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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Related quotes
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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The Fish That You Caught With Your Fishing Rod
the fish that you caught with your fishing rod
while you were alone at sea
tastes more delicious than the one that you
bought in the market
you have worked for it
you waited for long to catch it and hold it with your bare hands
you can still feel the vibrations of the nylon string
which caught the mouth of the fish
that now you are cooking and eating
the excitement still resounds inside your tongue
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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When I remember the fish
When I remember the fish,
The river longed me to go,
Wriggling and meandering, slippery in this
Imaginary waters of my world,
I become a fish.
When eye sea them eat the fish;
They cast their nets for a random catch, they
Drop their hooks for a strangling pull, then,
I become a fish no more.
When them fail to catch the fish;
As the fish wriggles an escape,
Then eye long to be like one as eye
Wonder whether or not am a fish.
©1998
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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I Loved A Man that Loved to Fish
I loved a man that loved to fish.
He’d go down to the waters and cast his rod like a penny for a wish.
What he thought, whatever what- if he played, I’d love to know
For when he was away fishing his face was a glow.
Wishing away he’d sit all day and night,
Wading his patience against the twilight.
Patience was his tool
He’d tire his fish like the destructive heart of a fool.
With a gentle cast, not too high or low, his shinny fly would lure
Then his fish would run and he’d ignore.
After it was caught he’d throw it back for another man’s game
Or catch it again tomorrow, they were all the same.
I loved a man that loved to fish
And in his shadow I ran waiting to be his wish.
(Bernadette Bridges 9/08)
poem by Bernadette Bridges
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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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Our biggest fish
When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke,
I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like;
And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught
When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught!
And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display
When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away!
Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines,
And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs;
But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame,
I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same--
I never lost a little fish--yes, I am free to say
It always was the biggest fish I caught that got away.
And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass
From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass;
I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite
And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night,
To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay
How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away.
And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're
caught--
When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut,
When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat
And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat!
Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say
That it always is the biggest fish you catch that gets away!
'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes
The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize;
We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life--
Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife;
And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray,
We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away.
I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be
Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea;
For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game--
May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same;
Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say
That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.
poem by Eugene Field
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 24
A weak fisherman caught a strong fish in his net and not being able to retain it the fish overcame him and pulled the net from his hand.
A boy went to bring water from the torrent.
The torrent came and took the boy away.
The net brought every time a fish.
This time the fish went and carried off the net.
The other fishermen were sorry and blamed him for not being able to retain such a fish which had fallen into his net. He replied: ‘O brothers, what can be done? My day was not lucky but the fish had yet one remaining. ‘Moral: A fisherman cannot catch a fish in the Tigris without a day of luck and a fish cannot die on dry ground without the decree of fate.
World’s Fisheries In Deep Crisis
April 2009 stocks
we already knew
world’s fisheries
were in deep crisis
do math shocking
more fishing boats
chase last shrinking
smaller fish stocks
half this world’s
fish caught fishing
we are throwing
back dead or is sales
sold no regard paid
to whether net fish
stock is endangered
or a species bycatch
38 million tonnes
of marine life taken
every year from seas
is not catch intended
target of fishing
vessels numbers
of most popular
species fall rapid
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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
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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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This Is No Fish Story
We had been up and down Redwood Creek
For what seemed to me to be all day
Watching my grandfather fish for salmon
We started at the mouth of the river
Hiked over sand rocks and slippery green moss
The only reason I was there was
The fried chicken and potato salad
My grandmother made the night before
Lunch seemed so far away
My grandfather was out of sight
He had worked his way upstream
When we heard him yell 'FISH ON! '
My grandmother who had been hanging back with me
Left me in the sand
I had to move fast to catch up
Moving around large pieces of driftwood
He had certainly hooked something
His rod bending if half then straightening
As he let line out
With the reel's drag on
I knew how to fish
I just didn't like to
I had no patience
I wasn't like bird hunting
If I got bored bird hunting
When I was by myself
With just my dog
I could take a shot anyway
Just for practice
To get the dog used to the noise
Because I had no patience
At the age of twelve
I had never seen so much line out before
He kept backing further up the wide beach
It looked to me as if the fish knew the way
And was headed back to the ocean
Hook in his mouth
My guess was he was no longer
In the mood for spawning
He had my grandfather on
Nothing personal on either side
My grandfather wanted to land the salmon
The salmon it appeared wanted
My grandfather in the water
This primal tug of war
Went on for some time
The salmon tried everything
It tried going behind submerged trees
It woud take a run
Straight at the beach
My grandfather reeling in the slack
As fast as he could
The salmon would then jump high
Doubling back away yanking on the line
Trying to dislodge the hook
Or snap the line (he'd been on before)
They were both getting tired
My grandfather timed the next
Pull on his fishing rod
With the jump of the salmon
Too close to shore this time
The beast was on the beach in front of me
My grandfather was still reeling in line
He knew it wasn't landed yet
He was hollering for my grandmother
To grab a piece of driftwood
To club the monster
Who was glaring at me with one eye
His other eye was in the sand
My grandfather's shinning metal lure
Stuck out of a bloody mouth
Gills were grasping for oxygen in dry air
I swear I saw in that eye the reflection
Of my grandmother running
A hunk of driftwood in hand
The eye saw it too
With one last flop like a large wrestler
Just before the count of three
He went up into the air
Snapped the line hit the water and was gone
I'm not sure what pound test the line was
Whatever it was it wasn't enough
My gandfather's favorite lure
With his hand-tied leader
Were following their catch
As fast as they could
Not knowing it was they
That had been caught
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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A Fishermans Will
A Fisherman's Will
I have eaten catfish in more ways than one
Fish that is blackened is not over done
Bass done over a grill with butter basting
Fish balls fried are really tasty
I have had days I caught more fish than I could contain
Then there were days I didn't get a bite and it rained
Memories of Dads and trips where we bonded
Caught some that could have been mounted
Romance and fishing don't go together well
Poles and pools on days hotter than hell
I've never make a good fisher of men
But I have found fishing gives me a grin
So when I die I ask you please
Put my body in a river or sea
Let the fish then eat off me,
So I may return the favor, please!
This is my request in my:
Fisherman's Will
Jim 1989
poem by James Casey
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Pierre The Penquin
'I have just been swimming to catch my fish. I have 3, I love fish it is absolutely delicious, I don’t want them cooked, I can’t see the sense in that, I will eat them raw one by one and savor every bite. They are cold and slippery to slide down my throat. I will eat my fish first, then I might go for another swim, or I might go for a snooze for a while.'
Who knows?
Pierre the penguin has just been swimming,
to catch his evening meal.
He does not need a boat for this,
or a rod or reel.
He can swim very fast,
and catch his fish quite easily.
Pierre is well equipped for this,
has you all can see.
He has a flipper on each leg,
that makes him very strong.
So, when he goes swimming,
he can stay out there quite long.
The fish are cold and slippery,
to slide down Pierre's throat.
The oil in the fish,
gives Pierre his lovely coat.
After his meal,
he might go for another swim,
or he might go for a snooze.
Which one do you think,
Pierre, should really choose?
poem by Pamela lutwyche
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040510g We Are Overfishing The Sea
a giant umbrella planted on sand
garden chairs and folding table
resting loose close to large coolers
audible mumbles from six crabbers
line along the length of the sea shore
little kid doesn't mind playing with dog
i came closer to see how are they faring
caught few male, female crabs and fish
old man sitting on a stool with fishing pole
his radio is on rock station lipsynching roll
called me, we talk, complaining about catch
he said fish has disappeared besides spots
***
spot is a fish abundant in hampton roads, virginia
overfishing could really deplete fish population or
use of illegal gill nets...plus chemicals that disrupt
hatching process. we must understand a lot of us
is shifting meat to fish or to veggies.
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Last thoughts for 2009
Ice Fishing
Before the fishing someone ought
to give the little fish a thought.
He is our ancestor, without
him we would all be pencilled out.
And sometimes we are fish, in fact
I've caught some judges in the act.
LRH
12.31.09
poem by Linda Hepner
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Big Fish
My dream was to catch a big fish
Uncle Harold said fish when its dark
So out of my warm bed I would hop
And fishing became my trademark
My sunrises were spend on the banks
Was a perfect way to start every day
But it always ended without my fish
So photography became a better way
poem by John McCornack
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What Will Apex Predators Eat?
“species tuna sharks
will have no fish
left no small fish
will have no food to eat? ”
when juveniles are caught
all immature fish caught
before next generation breeding
poem by Terence George Craddock
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We Never Speak
I caught a silver fish
I caught a fish of gold
The first one spoke to me
And so I let it go.
The second told a joke
And I started to laugh
It slipped from my hand
Down into the sea.
Since then I have tried
To learn the language of fish
Of flowers, birds and bears
Sometimes I am they
And they are me
But now we never speak.
poem by Barbara Spring
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I'd Rather Be Fishing
When you cast your bait into the sea
isn't it marvelous that you can't really see
what's nibbling around it, circlin' your way?
For most of the fun of a good fishing day
is the surprise of the catch
that's been tuggin' on your line.
The feeling you get when you say, 'You're mine.'
And in the event that your catch gets away
all it does is prolong your stay.
And isn't that why you love to fish?
You're close to the sea and the salty air.
There's nothing like it anywhere.
So grab your pole, your rod and line
and head out to the salty brine.
Dedicated to my husband Lee who is an avid fisherman.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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