Fishing Poems | Examples of Fishing Poetry

like Summer time! fishing in the Irish sea wonderful Pisces...

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“You got the goldfish interview, as asked?” “I did, sir, but he lacked the wherewithal to answer me coherently, I fear.” “What’s that supposed to mean? The fishing section is looking pretty thin. You showed up masked?” “Of course I did. That goldfish flu’s no joke. He said he’s scared of casual infection.” “Your killer question, then? Your master stroke?” “What is the...

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Visibility is low, wear a bright vest, Cycle with lights on, caution is best. Stay on the bike path across the Tappan Zee The Hudson's below, but you can't see You can't see the water, the fog is like a wall It might be a blanket, it might be a pall You peer through glasses...

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We set off full of hope into the night as it grew blacker towards the end of the jetty where shorelights dimmed to a distant glow. Wind drove a swell to boom and crash against the pylons below sending a shudder through our feet. The air was bitterly cold. Baited hooks hung in the dark depths on the end of a...

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When problems arise, we can’t solve it with fear when things are out of your control. Human reaction is panic naturally, which is not a solution and a waste of energy that you could have held onto. Though we sometimes choose rather to suffer. Thats because at some point or another a spirit who...

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Spark quickly the rise, Dilating dark with glitter stars of cats eyes. A language we sausage use. Clumsy myths attenuated With parachutes of feelings mapped; Syncopated copiously. A door opening those parts explored, for instance. Snail trails of shiny slime on wet pavement; Mirrors looking backwards, Entwining organs through time. Primarily another path That leads me back to...

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I built my boat up, sawdust in my eyes Love and kindness ingrained since my younger years Now just a pile of wood I built my boat up, my hands aching So it would withstand the storm Now soaked with hate The first fisherman came and said, “I cannot get any fish, may I get your aid?” To which I replied, “Of course,” How...

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tuesday morning laundry . he had waded out into the waters del mar in the morning was quiet and he certainly was not on the sea of galilee . he had a pole in his hand and stood quietly still before the lapping sea ankle deep, just enough that i could see he wasn’t standing on top of the waves . the rising morning sun cast...

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An Ice Fishing House, Abandoned, in Need of Repair That same shed waits by the trees. Waits on its skids for the lake to freeze, and the for the creaking joints of bickering stoop-shouldered men as they push it out to the center of a pool of glass. It houses the stories of fishing in winter, pulling sustenance, wriggling, through chiseled portals into another...

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no cowboys in stock on this side, but acrid fishermen provide marine lifelines, hamlets sustain. Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain. pre-dawn cowboys of Waves arise early wranglers trawl for the prize through murky waters or in plain. Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain. catches of chub, snapper, and sword concoct dinners we may afford. praise the fishers, saddled with...

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Miramichi Afternoon The sloping shoulders of the river tumble down rock on rock toward the wind-riffled, slow flowing water. Alder and grass creep down the slope but will be ripped out once again by the ice out floods of early spring. The stones and haphazard boulders are sun baked into featureless gray, their bright minerals shrouded from view. Land living things are more...

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Pundits say Zelensky just lost his bearings ~ I say he served Trump a red herring ...

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We climbed the gate while it was dark So no one saw us in the park We’d leave at eight and we’d be fine For ‘Mr Keys’ would come at nine This garden where the roses grew In memory of people who Wouldn’t mind that we were there For where we trod, we trod with care Not too much gear, we travelled...

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I wanna go back to Michigan so I catch me some really good fish again. The fish from any other U.S. lake tend to give me such a bellyache, that I can't wait to have a Michigan fish on my dish again. ...

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When night fishing, splashes and ripples are your lure. If the moon has drowned amongst dark clouds, your lantern must give sight to darkened eyes. Of course, there are mind dragons, ones that eat the fish you are seeking. You know this is a fear-fantasy, a bedtime story you tell your inner child. and yet... the still waters around your skiff are rocking, turbulent swells push against your thin hull. Something...

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