First Do No Harm
As she impaled the worm on the
hook she said fishing gave her peace
... as she ripped out their eyes
throats and gills.. without surcease
Why not fish without a hook
without a net
with no intention to harm
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Related quotes
When I Go Fishing
when i go fishing
i am always reminded
of the fish in the pond
and the hook, line
and sinker
the bait is this worm
this shrimp
and objective is always
the fish
in there
one drinks so much silence
by the pond
i see the ripples
i see the shadows of fins
i drink so much silence
i fathom so much depth
i might have missed the elusive fish
losing my worm and my shrimp
what i bring home is this inner peace
and so i never mind the shadows of the fins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Me Be A Fool
You take the crown,
I'll zip my lips,
I SWEAR.....
zip, zip, zip....zip my lips
lip, lip, lip...oops,,, zips no lip
oh! I can't even mug up
I was not permitted in to a school;
la..la..la.. look I AM A PROUD FOOL! !
I veiled my eyes with a black tape
I resist as I hate to ape.
You scolded me and she gave me a scornful look
I won't complain as I am the bait of your hook.
hook, hook, hook,....hook my book
book, book, your hook, my book,,,,, ooops! !
I am not poor, let me make it clear
You be the King, but, LET ME BE A FOOL! !
poem by Bharat Bhushan
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Broremann The Fisherman
Broremann the Angler
On the pier where fishing vessels were tied up my brother
sat fishing all the while seagulls kept swooping and shrieking,
he blissfully ignored them. He had no hook at the end of his
line and when asked why he said, I don´t like to hurt the fish.
But crafty little Broremann was not as innocent as you may
think, he didn´t like fish, all those horrible tiny bones,
his mother had sent him down to the pier to try catch some
fish for lunch. He liked sausages with mashed potatoes and
stewed peas, now he could go home tell his mother fish didn´t
bite today, but made sure to put the hook on the line so his
mother could see he was really trying. An old fisherman gave
him two sardines wrapped in a newspaper, but wouldn´t you
know it the pair of sardines somehow slipped out of the paper
and made their way back to the sea.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mad: 1
He was angling fish sitting on the high way,
frequently making the hook dance
and all on a sudden, pulling the fishing rod so forcefully that
it seemed a big catfish had certainly swallowed the hook.
He was then repenting loudly showing others
really a big fish had been successful to flee making him a fool.
Pedestrians were watching him shaking their necks
and bursting into laughter.
An unhappy man stopped his purple colored car beside the road
and opening the window asked him aloud, 'Brother,
have you got any fish? '
He raised his eyes at forehead with surprise and said, 'Alas!
Who has ever got any fish on a dry street? '
poem by Sayeed Abubakar
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Worm Food
Dad once took me fishing
When I was a happy boy
And taught me how to hook a worm
plunge my fingers into a gooey cup
Where the little things squirmed
In dirt and pluck out a juicy one,
Hold its length toward the hook
And just, go ahead, push,
like putting my arm
Through a coat sleeve.
We all die one day, he said.
Don’t you worry.
poem by John W. McEwers
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Fishing With Daddy
One day I walked with Daddy
Down by a little brook.
There he placed a big red worm
Upon my fishing hook.
We sat together 'neath a tree
And did some fishing there.
Daddy told me wondrous stories
Of hunting elk and bear.
He talked of when he was a boy -
Of roads and tunnels he would build.
How he would dream his day away
As he worked in the cotton field.
He spoke of foreign lands he'd seen -
How big ships come and go.
Of giant derricks, gushing oil,
And making angels in the snow.
He talked of Mom, his only love; How proud he was of me.
Of our country - as it was -so rich and wild and free.
When the sun was setting across the little brook,
We started homeward, hand in hand, with a worm still on my hook.
poem by Gloria H. Koplin
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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.
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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The Fish Hook
My father
holding fish-hook
hooking bait
throwing of it to sea
in that bridge
its angle line is moving quickly
big fish eating bait
in its fish-hook
or only crab
making a fool of bait
in its fish-hook
or chance
which is making a fool
of him'self
poem by Prasetya Utama
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In Constant Struggle
there is this hook, line and
sinker
someone is a fish and he
is caught
the urchins and clams
and octopuses watch helplessly
the fish is this philosophy of
being caught and wanting to be free
you are inside this ocean and
you are this fish
and then you wish to become a man
all your life you feel the fish in there
hook, line and sinker
the fish in you and the man within
in constant struggle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sea Encounter
I caught a massive shark
and kept it beside the raft
half out of the nightmare waters
with its head dangling from the
hook.
It gaped at me and didn’t attack.
It didn’t even flinch, or roar -
It was silent as a shark.
It desired life with its weight
Being big and bigger,
Thrashed and assaulted
by the sea creatures. Where are
the other fish? In the sea
where they dashed and whirled
and slept. This one
has now ended like a ghost.
The other fish do not mind:
It is covered with ruined scales,
Hard and close-packed.
Its gills were consuming
the abhorrent oxygen
- the scaly gills,
exhilarating with blood,
that can damage us somehow -
I wondered of the flesh,
rubbery and not fleshy like other fishes
Of the deep blue sea.
I wondered of the different skeleton,
That dinosaur skeleton,
the colours that were the same,
the same colours that would permeate it.
Eyes were no goodness, but
Evil was their intention.
It lunged -
I don’t know how!
Perhaps the flip would drag me under,
And keep me busy paddling
Enough to sink me down
And devour me.
But I was wise and wary
To survive the whole encounter.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Captain Hook
Captain Hook must remember
Not to scratch his toes.
Captain Hook must watch out
And never pick his nose.
Captain Hook must be gentle
When he shakes your hand.
Captain Hook must be careful
Openin' sardine cans
And playing tag and pouring tea
And turnin' pages of his book.
Lots of folks I'm glad I ain't--
But mostly Captain Hook!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Big fish on run for life
Fishing idea's,
in quite watter's
Throwing the hook,
deep inside
The biggest fish;
is yet to be captured
In my fishing tripp,
network site.
The charcoal grill,
it is ready
Fish escape,
imposible fund
The pan in fire,
alway's stedy
So run you fish,
in endless watter's
To have more swim,
for your life.
November 22.2012
Ludovik celaj
poem by Ludovik Celaj
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You Fit Into Me
You fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
poem by Margaret Atwood
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Summer Time
THIS morning we go
fishing in the river
got this hook, line and sinker
nothing much for logic
rhythm and rhyme
just this worm as pawn
and the fading moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fishing, Joke On Love
Love is like fishing
It’s a kind of sport, try it and you'll see on what you’re missing
Once caught, it’s all hugs and kissing
And memories of when it happened, reminiscing
When that alarm goes of
And you’ve got one on the hook
There’s nothing that will stop
Or that will help from a book
You just got to lean back and hold onto your net
And hope that you are man enough to hope it don’t get away
Because if you do you will be filled with regret
And on that fishing lake you have to wait and stay
So keep your fish in our grasp
Don’t let it slip out of your clasp
Cause it can happen in a second so fast
So when you get that fish make that experience last
Isaac Newton
Isaac Newton
For years he fished in the nearby lake,
but the fish would never take his bait.
So he baited his hook with crusty-bread,
but even that didn’t turn their head.
He changed the bait to a lump of cheese
and thought this would tempt and tease,
but alas no bites from dusk till dawn,
so he changed the bait to boiled corn.
With no success with boiled wheat
Newton would not accept defeat.
So he put a juicy worm upon the hook,
but even this got no second look.
He cast aside his tackle and thoughts of fish,
and became a mathematician and physicist.
One sunny morning beneath an apple tree
he sat reading a book of philosophy.
From the lake a fish leaped high above his head,
but an apple fell down and hit him instead.
He looked up for the fish and it fell onto his lap,
so he ate the apple and put the fish back.
poem by Orlando Belo
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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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Prime Time
Cavalier roses, but the thorns got in my soul
Chocolate box intention, but a bitter taste left me cold
Take a little something, a present clouds the past
Traded our emotions, it couldnt last, wouldnt last at all
And though you didnt say
I knew youd swim away
Fine time for hook and line
And though whats done is done, yeah
I know my right from wrong
Prime time to cast me down!
Bitter suite decision, sofa so good the day we met
Eye for eye collision, pillow talking, only pillow talking
Matinee romancing, the bait is set, the net is cast
Cheated our emotions, it couldnt last
Wouldnt last at all
Although you didnt say
I knew youd swim away
Prime time for hook and line
And though whats done is done
I know my right from wrong
Prime time to cast me down!
And words are words thats all
Im going to stand or fall
Prime time for hook and line
Dont you swim away...
Prime time for the hook and line
Prime time for the hook and line
For the hook, the hook and line
Although you didnt say, yeah
I knew youd swim away
Prime time for hook and line
And though whats done is done, yeah
I know my right from wrong
Prime time to cast me down
Line by line adventure
A prime time for the hook and line
Castaway in pleasure
A prime time
Curtain razor tension
A prime time for the hook and line
Wasted our emotions
A prime time
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Number Eight Hook
This little fish hook, is a number eight,
Tiny as it is I will attest.
It's put many fish on my dinner plate,
For catching perch it is the best.
I wouldn't exchange it for all the rest.
With a piece of night crawler, wiggling around,
This tiny hook is my weapon of choice.
The fish are ecstatic, at what they have found,
And all of a sudden, they just loose their poise.
The silent assassin strikes without noise.
Little red number eight, I depend upon,
To get me fish, with constant ease.
My secret weapon when all else goes wrong,
For a wonderful supper, or catch and release.
Little red number eight, knows just how to please.
9/5/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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