Sign Of the Fish
I’m going to design and patent a fishing lure
With the face of Jesus, Mohammad, Jacob
or Gautama Buddha on the body
These lures will catch only the keepers
And to Hell with the rest of them...
2008 © T Sheridan / Mr. Wiffle Sonic Tail Lures/ 20th Anniversary
poem by Ted Sheridan
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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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Speech Therapy
He lures her by his wit
As she lures him by her looks.
His wit only can whip her
For the looks she hooks with.
Open a speech therapy for men
Like beauty parlours for women.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.
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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Satan's Lures
Satan loves the sport of fishing.
His tackle box filled with bait,
he goes out to the lake of life
to cast his line, and wait.
The devil knows us, every one
and knows which lures to use.
In accordance with our weaknesses
he determines which to choose.
Dishonesty, pornography,
pride, selfishness and hate.
False witness, greed, the list goes on.
The sin becomes the bait.
Many bite and are deceived.
And in a snap they're hooked.
They learn too late that Satan's bait
is not as it had looked.
It's important that we choose the right
for this life is our test;
and when we choose to do what's right
we truly will be blessed.
So feed on Heavenly Fathers words.
Great blessings will be yours,
as you watch and pray, and stay away
from Satan and his lures.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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Wait, things are shaping up
I approached a sculptor the other day
For carving a statue of
Gautama Buddha
He asked me a number of questions
Some of them were far stretched
Though I answered all of them
I was thinking within that
All these details were unnecessary
He could read my mind and said
These details were needed to help me
Come out with what exactly you were looking for
He suggested my coming to him
Two weeks later
Why so long and he said
Wait things are shaping up
Two weeks later
I saw practically no progress
He showed me a granite block
Which he said he would carve
As Gautama Buddha
He suggested me to visit him
Two weeks later
“Do you not think we are delaying? ”
I asked and he said
Wait things are shaping up
I went to him as suggested
No change at all
The block was under water
And carving had not started
He said that this curing process
Would help him understand
The quality of the block
And he opined
That we were lucky in
Selecting the right granite
And he suggested my visiting him
A week later
“Yes, I know you are wondering
As to why it is taking so much time”
How he could say even without my telling that
He continued
Wait, things are shaping up
A week later
No great change
But the block got castled here and there
No where near my expectations
“Come after three days and see”
But, he assured
Wait, things are shaping up
I made four visits later
At intervals of three, two and one days
I could not make out head or tail
Of what was happening
But, each time I returned
Hearing his words
Wait, things are shaping up
I was wondering
Are things really shaping up
Or am I being fooled
I did not visit him for
Full three months
As I was sure that
I would not be able to appreciate
The progress that the sculptor
Would be claiming to have made
One day, there was a call from him
“Come and see your Gautama Buddha”
I was not excited
I visited his place in all reluctance
And was preparing to hear
Wait, things are shaping up
But, what a surprise
Saw my Gautama Buddha
In a shape and carving
Beyond my belief
And I was not able to control my excitement
“I know you are wondering how this could be possible
But, you know, I was telling each time you visited that
Wait, things are shaping up”
We all do prayers seeking some change
And we wonder as to when the change would fructify
God, like a sculptor is shaping things
But, he never tells
Wait, things are shaping up
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Let her be a fake
I know that her hair is a wig;
I know that her smile is a fake one;
I know that she is in make up
Yet I get aroused by her.
She pretends love
That I know and that still lures me.
Be she a whore,
I will not care
If she meets my lust.
25.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonic Reducer
I don't need anyone, don't need no mom and dad
Don't need no good advice, don't need no human rights
I got some news for you, don't even need you too
I got my time machine, got my 'lectronic dream
Sonic reducer, ain't no loser
Got a sonic reducer, sonic reducer
People out on the streets, they don't know who i am
I watch them from my room, they are just passing by
I'm not just anyone
I got my time machine, got my little 'lectronic dream
Sonic reducer, ain't no loser
Sonic reducer, sonic reducer
I'll be your bearer soon, love on some cotton doom
Things will be different then, the sun will rise from here
Then i'll be ten feet tall, then you'll be nothing at all
I got my time machine, got my little 'lectronic dream
Sonic reducer, ain't no loser
Sonic reducer, sonic reducer
Sonic reducer, sonic reducer
Sonic reducer, sonic reducer , sonic reducer
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lotus-roots
Lotus-roots
I was then a prisoner of death
-face of hundreds and thousands from birth
I was then I dreamer of name
-treasure and wealth; title and fame
I was then hunger of discipline, education and training
-the aim for growth and maturity and learning
I was then on state I thought of what is health and good
-thus, the great Buddha against the fraud
Note:
Inspired from the four “Noble Truth”
taught by Gautama Buddha, the “Enlightened One”.
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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Fishing For Love
fishing for love, never knowing what you'll get
fishing hard still nothing but you cant quit
catch some, through a few back
fry some up if they don't know how to act
fishing, catch a meal catch a feast
even a guppy is something at least..
poem by Shannon Lowery
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The Temptation of St. Anthony
-After a design by Félicien Rops-
The Cross, the Cross is tainted! O most Just,
Be merciful, and save me from this snare.
The Tempter lures me as I bend in prayer
Before the sacred symbol of our trust.
Yea, that most Holy of Holies feeds my lust,
The body of thy Christ; for, unaware,
Even as I kneel and pray, lo, She is there,
The temptress, she the wanton; and she hath thrust
The bruisèd body off, and all her own,
Shameless, she stretches on the cross, arms wide,
Limbs pendent, in libidinous mockery.
She draws mine eyes to her--Ah, sin unknown!
She smiles, she triumphs; but the Crucified
Falls off into the darkness with a cry.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Jakarta Less Crowed As Ramadan Ends
days do not go through too many faces
in night market I pause crowd amble paces
human tide in pace poses narrow ways
suburban night market lures in customers
surprises fresh eyes potential new buyers
merchandise food stalls await any takers
darkness smiles as an adventure delights
earlier we ate at half deserted walkway cafes
Ramadan ends lures home city villagers
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Erroneous Perceptions of Reality In a Late Afternoon's Sun
There is just something very sexy
about the way she twists and plays
with that short section of fine hair
on the left side of her pretty head; wrapping
it around her index finger and painted nail
as she glances into her car's rearview mirror
while she waits for the light to turn green
Meanwhile I stare at her in wonderment and pray…
that we are stuck in traffic forever…
The fantasy ends as the car behind me
honks for Jesus…
2008 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Medicines Bitter Bite Belief
Medicines
raw mind games
bitter tastes
believes
cures
elixir infusions
lures
body rebel recoveries
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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
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Anniversaries are for old fools like me
My love,
The feeling for me is the same as it was then,
when I first touched your soft gorgeous hand
as you passed me a glass of wine with my dinner.
I remember dreaming about kissing your full lips
later that night and holding your soft waist and hips
in my arms; not knowing if you felt the same way about me.
I would wait patiently for hours to pass so that I might
find another reason as an excuse to call and hear your voice
say my name in a way only you could. I would put my ear to the phone
trying to be closer to you and although I knew
how silly that was, it didn’t mater to me…because with you
silly was how I became whenever I said your name.
And so, these many years later, on our anniversary;
I remain, your silly old fool…
and I still love you more than ever…
2008 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Let us thank our Gods..
Buddha was a human and a Hindu,
And he worshiped the Hindu Gods,
Instead of worshiping Hindu Gods,
Why do people worship Buddha?
Jesus was a human and a Jew,
And he worshiped the Father,
Instead of following his religion,
Why do people worship Jesus?
These are the questions of logic,
We may provide the answers of magic,
If Religions were gate way to heaven,
Where our ancestors went in BCs?
I like the teaching of Jesus,
Who asks us to love our foes.
I like the teachings of Mohammad,
as he eliminated injustices.
We, the human, elevated ourselves,
From the hardship that Gods have created.
From naked human to today's technocrats,
We have evolved from ignorance.
Let us take the religion for guidance,
not to inflict hatred on another human.
Let us take the doctrines for consolations,
not to hurt another human with weapons.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Retirement Plans
The religious man
may have a questionable retirement plan
However,
his devout faith in God
will always pay him the highest dividends….
2008 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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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
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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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