D.W. Rodgers Poet Free verse

River's End

At the foot of the Elbow,
just above the Bow,
an angler drowned
his feet caught 
in a shopping cart
split-cane rod still 
firmly in his grasp.

On the Grand
just below the Gorge,
another died 
opening weekend,
high water
few details are known.

At the Whirlpool
below Niagara Falls
bodies surface
sporadically 
but few are anglers.

When I go, I hope 
it’s in my waders 
but miles of rivers 
remain before 
my rods pass
to you.

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Robert Lindley August 2, 2015 at 9:03 AM I do not fish much anymore. I once fished often bass, catfish, brim, etc.. A great poem my friend. So aptly named too....A7 D.W. Rodgers August 2, 2015 at 9:14 AM Thanks Robert, they say that a day fishing does not count in yuor allotted days so do try to get out again. This was written a while back and now I have rods from both my father-in-law and father,some of which I built. There may be another poem in there someday.

Sara Kendrick April 25, 2015 at 3:53 PM I hope that you go quietly into that dark night not in a horrible drowning..I enjoyed reading your work..I did not know that many people died fishing though..Thanks for the visit to my page..Sara D.W. Rodgers April 26, 2015 at 8:49 AM Sara, Thanks for your vist, i'm glad you enjoyed it. No fishing is not a particularity dangerous activity but there are occasional accidents. Slightly off topic, there is a great fishing incident in Robert Altman's film "Shot Cuts" bases on Raymond Carver’s classic story “So Much Water So Close to Home,”

Andrea Dietrich March 28, 2015 at 9:51 PM hmm, you make it sound a bit dangerous of a sport. Fishing is not for me, but I think it is cool that you like it so much. Very nice poem. D.W. Rodgers March 31, 2015 at 1:32 PM Thanks Andrea. I suspect fishing itself is less dangerous than driving to the fishing hole but it does give one time for solitary thought. This was written many years ago but as I get older, I do find myslef musing about our final passage.

Cona Adams March 24, 2015 at 8:49 AM Once a fisherman, always a fisherman, right, Dave? We remember fishing in the Missouri River in Montana, where the river is spring fed, and rainbow trout swim greedily to your bait. Loved this. D.W. Rodgers March 27, 2015 at 4:57 PM Tanks Cona, I've yet to fish Montana rivers but have been on may in Alberta & BC and a few in Colorado - damn I'm missing mountains already.

Poet Destroyer A March 19, 2015 at 11:45 AM Dave:) Thank you so much for the reply. That was nice of you to comment my comment. ((regarding the bottom reply)) Always ~LINDA~

Poet Destroyer A March 18, 2015 at 12:48 AM it's awsome when you a write that brings you such imagery and paints a picture with words, enjoyed this one ... i myself am not a fishing fan or eating lol just can't bring myself to try, have a great night,.. p.d. was here:) D.W. Rodgers March 18, 2015 at 7:04 AM Thanks Linda all the best with Zach

Barbara Gorelick February 25, 2015 at 6:11 PM I love to fish and I hope you fish until the sun goes down...enjoyed your poem. BG D.W. Rodgers February 26, 2015 at 9:14 AM Thanks Barbara, pretty well ice bound but definitely loking forward to spring. Tight lines Dave

Jan Allison February 25, 2015 at 4:59 PM I love the final stanza especially -hope it is many years before this happens. I understand there are quite a few deaths of anglers evrey years - not quite the relaxing safe sport I once thought!:-( Hugs Jan xx 7 xx D.W. Rodgers February 26, 2015 at 9:07 AM Thanks Jan, I wrote this a while and used it to fill in a fisheries chapter newsletter I was editing at the time. (My second 'published" poem although self-published in this case). It gained true more significance when my father passed several years ago and I ended up taking back rods I'd built for him.