But I'll only give you four
As I prepare to lay my head to bed, I'll share with you my master plan.
Grown now I am, and days are spent of work and ways.
I remember fondly now of how my time once was spent.
Thursday meant I’d call in sick, and on bank, a rock, or dock I’d sit.
I’d cast a line time after time, when days grew hot in I wade.
Still casting, casting I cast my lines all day, cast until the sun would fade.
I wish I could say that’s still the case, but yet that was a better day.
Now my mind just swirls poems and songs of fights I pray to see.
If I could write my poems about the fight oh what I life it’d be.
To tell the tales I’ve spun on days a catching fish.
I’d write a poem about my fish if it’s something that you’d wish.
I’ll tell you what I’ll write you one, maybe a few more.
I got fishing tales I’ll take down for you, but I’ll only give you four.
A rainbow dances into my net.
Smoke creeps around rivers bend and hovers over waters head.
It lingers there till morning sun’s gaze its met.
I stroll over to the water’s edge the perfect fly I’ve tied for fed.
I stand knee deep in rubber pant, to keep my legs from wet.
Slowly down the river I crept, I cast a line time after time.
I cast by every step by step, till after sun makes water shine.
Little patience spent till, rod bowed over at the tug of line.
A fish a fish a fish I fight, oh the fight I live to fight.
As my quarry jumps and splashes just within my sight.
Slowly I win and pull her in with line kept slightly tight.
A fight of give and take, but if I’ll win, I’ll never fret.
Gamble shall I not, but to catch a fish I’d make the bet.
As a rainbow dances into my net.
The playground held a tiny stream.
The playground held a tiny stream.
A stream so full of childish dreams.
On her rocks I’d come to write.
From after school till dusk of night.
Writers block set in one day.
Upon her rocks I set astray.
Deep pockets found so often in a hidden space.
The next day I brought my fishing pole along to play.
Cast a line a couple time, something took my fishing fly.
After just a little fight I reel a bluegill in big enough for fry.
Then another and three more. Soon the rest of week I spent.
Catching fish and tying flies fishin from stream to stream.
Here my weekday summers spent, livin an angler’s dream.
I can’t believe it’s all because, the playground held a tiny stream.
A silver slab runs in morning light.
In my truck is where I sit, an ice-cold beer in lap to sip.
I take a drink and hit my bowl and wait for mornings glow.
Minnows swim a pale of foam, cause here big crappie come to roam.
When bright enough so I can see, I’ll rest my gear beneath that tree.
Three poles, my bag, and minnows are all I stock.
I toss a line an yet another, floating minnows by the dock.
The third rod is the best that is as it’s rigged up with a jig.
I’ll spend my day sipping beer and catching fish, that’s a lifestyle I can dig.
Morning now is blue and bright, and the sun rises in the sky.
My float shoots under quick as lightnings strikes, set the hook I think I might.
With rod doubled over I now steadily fight, as a silver slab runs in morning light.
I knew you from your shadowed silhouette.
On a pontoon charter, out Apalachicola way.
The boat we loaded, and the captain paid.
Baited hooks with shrimp we caught whitefish all day.
As the sun grew hot the captain cast a special rod into a deep part of the bay.
Long and patient did he wait, till the bell ding just once for quite a while.
Then it rang and rang so he jerked it up and set the hook and hand me it with a smile.
It was heavy and put up quite a fight what will it be, can’t wait to see meanwhile my thoughts compile.
I fought it till my young arms ache, I know it’s huge, I bet.
As you broke light enough to see, I knew you from your shadowed silhouette.
A shark a shark a shark I screamed and reeled you in without regret.
As I prepare to lay my head to bed, I’ll share with you my master plan.
There I’ve taken down a story few.
I took them down and just for you.
But hang on tight the stories not quite through.
Fishing is my true life’s passion, and I hope you love it too.
I’ve spun my web of fishing tales from line to net for you.
Now memories of good days a spent now flutter through my head.
Wet of wade, of rain, and sweat. With stink of fish and worm guts on my hand.
As I prepare to lay my head to bed, I’ll share with you my master plan.
I said it at the start, some poems I’d pour, but I’ll only give you four.
Since you kept your word and read it through, I gave you two more!!!
Comments (1)
Great read!