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Details | Fish Poem | |

Do you remember me

They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here 
Forever a part of me 
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.




Details | Fish Poem | |

A Farm Yarn

When we were young boys on our farm.
A fish tale never meant any harm,
We oft were given a look,
When from such a tiny brook,
We claimed a fish as long as your arm.

But then our neighbor named Meg,
Beat the fib and put us down a peg,
By claiming from the same brook,
With not a worm on her hook,
She caught a fish as long as your leg!

Well that truth was quite hard to beat,
Then Summer beat a hasty retreat. 
Winter changed the fishing world,
Meg turned from tomboy to girl.
And now this fishing tale is complete!




For John Freeman's "Fishing Limericks"

Details | Fish Poem | |

CRUCIFISH

The fish is a creature cold and wet
Hooked by line and trawled by net,
Easy to catch and yummy to eat
Fried in oil or seared by heat.
I must admit I eat my share
So my guilt I sadly bear.
Handless and legless they strive to survive
Yet they are loved more....Dead than alive!
-But-
Fish cannot scream
Fish cannot yell
The pain from a hook,fish cannot tell.
Fish cannot scratch
Most do not bite
They go to the pan with little fight
-But-
What a frenzy,what a fuss
When one of them devours us!
It's on the telly,it's in the press
"Each shark killed is a monster less."
It's not in the press,its not on the telly.
How many of them are in our belly!
-But-
If fish could scream,if fish could cry
If fish had fur or big brown eyes.
If fish were dry and nice and warm
We'd never do them any harm.
We'd think them cute,they'd get respect
They wouldn't 'get it in the neck'.
Protest groups would march the streets,
And fish would multiply in peace.
-But-?

Details | Fish Poem | |

Free As A Butterfly

The life you are living does not need to be the only life you have.
       We tend to dwell on the past.
              Leave it buried because then you can have the final laugh.
                     Everything exists to end in a photograph.
Hold that picture dear, and let the demons be.
       Don't wallow in your own pain and misery.
Self pity is often too afraid in accomplishing any goals.
       Crawl on out of that wormhole.
It's ok to be a little fish in a giant fish bowl.
       Because of one downfall, don't mean  you lost your soul.
The devil deceives us with that lie.
       I hate to see tears in your eye.
Spread your wings and be free like a butterfly.

Details | Fish Poem | |

THEY DON'T BITE LIKE THEY USED TO

He sat there in his fav'rite chair, a blanket 'cross his lap 
And covering his snow white hair was his old fishing cap. 
I knew he could not talk to me since suffering the stroke, 
But still I sensed he could relate to ev'ry word I spoke. 
"I went and wet a line today ... down where you caught that cod. 
The biggest one you'd landed yet and though it was my rod 
I reckon he was yours all right ... but cod are far and few.  
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
"The algae's building up again and stuffing up the creeks, 
Though at long last we had a fresh, the first in flam’in weeks. 
Pulled twenty stinking euros in, along with one old dew, 
But they had sores all over them, though still that's nothing new. 
The cotton farmers cry, "Absurd!  It can’t be from our spray." 
Perhaps the fish have just got aids from turning flam'in gay. 
Its getting pretty sad all right, but what can one bloke do.   
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
"McDonalds seems to be the go and good old KFC 
And eating yellow-belly is a flam'in rarity.   
Your grandson won't go fishing as he says it's just for nerds 
And when I take the missus we just end up having words. 
I really miss our fishing trips, your company was swell 
And by the mist there in your eyes you miss them dad as well. 
I heard you sold your tinny mate, your outboard motor too.  
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
They're introducing fingerlings and giving that a shot, 
But duckweed takes the oxygen which kills the flam'in lot. 
The droughts have had their toll as well and one thing that's for sure; 
I can't see in the future dad a remedy or cure. 
So mum's ducked down to Salty's mate and I would dare a punt 
She'll come back with a feed of fish before you say Rex Hunt. 
I guess we'll have to wash it down with some of your home brew. 
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 


Details | Fish Poem | |

MAKING SOUP

Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends. 

The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of 
The school’s leather belt and cane.  And then 
Parents lost in a fire. 
              That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
              Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’ 
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s              
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the 
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth

Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me 
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the 
               Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
               Drown in this grasp -  fish out of water
Cold.  A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge 
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and 
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old  
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.

I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity  -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day. 
                 She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
                 Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells 
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste  and 
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered  
Music, and forever now,  it
Plays sweetly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest     GET SERIOUS


Details | Fish Poem | |

Malta


Mediterranean island, where one finds so much to do
Abundant days of sunshine and the sea is limpid blue
Lavender, thyme and laurel; history spreads in rich galore
The temples, feasts, devotion bring religion to the fore.
Acclaimed for fruit and honey and the fish that’s brought to shore.

This is a friendly nation; you’ll be welcomed by a toast
To the best of health intended to last long while she’s your host.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: A poem you have not entered in a contest #5
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed: 6th

Details | Fish Poem | |

An English Life

An English Life

It is midnight the Milk train pulls into darnall station
No ordinary passengers here
Steelworkers with their families
Loaded with fishing tackle, sandwiches and maggots
The Fossdyke in Lincolnshire, their destination
The fare Half a crown for happiness

The long walk in the dark,
A stairway to heaven in my memory
Dawn on the Foss and a cup of tea,
Fever in the blood, the first eel of the day
Our cane rods lovingly handed down from father to son.

I remember, Pheasants looking for mates
Shrieking their songs of love
Swans begging for scraps
Their majestic white necks, nodding,
 A greeting into their kingdom
 
The mist off the water revealing families,
being together, laughing, enjoying what was free.
For tomorrow the grime returns.
A conversation with a stranger then out of a bag,
The rabbits, sometimes hare, sometimes pheasant.
Onions and carrots, shortly follow
The smell, forever linked with summer
The scent of my childhood

Summers were hotter then;
At times I drank the Foss, for I was nature’s child
Being clean was never a priority,
Catching fish was, never killed always returned,
Our Covenant with Nature.
For it is the sport that we honour. 

And with age comes reflection,
Poor I may have been, my education neglected
But I have a Doctorate in nature, for I have seen the dawn
Away from the factories, where the pheasant runs free
And where the swan reins king, I was part of them.
It was here I learned what family was, 
To share, my last drink of pop with my neighbour,
 A simple life, maybe, but what a life

For I have seen what Constable painted
Lived every word that Wordsworth wrote
Understood the Fragrance of the Flowers
 And revelled in the poets dream.
I loved every colour, every sound, every scent,
 And every fish I ever caught.
 
Father and mother are gone now,
Never complained about their Station in life, 
For they found paradise on the Foss.

They left me the seeds to their heaven
And the key to my happiness
A key forged in a mans worth
To open up my soul to the beauty
That surrounds us all.

Dawn on the Foss, was my church
 My soul was cleansed here
And my heart was shaped here
My memories kept safe here
And the Foss fever still resides here
I will die on some bank side, one day
Rod in hand, and I will be content,
So Tight lines my fellow Anglers.




Details | Fish Poem | |

My hovercraft is full of eels

I'll try to tell you without my usual cant
that all I wanted was to go sailing with
Sherry Saturday morning but I can't!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

The watchman phoned when I was lying  
in bed to notify me of this.
I was shocked to find he wasn't lying!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My good-will has been weakened
because of this horrid event
which completely ruined my weekend.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

These morbid creatures are serious
party-poopers. Remember!: Their
electricity is deleterious.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My beloved Birthday present invaded by
these heinous monsters! I will have to buy  
a new one 'cause to this one I must say bye!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

Ghastly! You don't know how this feels!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

Details | Fish Poem | |

Give A Man A Sea-Kitten

Give a man a sea-kitten,
And you feed him for a day.
Teach a man how to sea-kitten,
And PETA will make him pay.

I guess there isn’t much to say,
We’re gonna eat them either way,
Because the message here being conveyed
Does not have to do with fish per se.

Instead we feel the need to build
A foundation where we can rest our guilt.
Or where we can sway, or push, or tilt
The basis of sanity. And watch it wilt.

Humans are actually land-dodos.
A tree is also a green-giraffe.
But no name we will ever sow
Will ever cease to make me laugh.

I mean, how bored do you have to be
In a world with war and disease uprising
To stop what you’re doing and decide: “Here see,
Fish are in trouble. Start compromising.”?

Man is the measure of these extents.
The apex of idiocy slips his mind,
And thus he chooses to invent
Another means to thwart mankind.

We’re defending the rights of things we need.
Things we need for survival, like skin.
And in our greed we fail to read
The paradox lying herein and within.
Among all the things that humans bleed for,
Nothing more imbecilic has ever been,
Than renaming the fish of which we feed
Into something like sea-kitten.

“And then Jesus blessed the sea-kittens,
He broke the bread and divided it amongst 5000 people.”

Details | Fish Poem | |

The Fisherman

When i was just a young boy,my sister i did go see,
She had married a fisherman,they lived of the sea.
Every morning at four A.M ,he would be up and out the door,
Heading for that fishing shack, just along the shore.

Making sure there was enough gas, to get him there and back,
Checking to see if the oars were on board, life jackets were in the sack.
He asked if i would like to go,to see how fishermen pulled thier nets,
I said sure count me in,will i need some mits?

A rain coat in case it rains,a long pair of rubber boots,
He said ok your ready,once we are out there it will be a hoot.
We started out from the wharf ,the sea it was calm,
He said its going to be a good day,we may even catch some clams.

Just out side the harbor,the sea got a little rough,
He seen the worry in my eyes, said awwwww your tough.
If you feel the need ,to lean over the side,
Dont be ashamed, its happen to me when i was just a boy.

When we got to the point ,where land we could no longer see,
We found the markers for his nets ,It was the only thing red in the deep blue sea.
We began to pull the nets over the side, taking fish off as they come,
Baiting the hooks as they went back in so there will be more fish on the next run.

Then all of sudden the wind came up,the waves got even bigger,
My stomach was starting to turn,and i was feeling sicker.
So in haste , he turned the small boat around and headed for land,
I was never so happy, when my feet hit the sand.

I said sorry but fishing isent the life for me,
But thank you so much for letting me see.
So a fishermans life isent for everyone ,thats true,
Of i go to try something new.


Details | Fish Poem | |

Sockspeare Thou

Sockspeare, Thou!

Tonight I sensed the arts' demise
and thought of your indecent writ
that could be used to kill the flies
that buzz above your perfumed feet.

To liberate what's kept inside
you must allow yourself to dart
where inspiration poisoned died 
cause of your mindless abstract art.

But this is wrong! The muses went
(because your odored feet emit
condensed that deathly worn socks scent) , 
outside to breathe! Lickety split! 

Your mind, surprisingly, expressed
what could be taken for a verse
tormented nostrils were suppressed
their agonized intake was terse.

Your fans, inhaling the extrait
(those well worn socks let loose with pride)    
decided to command in verse
what should be buried cause it died.

They called it 'poem' but was known
that flies, somehow, became extinct, 
bystanders run to wear cologne, 
your Sockspeare theme, was thus succinct.

Those blackened socks you wore around
with plastic sneakers, bought on sale,
became the cause the fish have drowned
and deathly scents were to curtail.

Please tell us why thy feet perfumes
became the symbol of foot-prose?
Dug up feet-ology exhumes
what should be listed to dispose.

© 10-13-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)
(funny, lol!)

Details | Fish Poem | |

A Fish's Life

Swim
Eat.....poop
Poop.....float
Float some more
Sigh....stare
Bubbles.....stare
Smile.....I farted
Float

Details | Fish Poem | |

Pissing in the wind

the ocean's my play ground
and pretty days there I be found
I come from the land of pirates and drug runners
but now days I thinks fishin is funner

6 days off shore, my vision a tunnel
while all me mates puke on the gunnel
I cackle and gives the boyz a nod
and holdz tightly to me'z fishin rod

I'z drinkin me'z rum and tea
but then I reel-I'z I need'z to pee
I move a boy'z head, and puts da rod on the gunnel
and unzipps me center pocket for the bladder funnel

so while I was holdin the dong
I see'z "I got a fish on!"
oh how it gave me'z the joys
I caught that fish while pissin on dim boys

by Capt. Mike

ps I glad that fish didn't bite me other pole!

Details | Fish Poem | |

ABOUT FISH OR SOMETHING

Something WONDERFUL there is
Being a big fish in a big stream

BUT!

Being a little fish in a big stream?
One gets swallowed up

How about
Being a big fish in a little stream?
Hell YES!

BUT!

When one is a little fish in a little stream

OR

When one is a little fish in a big stream

He/she
Turns to religion
Generally

Details | Fish Poem | |

From our Deck-Front in December

From
our pink deck with a Jarra  cocktail table-set
We sit awaiting  sunset with an
 ‘Hawaiian absence’ of seagulls
As dusk comes  with violet echoes
across the spotted water,
from the resturaunts
 comes a wine hubbub - table- laughter

Mountains, marshmallowed
in occasional cloud on this still night- 
constant torchlight on quiet water
un-moving palms, paddle sounds

A swanky stingray drifts past

A shadowed water taxi 
and strangers who wave at us 


 Suzanne Delaney

Details | Fish Poem | |

THE REEF

The unceasing roar
Surf and coral,
hitting the shore

This underwater show
This blaze of colour,
roar of surf.... so

Coral reef home,
so many fish,
blue sea foam,
this is my wish............

This living  breathing reef,
surrounded by sea so blue
Living breathing jewel,
you want to be it too

Crashing of sea,
exploding white foam
I want this to be my home
Mighty blue sea
This reef........
exploding foam

Rush of water,
through the coral
Small fish dart
Multicoloured streaks,
natures' freaks

This roar of colour,
sealed in blue
Deep down,
Neptunes' crown

This surf of white,
hitting golden sand
Sun,so bright
This colour ,you understand
Sealed in blue,
rich too..........

Rhythmic roar
The colour you saw
Living breathing reef,
underwater leaf

This moving swell,
coral reef does dwell
Sealed in sea of blue,
underwater paradise
Dive with me too

This brief escape,
weightless in coral sea
This magnificent waterscape,
brilliant green  underwater leaf
that is part of...............
The reef

Electric blue fish dart about
other creatures,
their colour does shout
Ceasless flow,
upon this reef
Coral sea,
let us go below
for, we love it so

Pink and green,
purple and red
the brightest you have ever seen
blue and yellow
where have you been?

This reef encircles me,
crown of coral
Sealed by blue sea
Here lies the moral,
Neptunes' son...... you see
natures' son doesn't quarrel




Details | Fish Poem | |

Mom's attempt at the Garden of Eden

1.
Mom 
kept the  perch 
we caught in a bucket.

And when we took them home
She would clean and place them
In our twenty gallon tank
Where they bobbed in stunned silence
Eyes watching for any white movement.

Nobody cared
when they committed fishicide 
on their domesticated tank-mates.

Even the little beta fish
Who had survived our six day pilgrimage from Florida, to find Mecca
was a cool whip container.

2.
Whenever we had guests for dinner,

Mom swooned they
were the smartest fish she had ever seen.

She bestowed upon them names - Jed and Lucy
tapping at the glass 
with one extended finger,
feeding them fish flakes,
like  porpoises fed from the teeth of a trainer in Ocean World

“You can’t keep perch in a fish tank”
the guests would say,
but
they lived for two years
bobbing and staring
in the vacant tank space.

 3.
One crisp winter morning
Jed finished his breakfast of gold fish flakes,  took one
last gulp of slimy tank
water 
then hurled
himself off of glass
walls.
It went 
over and over, 
so hard
I almost thought
the glass would crack.

4.
Lucy 
sat quietly and watched 
him.

She too died a few days later
like aged soulmates
who often cease
to be after their amor
dies.

When someone left the lid open, 
she plunged
her blue green skin shimmered
as she laid 
making fish O’s in the dry air..

I often wonder
if the air that morning
smelled
like an ice floe
to a better place
somewhere Jed waited
with our beta and our angel fish
a place of worms, kelp 
and dragonflies.

4.
Mom 
emptied the tank of the murky filtered water.

Rinsed the ultra neon yellow fish gravel,
and placed the fake plants on a sponge.
Separating  air filter, from pump 
from clear plastic tubing
and put to rest
in a brown cardboard box..

She did it without a word.





Details | Fish Poem | |

Passing Chance

At the moment the flying fish go by
on the side of the bus with commercial paint
you tip your coffee cup and river
the cafe's table and chair

At the moment the coffee finds the street
with you laughing outward with palms in the air
the wind swoops up a red umbrella 
right out of an old woman's hand

At the moment the umbrella breaks it's silk
in a crash on a rusty old iron fence
a child reveals a chocolate grin
to the wonderment of her mother

At the moment confetti is wiped off the face
with a wettened finger from the mother's mouth
a screeching of wheels holding tires ignites
and sends out a shower of sparks

At the moment the sparks snap into the air
and the car grinds the ground in attempt for speed
the bus with the flying fish slows down
to let one passenger off

At the moment the bus resumes it's haul
with me on the sidewalk bidding goodbye
I turn on my feet and walk back up the road
in an awkard attempt just to meet you.

Details | Fish Poem | |

Lost Love

When I was young I lost my love ,
When I looked to the sky I saw a dove .

Waiting and watching to see what was next, 
I saw the fish and heart and thought i was blessed.

The love that was lost is trying to find, 
A place in my heart and in my mind.

The Fish stood for Life that I knew was gone,
The Heart stood for love that I had for so long.

The Dove stood for peace and I knew right away ,
That the love that I lost was the love that would stay.

Details | Fish Poem | |

Fisherman

The fisherman sat on the bank
patiently he waits for a bite
but his reel stayed very lank

He wanted to score a good rank
but was having no luck at this site
the fisherman sat on the bank

A few nibbles and his reel sank
his bait gone, words he did incite
but his reel stayed very lank

With a splash his reel it did tank
with a whooping enormous bite
the fisherman sat on the bank

The gods up above he did thank
 his luck he believed not quite
but his reel stayed very lank

By now he had got very dank
and shaking off a pesky mite
the fisherman sat on the bank
but his reel stayed very lank

Details | Fish Poem | |

A Redneck Vacation

~When retired Redneck take a vacation,
   Needs not AARP’s senior discounts,
   Motel tarpaulin costs are his passion,
   A Redneck needs not large bank cash amounts.

~Give him some worms that squirm and North Fork Creek,
   With wilderness trees, he’s very well pleased,
   I’m Redneck quite sleek , have my own technique, 
   Head where wildlife frees, in mountain air breeze.

~My food still on hoof, venison is great,
   There’s fish a plenty, may ride my Jenny,
   Don’t need a debate, I’ll call my love Kate,
   She’ll rough it with me, loves to fish you-see,

~Get Jenny some grain, I’ll clip her long mane,
   City dudes are vain, drives Rednecks insane!

For and in Honor of: Carol Brown
And Contest: It’s Time For Vacation

Details | Fish Poem | |

The trawlerman

As you sit down for your tea, take a moment to think of me
I am the one who leaves the quay, to bring home harvest from the sea
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

The quota’s nearly done for me, too many a catch thrown back to sea
The jobs-worth from the ministry, care’s nothing for my misery
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

The sea cares nothing for my fate, the ebbing tide will never wait 
There’s not enough to fill a crate, as I battle Neptune to fill your plate
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail

When deep-sea fish no longer spawn, when my rusty old trawler has been withdrawn 
When fishermen are no longer born and the old Sowester’s no longer worn  
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
I trawl the waves from dusk ‘til dawn; there’ll be no fish cakes when I am gone!

Details | Fish Poem | |

A Boatful of Hope

Day has sunk and the old fisherman, like a well-trained athlete, rows his rugged boat.
Defying starry night's turbulent waves,
It cruises seaward, smooth and swift, like an agile proud fish.

Then, into his net a shooting star drops; hauls he a thousand delicate, bright starfish.
Guided by remaining stars, he comes home with a boatful
Of glimmering soft, fleshy crystals of hope to his daughter's eager waving

At the murky, starless bay. Her voice rushes out in tidal sound-waves.
She puts a finger in, fishing
One live hope, stellar and warm, out of what used to be a champion's sailboat.

Rocking the boat and making waves, their laughter splashes like a floundering fat fish.

(Form: loose tritina)

Details | Fish Poem | |

Went Fishin'


Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
------------------------------------------------

Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.

A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.

My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.

He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”

He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip 
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”

While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”

As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on.  My hands were steady.

Yellow with black dots and a weed guard. 
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.

As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.

So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. 

About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!  
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”

When the Bass broke water, it scared me. 
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook!  Set the hook!”

When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.

My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.

“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez.  Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed, 
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”

He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready.  This is the part that’s great.

I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”

Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.

My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”

“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”

“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…

but for the great stories we get.” 

I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.

You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.

They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”