Go Fish!

A perilous journey unfolds, when fish go fishing Elderfish gather at schools to share wise water wisdom Choose your morsels wisely, little fry and fingerling Watch your float and floundering And above all else, Beware the shiny shrimp dancing and dangling

hour 3 poem

fishing… troubling the moon… after the swim of a few fishes creating an eclipse a red-eared slider… troubling the fishing rod only the wind… the fisherman wakes up from dreamy reflections  


Barely breaking daylight, doggies on the bank, and a broken line knotted over, under, and again to hold the slippery catch. I wade deeply into the center where there is no calm, casting an offering; an alm for the fish gods.    

Hour 3: Fishing

Not him; he’s fat. And he puffs at the tiniest move. He buys shirts for a body not his; I see he’s in Alexander McQueen. So last year.   Not him; he’s trashed. And his eyes are the blackest of black. His thin body curves…

Salmon Run

I am hungry and the salmon are plentiful. Let me wake from my slumber and lumber to the edge of this precipice in the river and stand my brown bulky body on this slippery boulder while the stream swirls around my paws. Salmon are leaping…

Fishing with my Father, 1970

Fishing with my Father, 1970 He’d have a Pall Mall hanging loosely from his lips, his eyes squinted tight behind sunglasses. That habit he had of moving his head to the left to shake back the sun-bleached hair that fell from a side-ways part. Old…

good catch

Poem Three for the Hour Three my father was a fisherman he had his fishing tackles kept at the backyard store room i loved the fresh catch freshwater fish, prawns and shells i would asked him why he needed to fish his answer was, ”i…


The bait is hooked on The line is swung with a gentle flip out into the river. Now we wait and dream and reminisce and smile. Happy, forlorn, grateful.


The shaking fingers thread a hook through wiggling worms casting out for me.