Good angler
She would give - precisely,
Hers fishing tackle to you,
But it will be so unfairly,
Good anglers are many
But they are so few
Who can thinks up
Own tool for hunting.
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Fishing For A Friend
when you go to fish
go fishing for the finest kind
which good anglers always do.
if you're looking for a fine fish
you must choose the purest lake
in which good anglers fish.
if you catch a fine fish
try not to let it get away
good anglers real them in.
you must bring your fish home
a fine fish will quench your hunger
after a long day fishing.
(January,2010, Omar Ibrahim)
(revised by MR.Ronald Peat)
poem by Omar Ibrahim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are All Anglers Stranglers?
Are all anglers stranglers?
No.. some smash the sentient
beings' heads or
decapitate them.
Some throw them back, the
ego thrill of having caught them
and ripped their throat in
removing the hook is enough.
Are all anglers tanglers?
Are they danglers, caught within
their own lines?
=====================
Fishing is with slaughterhouses, killing trees as
lumbermen... one of the 5 most dangerous occupations.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Forest Greeting
GOOD hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Fishing Hole
I'm going down to my fishing hole,
Got my tackle box, and Garcia pole.
Gonna catch a mess of fish for lunch,
Fry em up in my pan, I love that crunch.
With a bitsy minnow on my line,
I'll catch enough, so all can dine.
Hoping for blue gills and sunfish too,
I love fishing that's what I do.
I got a sandwich and a couple of beers,
I do love fishing, I hold it dear.
Look at this fishing hole, what a beautiful sight,
Hold on, hold on now, I got a bite.
11/16/10 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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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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A Bad Day Of Fishing
A bad day of fishing,
Can go a long way.
It beats a good day of work,
Any old day.
Nothing beats fishing, I guarantee,
Listen to what I say.
If you don't like fishing, you'll still agree,
Have a bad fishing day.
11/3/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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There are a couple of carp fishing books I've been reading. I'm very interested in that line of books, because I think they write very well, carp anglers, about the general environment.
quote by Tom Felton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The South Fork Boys and Their Dam
The boys of South Fork Country Club
Raise glasses to their health
And laud the speech of Carnegie,
His grand gospel of wealth.
Then breaks the dam and floods the homes
Of Johnstown's humbler ranks.
Two thousand and two hundred nine
Lie dead upon the banks.
The South Fork Fishing-Hunting Club,
A guilty brood of rooks,
Hear solace from ole Carnegie,
The patron saint of books:
'Our dam is breached, but who dares blame
'The fishing-hunting guild?
'Two thousand and FIVE hundred nine
'Libraries we shall build! '
The Fishing Poem
Fishing in the moonlight or fishing in the sun;
Fishing for the big ones is fun, fun, fun.
Catching the small ones or none at all,
It’s a great sport to get on the ball.
Good luck on your next trip,
And let’s hope you don’t get sick.
poem by William Sawyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Hunting or Fishing?
Hunting or fishing – which is better?
That is what I am thinking about!
In business many hunt for customers;
Some men prefer casting net to catch fish!
Even for poets the position is the same
In poetry websites to catch readers!
Some lay wise traps to catch readers!
I use fishing rod with a needle and bait
To catch readers who can understand!
Whether the rank is high or low it is
Immaterial but the true comment is!
Hunting readers to comment and rank
Or fishing readers to comment and rank
Are not really going to enhance one’s status;
For, voluntary comments are indeed valuable!
Poets are jealous to appreciate others’ merit
But some poets raise the status of others!
So, letters to such poets increase sans end!
This is the status of poetry websites now!
So, it is left to you to hunt or fish or lay trap
As you wish to catch readers for rank, etc.!
poem by Ramesh T A
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It cannot be precisely known how any thing is good or bad, till it is precisely known what it is.
quote by James Mill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no support for love… as I have told you: to give one’s love, is very precisely and essentially to give as such nothing of what one has, because it is precisely in so far as one does not have it that there is a question of love.
Jacques Lacan in Seminar V, The Formations of the Unconscious (7 May 1958)
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Old Men Just Go Fishing
When a young man's fancy, turns to desire,
An old man just goes fishing.
It takes too long to stoke that fire,
And what's the use in wishing.
So I pull out my rods, pull out my reels,
And go kick my old truck's tires.
Unlike with love, I won't miss meals,
And I won't put out no fires.
I'll just make sure my tackle box,
Is bursting at the seams,
No fancy cars I love old trucks,
No women in my dreams.
I'd rather be fishing any old day,
Not to say women are fickle.
And above all I just must say,
Fish won't slap when you tickle.
2/22/12 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Gone Fishing
Im gone fishing
I got me a line
Nothing I do is gonna make the difference
So Im taking the time
And you aint never gonna be happy
Anyhow, anyway
So Im gone fishing
And Im going today
Im gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me
You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But youll never be free
May as well go fishing
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love To Go Fishing
I love to go fishing everyday,
To the river or the lake.
Up in the morning without delay,
I go fishing soon as I wake.
Down to the water to wet my line,
My float bobbing up and down.
Fishing in the morning, is just so fine,
Your face will never sport a frown.
A big ole catfish, or a little bluegill,
I just don't give a hoot.
I love the way fishing makes me feel,
To me it's like forbidden fruit.
If I get lucky and get a bite,
Then the day is made.
I'll stick around till early night,
Just snoozing in the shade.
1/20/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Boomer Ruined Our Hunting Trips
For years we have gone hunting.
I've loved sitting next to him in his deer blind
or sitting quietly in my own.
Now that Boomer came into our lives
I see all living animals as having feelings
and I can't stand the thought of hunting.
Boomer is our bassett hound.
He thinks he is human.
I sometimes think so too.
The way he has shown me
that he feels things like we do
has changed me forever.
Now, all I can think of is that
if a dog can feel emotions like we do...
can a deer?
Are they afraid?
Do they know why we are sitting there?
Do they hate me?
I have to explain this to my husband
and pray he understands why
our hunting days together are over.
Invisible Tool
I love my invisible tool,
It shapeshifts into many forms and its damn cool,
It follows me everywhere i go,
if anyone asks a trade for it, i'll say 'no, '
I am lucky i used it in the graduation mass,
And hell yes, it saved my ass.
My invisible tool is so damn invisible,
it is no doubt the most invincible!
I believe everyone has their own invisible tool,
and each of us can only feel our own tool,
As for me, my invisible tool is my cour,
I am so happy i wanted to buy a whore!
poem by Greggi Leano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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