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Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

The Love of a Gentle Man

There is a place where the land bows down to kiss the misty tide,
Where rolling waves bring memories of the place my heart resides.
There among the old fishing shacks that stretch along the shore,
I find the thing I’m longing for, in your sweet embrace once more.

We sit together on a weathered log I carve my initials on,
And as you mend the fishing net, I sing your favorite song,
“Oh Danny Boy”, falls on the wind and floats across the bay,
As you smile at me and melt my heart, with words you do not say.

Beneath a golden sun with the fish and the smell of wild flowers,
A little girl and her Grandpa, sit happily and while away the hours,
And when the sun dips in the bay, we put the mended nets away,
And hand-in-hand walk home again, to the end of a perfect day.


                                    ~~~~~~

Author:  Elaine George




(In loving memory of Theodore Evans - My Grandfather)

| Details | Fishing 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"

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Kayak Fishing Surprise

Ole Les set out by kayak from the shore

Big blue marlin rose from the ocean floor

  Nipped his bait, gave Les a tow

  Water-logged craft sank below

Friends shook their heads and said, "No Les, no more"



4/27/2011
Written for John Freeman's "Fishing" limerick contest
Okay, the man's name wasn't Les ,but this video shows two kayaks being towed 11 
miles by marlins.  I took a little poetic license with the ending too.  Both men 
survived.  If you fish you will be amazed by this video:  
http://www.youtube.com/user/KayakFishingTales?
v=FqVEvNocKTA&feature=pyv&ad=4751720259&kw=kayaking

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

This Is No Picnic

This Is No Picnic
 
We packed up the grill and my uncle took us to the lake
I was hoping for a burger, maybe even a juicy steak
Amazed was I to see the cooler packed with frozen shrimp
What kind of picnic is this?  My smiling lips went limp
 
“Stop pouting,” said Uncle Tim, tossing me a fishing pole
“This here lake is filled with huge trout. It’s the best fishing hole”
If we wanted to eat lunch, first we would have to catch it
Seems his picnic invitation this info did omit
 
The hours dragged past and we hadn’t had a single bite
Our clan was growing hungry and grandma seemed uptight
So she took charge and lit the grill in spite of Tim's protests
But he could not do battle with her so he acquiesced
 
Mosquitoes were drawn to scents of shrimp on the barbecue
Then a horde of hornets found our camp and buzzed on through
We screamed and scurried about to avoid their bites and stings
Till Uncle Tim doused the grill and took us to Burger King
 
He ordered burgers to go, placed a blanket on our lawn
Till this day we still laugh at the antics we’d undergone
 
 

Written for Carol Brown's Picnic Time contest


| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Chinese Fishing Nets

Death hangs on the poles
At river banks.
The sun smeared smiles
Grow grim grins in the night.
Being loosened ,
Chinese fishing nets
Sink down with baits
To lure in to the fate.
Wide spread death does wait
Till the sudden lifts.
Wet joys dry, and wriggle
In breathless net.
At bottoms lie hidden nets
To snare when care slip.


 (Chinese Fishing Nets are common at river banks of Kerala.These are a kind of nets hung on poles.At night ,these are lowered and laid at the bottom of the river.In the morning.these are lifted up with fish) 

| Details | Fishing 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 | Fishing Poem | |

From Dusk Till Dawn

                                              She got it for her wedding gift,
                                        but she dropped it when she fell off the cliff,
                                                it sank to the bottom of the ocean,
                                      and the excitement caused a great commotion.
 
                                                  From dusk till dawn
                                                they float on the ocean,
                                                    from dusk till dawn
                                              they were filled with emotions,
                                                      sunrise, sunset
                                                 and still nothing in their nets.
 
                                         They went deep sea fishing in a fishing boat,
                                        searching for the pearl in the Bivalvia's throat,
                                          with cracked lips and scorched backs,
                                                 they drift around the ocean,
                                                everyone with great devotion.
 
                                               Suddenly she bursts out in tears,
                                               and explains how it was so dear.
                                            They dived to the bottom of the ocean,
                                            floating back and forth in slow motion,
                                                   life at risk from shark attack,
                                                but she did not care about that.
                                                   They caught a hundred fish
                                            but still no sign of her priceless gift.
 
                                                When they went back to land
                                             she saw a clam moving in the sand
                                               she opened the little clam
                                           and her precious pearl fell right into her hand.
 


                                                  ©2013 Christine Phillips

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Yard Sale Cowboy On CD

From here to wherever, I'll follow a yard sale sign,
it's a past time endeavor, for my collective state of mind,
I may buy some furniture, or a trinket for a dime,
yard saling is a pleasure, yes, a personal hobby of mine,

Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
and it gives me great joy, to see a yard sale sign,
from here to wherever, cloudy days or sunshine,
I'm searching for that treasure, ain't no telling what I'll find,

I may find brand new things, boots, shoes, or clothes the right size,
silver and gold chains or rings, or an antique will catch my eyes,
I could find my brother a nice bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
or maybe a nice piece of furniture, or something for a friend of mine,

Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
and it gives me great joy, to see a yard sale sign,
It's a past time endeavor, for my collective state of mind,
Yard saling is a pleasure, ain't no telling what I"ll find,

Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, I just spotted a yard sale sign,
searching is a pleasuree, ain't no telling what I'll find,
I may find an old bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
now one thing is for sure, I just found my cat a ball of twine,
and look here, I found my ol' dog a bone to grind,

Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
I may find an old bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
from here to wherever, cloudy days or sunshsine,
I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, ain't no telling what I'll find,

Hey Bud, how much for that there what-cha-ma-call-it?
Naw Naw, Naw, that there thing-a-ma-jig, there next to that do-ma-flitchie,
Yea, Yea, that thinga-ma-jig right there.....ya say three dollars..um-m-m..OK...
I'll take it...here ya go.....and how much for that do-daddy over there?
Yea, yea, right next to those 2 onion skin tires...Uh Huh..yea..well I'll be..
Well yea..I'll take it too...it's something I just can't live without...ha ha ha..

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Pin Fishing

I remember fondly the summer when I was nine
Catching minnows in the creek was my favorite pastime
Except I called then pin fish, I had quirky names for things
As well as bizarre behaviour, year before, obsessed with swings

Decked out in my rubber boots with a bucket in each hand
My desire to capture them day after day, I did not understand
For hours upon hours I catch as many I could, then set them free
To the top of the hill I trudge to a natural spring nestled under a tree

After taking a drink from the purest water I ever sprung from this earth
I overturn the bucket, maybe in my young mind, I was giving them rebirth
For these little minnows, it must have been a harrowing event
Or an adventure of a lifetime, for to harm was never my intent

Then off to home I go to have a bowl of long strokes aka chicken noodle soup
Giving my pin fish time to travel down hill and once again regroup
The next day I would wake up eager and a pin fishing I would go
I bet those minnows were happy when them I finally did outgrow

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Going Gigging

I guess those fancy city boys like using rods and reels
With hundred dollar waders, dry flies and wicker creels
But good old country boys ain't gonna be so squeamish
They like to be primeval and get medieval on them fish

You got your spoonbill snaggers and catfish noodlers too
And for some old boys a stick of dynamite will do
But when autumn sucker gigging season comes around
Ain't no red-blood menfolk hangin' in an Ozarks town

Nighttime on the gravel bar just north of Poplar Bluff
Me and Jon are smokin' and Leon's dippin' snuff
Three feet of clean clear water as cold as winter's bone
The john boat’s forward rail lights are showing ev'ry stone

Leon heads the boat upriver, a quiet and constant pace
The luminescent stream seems to alter time and space
Conversation ceases as we seek retreat within
Pensive minds in solace find a dreamy state of zen

Then our meditation comes abruptly to an end
Leon points out a gigging spot, we rise up and unbend
Upon the john boat’s bowsprit we ready spear-men stand
Poised just like Poseidon with his trident in his hand

On the shallow bottom, scattered fish are dimly seen
Hog and red horse suckers, slowly swimming straight upstream
The water bends the light, so remember this constraint
When you gig a fish, you gotta aim for where he ain't

Jon's lean and wiry frame first coils up and then unwinds
He pokes and soon a sucker is wriggling on the tines
Suddenly the action becomes furious and fast
We're poking left and right, this gigging's quite a blast!

Get that sucker! Stick that sucker! That one got away!
I can't believe I missed him! That sucker went that way!
Got that little sucker! Gonna limit out tonight!
Missed that sorry sucker! He went left when I went right!

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty! Leon counted out the score
The john boat's holding fish box would shortly hold no more!
Flushed with high emotion, I then spied to my delight
A swiftly swimming shadow just passing on the right!

Way too big to be a sucker, I thought it was a carp
I poke and then the gig rebounds though it's surely sharp
Too late I realized that in my fervent fever
I hadn't caught a carp, but almost bagged a beaver!

Jon and Leon roared and I'm crimson with chagrin
In a nanosecond all the beaver jokes begin
No mercy is allowed, according to tradition
Gotta grin and bear it, then send them to perdition

When they reckoned I was roasted rather past well done
We went back to have our feast and go on with the fun
To munch some hot hush-puppies and chug some PBR
With deep fried fish and taters cooked on a gravel bar

Then sittin' round the campfire, we pass the Mason jar
And share our tales of huntin' and fishin' near and far
Next day at work I realize the boys just torqued the screw
When on my desk I find a recipe for beaver stew...

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

ALL YOUR BEER

Oh, I'm back in my cabin
where I can clear my head
Almost wrecked I left so fast
ha.. lucky I'm not dead
If hours is what you want 
go grab you a fishing pole
Cause I'll be all day musing 
down at my fishing hole

If you want some flowers
check out my backyard
Regulating your emotions
is getting way to hard
I'm going mudding
love nature's climbs and dips 
Not going to have a girl 
who is sharing her soft lips

I appreciate your honesty 
that you never really lied
I'm not needing your apology 
or your last minute alibis 
Those memories ain't drowning
they're all in my heart
I carried them with me hunting
not one will ever part

But I'm not doing your checklist
you know that I'm a man
I'm not listening to SOUP operas
I've got a simple plan
I'd never minimize your hurt
I know that it's real
And I think about it a lot 
when I'm behind my tractor wheel

The sun is shinning brightly
sitting here on my deck
Musing about that terrible storm 
and my almost wreck
Sure would like to share a drink
girl I wish you were here
But I don't see your headlights 
so I'm having all your beer

*country song lyrics

Date: 6-29-14
Poet: Dave Wood



| Details | Fishing 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.


Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Farmer Joe

On the banks of the mighty Skagit,
where the rushing waters flow,
sat a fisherman of merit,
the one known as Farmer Joe.
Long he sat there, long he fished there,
always waiting for the day
he would catch a mighty salmon
and it wouldn't get away.
He had lived upon the prairies
where crop farming was his life,
working hard to care for family,
seven children and a wife.
Times were hard and for this farmer
it was toil and toil some more.
If good crops the price was lower,
if good prices, crops were poor.

He worked hard, did this poor farmer
and he fed his family well,
for he raised this big truck garden,
pigs to eat and milk to sell.
He thought often of his childhood
on the banks of the Wabash,
where he spent his youth just fishing,
some to eat and some for cash.
Rationed waters on the prairies,
in the years when it was dry,
made him long so for the rivers.
Even tough old farmers cry.
Family raised he quit his farming,
and he headed for the West,
where he'd heard of powerful rivers
and of fishing at its best.

Once he saw the Skagit River
in the State of Washington,
said he then, "We'll go no further
for I know this is the one."
Stayed he there by that big river,
never straying far away;
stayed he there and fished it daily.
It was now his time to play.
Grown old he had at farming,
he had just a few years left
for to catch that wary salmon,
the great one of mighty heft.
When the fishing season opened,
he'd get up at break of day,
fix his breafast, fix his lunch sack.
He'd be on that bank to stay.

There he met his fishing cronies,
all retired with leisure time.
Sat they fishing by the river,
all these fellows past their prime.
Then one day at last it happened.
He pulled out that fishing prize.
Then they weighed and then they measured
and declared it super size.
And the fisherman of merit,
the one known as Farmer Joe,
grinned and said, " I'm glad I did it,
before it was my time to go."
God in heaven must have noticed
how he longed for that big fish.
Said He then,  "I'll let him stay there
long enough to get his wish".

On the wall there hangs a picture 
of that farmer and his prize,
for that farmer was my daddy
who a few weeks later dies.
Called he then to old St. Peter,
standing guard at the Golden Gate.
"Welcome Joe",  said that old fisherman.
"Come on in, the fishing's great".



Won 3rd place
For Mac's Best poem contest.  (It may not be my best but it is the one of which I am most 
proud.  It hangs on the wall beside my daddy and his big fish.

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Besides Love Men Need Fishing,

FISHING


Besides love men need fishing, 
And for both, most are wishing, 
Catching trophies chosen best,
To be envied by the rest.

Fishing is a game of sport 
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish’s eye, 
If we plan to stir and fry,

Some use boats while others wade, 
As they fish the sun or shade. 
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day, 
While life’s troubles fade away.

Most men feel they've everything, 
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake, 
We all pray our line won't break.


By Tom Zart 

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Barefoot Boy, with a Fishing Pole.

 A man I am and near my end.
I have other men to call me friend.

And women round me for the lust
And four leaf clover for the luck.

Beer or buttermilk to drink
And time I have to sit and think.

I have meadows which to mow
And I have crops which to sow.

I have men that call me sir.
I have work to be concerned.

I have obligations piled.
Work to do from mile to mile.

I'd trade it all, to be, you know
A barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

To rest in the shade by a river bed
Soft grass to lay my youthful head.

Fish and skip stones on waters calm
And sleep out all night -when it's warm.

To unravel natures mystery there
Why the turtle wears a shell?

How the Oriole's nest is hung?
How the frog's croak is sung?

Why the Blue-Bell does not ring?
Why the hornet likes to sting?

My work keeps me shod like a mule
Only in dreams, youthful things I do.

When work here ends, to Heaven I go
To be a barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Part of Me

There's a part of me that still lives on the water
A part of me that you can never keep
Tears fill my eyes as I dream  of the ocean
I see that island paradise in my sleep

My fishing boat lies sleeping in the harbor
Anchor weighing heavy on the ocean floor
I still miss all those nights at sea
My fishing boat will sail again no more

This was the life that I had chosen
From one port to another I would roam
Never stayed long enough to be familiar
Never knew a place I could call home

Sometimes I walk along the shoreline
Listening to her song out on the sea
That's when I know that someday I'll be leaving
The song she's singing is calling me

There is something magical in a night at sea
There's a million stars hanging all around
Untold stories lying behind me
New horizons yet to be found

Now that my sailing days are over
And my life is shifting gears
I can still resurrect those memories
When I taste the salt in my tears.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Your Loving Eyes

Reminiscing of days filled with laughter and joy
Waiting for a new adventure to begin
Mangoes and peaches, palm trees and beaches
God, I wish I was sailing again
I remember the islands and the ports we had visited
Sailing under God's blue skies
I remember your charms, wrapped up in your arms
Gazing into your loving eyes.
Though the years have passed and the days are gone
The memories remain forever more
Someday my friend, we will meet again
And walk along that distant shore.
The fishing village nestled in a small cove
The smell of fresh fish and the sea
Call me it seems to relive my dreams
And the days you were here with me.
As I walk in the sun toward the marina
Where my little fishing boat lies
I remember the sights and the warm summer nights
Gazing into your loving eyes.

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Going Fishing on a Summer Day (Nonet Trilogy)

          Going fishing with a cane pole and
            a can of worms and hooks and a
             bobber too Down at the fish-
             ing hole there stand a might-
               y oak the best place to
                   fish and lie in
                     the shade of
                        the big
                          oak


          Down at the old fishing hole that dad
              and grandpa fished at before
              me is the best place on earth
                   Specially on a hot
                   summers day to fish
                    and swim and lie
                      in the shade
                         of the
                          tree


          Summer is the time for fun Playing
           with friends going swimming and
            fishing at the best place in
             the world is the old swim-
               ming and fishing hole
                It has been there
                   for a hun-
                   dred years
                      FUN

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

Gift of the Sea

From Scrabster harbour we set
Sea fishing we go
Off Dunnett Head
Dinghy in tow
 
A few hours we sail
To reach the spot
To hunt our catch
Check my lobster pots
 
This Pentland firth 
Flowing blue and fresh
With our deep sea rods
Various baits, spinning meps
 
Along the way
Some pots we check
Crustacean grab
Lobster and dab
 
Destination reached
Our fishing ground
Sounder on 
Fish are found
 
Leaded up, lines straight
Darrow's aplenty, strengthened trace
Lines down bottom hit
Watch the tip as we drift
 
The waves deceive
We think a bite
Natures water
Tricks us slight
 
This beautiful day
As patience allows
We hear a shout 
From the starboard bow
 
Wow! dad,
Look at the bend on your rod
Is it a dogfish or ling
Or a monster cod
 
Posture right to reel this catch
Has this fisherman met his match
Over an hour this marathon lasts
Fish against man, sporting ask
 
Forearms ache, back strains
I reel it in, it then regains
Is it tiring, or is it me
This awesome creature from the sea
 
Moments later
Surface splash
A wing of skate
Adrenalin blast
 
Fish aboard
Tagged and weighed
Released with care
In its domain we played
 
The day goes on
With various catch
But only the one
Had met his match
 
The evening draws
With the firth so calm
As we watch the sunset
With a golden dram
To Mother Nature we raise our glass
She is indeed, such a wonderful lass
 
 

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

" I HAVE A DREAM !!!"

I have a dream
That I'll get another,and better job
I have a dream
That I'll have a 5 bedroom house with fireplace
I have a dream 
This house will have 4 1/2 bathrooms
I have a dream
I'll have a fishing pond in the back yard
I have a dream
I'll own lots of fishing equipment
I have a dream
My kids will finish school
I have a dream 
All my kids,and grand kids-dreams will come true
I have a dream
My grand-kids will finish school as well
 I have a dream
That I'll be able to start them all a bank account
I have a dream
To own the vehicle of my dreams a Hummer
I have a dream 
To own a nice pick-up truck
I have a dream
To take at least a week vacation with the love of my life
I have a dream
To make all the love of my life dreams come true
I have a dream
To go to the beach for the very 1st time
I have a dream
To not owe any debts
I have a dream
To be able to pay my tithes,and offering every Sunday
I have a dream
To spend lots of quality time with my mom
I have a dream
To be able to give mom a few thousand dollars
I have a dream
To go to any restaurant I never been to before
I have a dream
That I'll be able to help the homeless,and the poor
I have a dream
To have Uncle John a new water well dugged,better electricity,and trailor
I have a dream
That I'll hit it big with my poetry
I have a dream 
I'll be known world wide because of my poetry
I have a dream
All drugs,alcohol.cigarettes,and diseases will disappear
I have a dream
That all things that are not of God will go away
I have a dream
That every race will get a long
I have a dream
That gas prices will drop quiet a bit
I have a dream
To own some suits to wear to church
I have a dream
To live a long,and happy life
I have a dream
With no surgeries,or medication I will loose 200 lbs
I have a dream
To be all God wants me to be
I have a dream
I'll be able to make donations to charity
I have a dream
To go to my 1st family reunion
I have a dream
To meet my favorite wrestler The Undertaker
I have a dream
To lead songs in a popular choir
I have a dream
To see my Savior face to face
I have a dream
To hear him say well done my good,and faithful servant.


Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing Poem | |

The Victory Dance

To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?

When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?

To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded… 
And ‘Sooner Magic’ is on your side. 

Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.

So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…

And do the Victory Dance.


| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Offshore Fishing Adventure

So far offshore, but nothing was biting

Six-pack behind me looked so inviting

     New rod I placed on the deck

     Though it was just for a sec

‘Twas then an amberjack hit like lightning


The buoyant rod bounded over each wave

Determined, I vowed that pole I would save

     Spun my boat in fit of rage

     Against this fish, war I’d wage

An Ahab-like victory I did crave


With a gaffing hook, I retrieved the pole

To catch amberjack, I’d be on a roll

     Barracuda caught it first

     Fell overboard, then submersed 

The ‘cuda eyed me as his dessert goal



*Entry for Frank's "Summer Memory" contest

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Princesses

Pretty princesses
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Very beautiful
Just like you!

| Details | Fishing Poem | |

Fishing Limerick

This fisherman, we’ll just call Mike
Was fishing for Great Northern Pike
He would throw in his line
But time after time
It came back with nothing he’d like

When I was a wee little lad
I went out fishing with dad
I caught a big trout
And was dancing about
When he threw him back in I got mad

I said Dad why did you let him go
I could take him to school don't you know
Now I just can't conceive
That my friends will believe
If I haven't got something to show


Contest:  Limericks about fishing -3rd place finish
By: Mdailey

Premium Member Poem | Details | Fishing 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