind of bait.
I had brought more than enough bait
and gave them some
and that day all of them caught fish
and a little while later
to my astonishment
one even caught a huge catfish.
It wasn’t long before
I had friends right round that lake,
anglers brought me cider,
beer and whiskey,
and an angler
and his beautiful daughter
moved their lines
to right next to mine
and they roasted
chops and sausage
on a Cadac gas frying pan
and I got chops, sausage
and putu porridge
and many more bites
than I had bargained for.
poem by Gert Strydom
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