Battle Of Wits
A man who, tired but awake
came to the shore of Deerhorn Lake,
his wife could tell he had not caught
a single fish. When he had bought
those lures and poles and fancy reels
he'd talked about delicious meals
that they would have once he would go
onto the lake just like a pro.
He told her then he'd go and snooze
inside the house (there would be booze) .
So, off she went with boat and gear
and half a pack of Coor's cold beer.
She reached the centre and released
the anchor of the large-hulled beast.
She reached for the big fishing guide
when there was movement at her side.
Inspectors do patrol these regions
and with the Law is their allegiance.
'What may I ask is your intent,
'it's out of season, early Lent? '
And staring at her ample breast
he added 'I will now arrest
you for the fishing here today
and for this crime you sure will pay.'
'I am not fishing, Sir, I read
each day here on this boat, indeed.
As you can see, the gear is here
I haven't even touched the beer.'
'I do not care', said he with glee,
'you have the means and don't fool me,
you are out here to catch the fishes
instead of home with dirty dishes.'
'If you arrest me, I will scream
and tell your whole inspector team
that I was trying to escape
and you will face the charge of rape.'
'How dare you, lady talk such rot
are you on uppers, coke or pot?
There was no sign of sex, I say
the courts will lock your life away.'
'You have equipment and the tools,
I'm sure that all the legal fools
will see that sex was your intent,
may God have mercy, do repent! '
Without a word the man then turned
as far as he was now concerned
he'd lost the battle of the wits,
he would remember though, her tits.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Big One
I watched two people fishing,
one August day at the lake,
the sun was shining brightly,
as I began to bake.
I found an old oak tree,
to sit under and glare,
I watched these two for hours,
with their fishing poles high in the air.
They talked about the old times,
as they tried for their feast,
they were hoping for the big one:
a fish known as 'The Beast'.
I watched them be patient,
casting again and again in the water,
the fish were just not biting,
as the day got hotter and hotter.
Into the evening they cast their poles,
but no cast was better than the one before,
they packed up their gear and headed for home,
as my day continued-under the oak by the shore.
poem by George Aul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandpa's Lake
He was sitting by himself all alone,
Down in a little corner.
Looking out of place, in the funeral home,
And away from all the mourners.
His dad walked up, and I heard him say,
Daddy can I go home?
I don't know why grandpa went away,
But he might be home alone.
I want to be there, when he gets back,
We were going fishing today.
He'll need his hooks and rods, and that burlap sack,
Where he puts the fish away.
His dad looked up, a tear in his eye,
And said 'grandpa's fishing now.'
But it's a great big lake, up in the sky,
And you can't go there right now.
He's fishing with his dad today,
They'll be fishing for some time.
They have a lot to do and say,
Cause to that lake it's a long steep climb.
They haven't seen each other,
In oh, so many years.
And grandpa's glad to see his father,
And both their eyes have tears.
And grandpa's a little boy again,
Just a fishing with his dad.
And on his face there's no more pain,
I hope for him your'e glad.
The little boy just smiled and said,
I guess I'm happy about that.
Yes for grampa I'm very glad,
But for me, I guess I'm sad.
I wanted to go fishing, with my grampa today.
But if you can take me,
To the lake, maybe the bay,
I'll go, my time is free.
I guess I'll wait to fish with grampa,
Till I can make it to his lake.
Maybe he'll find some secret spots,
I sure hope so, for my sake.
1/4/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Fishing Pole
There is something about you, something in your soul
something that seems to surround your fishing pole….
You moved to the coast, now that’s no lie
And we had a hard time with that little goodbye
But no need for heartache, no need to console
You had your boat and your fishing pole.
You know everyday you go out to fish
it’s like a genie granting every little wish
every time that bobber goes out of control
we know you are happy with your fishing pole.
Now on birthdays it’s special out on the water
I hear if you’re there, they’ll jump for the slaughter
You’ll be piling them in like your lucks on a roll
Reeling them in with your fishing pole
So today of all days take heed and relax
Pack up a cooler with drinks and some snacks
put on your shoes and go take a stroll
Down to your boat with your fishing pole.
poem by Kathleen J. Shields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lady Of The Lake
Today I talked
to the old lady
who lives across the way
she said she died
a hundred years ago today
She told me
of the time she saw me
fishing in the lake
I had to laugh
I said
if You've been dead
for a hundred years
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake
I'm not even fifty yet
She said
have you ever seen me
walk out of this garden
or talk to anybody else
I said
you've got me there
but like I said
if you died a hundred
years ago today
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake
She said
a hundred years ago today
you drowned trying to save me
now it's time to except
that you are dead
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do You Remember
Do you remember
Picking up rocks and skipping them
By the people fishing
Do you remember
Having them yell at us
For scaring the fish away
Do you remember
Running as fast as we can
So they wouldn't catch us
Do you remember
How happy we were
When they didn't catch us
Do you remember
When we got home that day
And you started drinking
And got mad when the liquor ran out
Do you remember
When you stumbled outside
To get another bottle
Do you remember
The cop came to arrest you
And how you made a scene
Do you remember
Being so mad about it
That you kicked the cops window out
Do you remember
All of us watching you
As they took you away
Do you remember
When they added another charge
To your already long police record
Joy of Fishing
Oh how I enjoyed so very much
Fishing off a bridge
Or perhaps ‘long side the road
Or from up on a slight ridge
I remember many years ago
On the first day of the season
Going out before daylight
Getting my limit was the reason
Cold when I would paddle out
In a small and rented boat
And if I caught lots of fish
Oh, how I loved to gloat
But it was fun, I remember
As I tossed the long line out
And when I’d feel that tug
I’d wait to give a mighty shout
Until that little fish was on
And I’d nailed him on the spot
It was so much fun, my friend
Especially if he really fought
By the afternoon it was hot
So a cold drink I’d be wishing
And ready to go out again
For the ultimate joy of fishing!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fishing For Something
Fishing for something, On a lake out west,
But; the only thing biting, Mossies are a pest;
I really came to catch a dozen or so trout,
But had to stop, There's a storm come about.
Fishing for something off their pier,
Up at ballarat. On wendouree weir;
Hope to catch some trevally for tea,
But all I caught was an old shoe, silly me.
Fishing for something, I'll need a net,
Try to catch lobster, if I don't I'll be upset,
So I let out the net, and to my surprise today,
5 lobsters, and 1 cheeky dolphin trying to play.
Fishing for something, a minister will do,
As he preaches to the people, the message so true;
About. Love, and kindness, and helping each other,
And telling them too, to help witness to a brother.
Fishing for something, is what we can do,
Help so many, find a way, and not be in a stew;
Don't judge others, and don't start to fight,
But be caring and sharing, lead them to the light.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drunken Dancing Fish
An old man fishing
Sat all day in his boat
Drinking beer
Watching the bobber float
Perhaps it was the alcohol
Or the rocking to and fro
But he swore he saw
A fish come up and dance a do si do!
So quickly
It was gone
But the staggering effect of it
Like a hangover, lingered on long
He sold the boat
And gave up beer
Now he drinks ginger ale
And only hunts deer
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Honey, I Took The Fishing Boat
I took the boat out fishing,
and didn’t tell you that I went
Then before I knew it
all my fishing time was spent
Some angels pulled me over
and said that I must dock
I wasn’t even startled
so I must have been in shock
They wouldn’t let me make a phone call
just said they’d let you know
Then they said, “ Lay down the fishing poles”
and to heaven we did go
They dressed me in a flowing robe
I guess I’m in the choir
I sing a decent alto
but I can’t go much higher
Well, looks like I’m here to stay,
so you must follow aft
Don’t worry that I took the boat
I did leave you the raft
poem by Rosie McFadden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fishers
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And before the sun comes out the sky looks gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are off fishing
They left quite early at the break of day.
They tow their boat to the ramp at San Remo
But only on a calm and windless day
And within sight of land they dropp their anchor
Where the fish might be schooling on the quiet bay.
For them a pleasant way to spend their morning
To fish with rods and lines from boat for three hours or four
Especially when the hungry fish are biting
A good morning's catch some twenty fish or more.
The gentle waves against the boat keep lapping
And the sun breaks through the clouds just after nine
It must be soothing for the nerves and pleasant
To sit and relax and fish in the sun shine.
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And the sun at nine shines through the clouds of gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are out fishing
In their boat anchored on San Remo bay
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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.
A Poem of Hunting, Fishing, and a Truck
I throw my gun in the back of my truck
With it I hope to kill a 12-point buck
While in the woods, BANG! I see the deer fall
I take him home, freeze the meat, and mount his horns on my wall
I grab my pole and tackle box and head to the lake
At this time in the morning, I feel barely awake
There is no school today, I’m glad there is no class
A mighty tug on my line, I hook a large mouth bass
There is nothing like hunting; waiting for the kill
Cutting and cleaning the meat my freezer I’ll soon fill
Deer steaks and deer jerky have such a great taste
And with his head on my wall nothing goes to waste
I like fishing, fishing is fun
Fishing underneath the rising sun
I like catching the fish and putting them in a net
Fish is a great dish when the table is set
My truck is unstoppable; it can’t beat
I slam the door and strap myself in the seat
I start the engine and press the gas to the floor
My truck takes off and my engine lets out a roar
I wouldn’t be able to hunt or fish if it wasn’t for my truck
With it I carry poles, guns, and my fallen buck
I pull my boat with my truck in four-wheel-drive
At my destination I always arrive
poem by Glaedr the poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The sea gipsy
The sea gipsy
she's anchored in our sheltered bay, a fishing boat tonight will stay
a forard mooring rope made fast, engine's cut, anchor cast
light is failing, silhouettes, casts shadows of old fishing nets
atop the mast a solitary light, a beacon, throughout the night
with the tides rise and fall, she swings on the anchor's maul
waves lapping against her hull, oblivious to a wandering gull
decks are clear, gear stored, sleep comes to those aboard
on the morrow, at dawns first light, the eastern sun chases the night
movement aboard this working craft, is witnessed forard and abaft
now in the bright light of day, the gipsy prepares to get under way
lines are hauled, the engines started, the gipsy now, has departed
steaming to the fishing grounds, through the reefs and outer sounds
poem by Bob Gibson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fisherman's Boat
I am tied to a pole
In me came and sat a fisherman with a big mole
He had a fishing rod and a net
With a bucket and bait so wet
He untied me and rowed me
Into the deep sea
And with rod, net and bait
He caught fish till late
He went home with a big fish
To prepare and eat a tasty dish
Tomorrow again he’ll come wearing his overcoat
To untie me, his little fishing boat.
poem by Niharika Singh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lucky Catch
Once saw a small boy
Hand line a very large fish
Very lucky boy!
With expensive gear
Fisherman cast very far
Not a single fish
'Boy could barely cast'
Remarked the old fisherman
'Just beginners luck'
True about boy's skills.
Could only cast to the fish
Feeding at his feet
Not just gear or skill
To be lucky in fishing:
Fish where the fish are!
poem by Zen Bojczuk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gone Fishing
Sylvia searched the whole house over
Calling out her lover's name...
He was not there, oh no ~ oh no,
He was hooked on the fishing game.
Down to the water he had gone,
Whether the sport was right or wrong!
The river was his hideaway,
So peaceful, on a warm summer's day.
Sweet Sylvia disliked the hobby,
Thought the fish could feel the pain.
She saw them struggle for their freedom
But Sylvia would never complain.
Now to wait three hours, or more.
Until that key turned in the door,
And he would greet his Sylvia dear
All laden down with his fishing gear.
And tomorrow morning may well be the same
'cause he was hooked on the fishing game.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Going Fishing
Going fishing for some poems
I haven’t caught before
Sailing in the ocean
Far from the sandy shore
Going to take the works of Shakespeare
Use his words as living bait
Going to cast them far and wide
And in the moonlight wait
I may catch a slippery conger
I’ve heard they send out shocks
Best I wear some gloves
And a pair of rubber socks
It may be the whale who saved Jonah from the deep
I’ll thank him for his mercy and let his life him keep
I’ll tell him to read the Tempest where forgiveness rules the sea
Then I’ll row home in happiness and ever more shall be.
But what if I catch a shark who tears bodies limb from limb
I’ll say go seek the whale and find forgiveness there within
I’ll fish right through the darkness till the western skies are bright
I’ll throw back the empty poems and just keep the one’s with light
You may think I'm cuckoo crazy fishing for poems in the sea
But where on earth do they come from? it’s not inside of me
I’ve looked inside my ears and deep down inside my throat
They seem to come from somewhere, and it’s not inside my coat.
poem by Wojja Fink
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!