The Poetry Marathon

Hour Three

Write a poem about fishing. It doesn’t matter if you have never been fishing before. The poem must contain at least three lines that involve fishing. Everything else is up to you.
————————————————————————————————————————–

fishing for reason in
a cesspool of lunacy.
My line has been laying
atop still, foamy water—
stagnant—in fact it is rotting from the contact.
At the end of the line, no hook.
No hook.
Only another rod. Another fisher.
Another somebody waiting to catch
a trophy. Or a meal. Or a pet.
fishing is for patient folk—
the likes of which I am not.
So I’ll pack up and take to swimming.
maybe I’ll have better luck with my hands?

Striper Fishing Doggerel

Striper Fishing Doggerel

 

Early morning

Rods and reels

Eggs and grits

Clams and eels

 

Boat’s all ready

Motor starts

Out of slip

Old-man farts

 

Anchor up

Drop lines down

Wait for bite

Love the sound

 

Hear the run off

Striper bite

Taking bait

Sealing Fate

Hour 02 11.30pm-12.30am — #39 “Those famous steps”

#39

wooden stairs
go down to the beach
& little girls who’ve
just learnt to count
go up & down them
gleefully announcing
how many there are

i am sick with ulcers
& cannot make
the journey myself
so every day
must
descend & ascend
on the backs
of my daughters

welts on my wrists
from the long days
of being handcuffed
to my age

so i watch the birds
from my rear window
avoiding vertigo
yet when the wind
is southerly
i know a hawk
from a heron, sure

Poem 3/24 – The Call

 

Shampooing Susan

Fingers twirl her hair

soothing scalp, shoulders, and soul.

Rinse away all ails.

I Cast My Line

Once again, I cast my line;

My eyes garlanded with the brightest lures M.A.C can offer;

My nails glittering in the ocean of the club;

I cast my line into the sea of dancing bodies;

But it’s a game of balance;

Look too eager and the catch will flee;

Look too blase and the catch will miss the bait;

I can wait;

Because when the right catch comes by;

I want her hooked;

So once again;

I cast my line.

-30-

#3 – Fishing prompt (a tanka)

#3 poetry marathon : Two fishing poems.

One, Two, Three,…. fishes

read the nursery rhyme.

Early risers heading out; in a school.

These risers may find a snack

yet…The snack was just a quick gasp to their death.

A lucky fishermen yells, “what a catch!”

You aren’t lucky yet….it might snatch

an escape route back to its school.

Fish are smart, don’t be a fool.

******

a day at the lake

with a pole and bait, can’t wait

to catch a fresh fool.

A Summer of Saturday’s

Saturday mornings were my favorite
Not just because of the cartoon blocs on ABC

Though, it’s certain I would be upset if I missed them

It was the Saturday’s of summer that I relished
Above He-Man, Loony Toons, and Garfield

On those warm Saturday’s
Powder Horn, Lake Michy, and on the odd occasion, Cal Park
Were above even the best of my animated wonderments

The fish were always glad I visited on those days
Being 5, and prone to striking up conversation
Without so much as a whim

The fishermen, not so much

One day, Dad bought me a rod and tackle
Tried to show me how to bait the hook
Weight the line
Cast

The sound, was funny.
And I laughed.

Standing at the pier/shore/dock
Whiling away the summer Saturday
Rod in hand
Mind, on whatever it was 5 year old me would dwell

“Hi! I’m Marty. And I’m 5!”

Fisher’s life

He spends his time
On the water’s edge
Rod in hand
And
An expansive
Ocean within glance
He sets his life on the line
Each time
He sets sail
In those ocean waves
He’s a man
That’s been taught
To fish for days
For he doesn’t want
To waste his life away
Waiting
For someone
To give him
The catch of the day

-angelica Villarruel