Angling Poems

Passionate Affair

Passionate Affair


my head throbbed like
a jackhammer in full bore
my eyes felt like pieces of
eighty grit sandpaper
it was another Tequila Sunrise
which was no surprise

when we first met, I was her
bad boy, Desperado type,
she was my Witchy Woman
I was the New Kid in Town,
she was an old hand In the City
we both liked to live
Life in the Fast Lane

we first met at the sleazy, time worn
Hotel California
our love affair set my life
on fire and left me feeling 
on top of the world

it all came crashing down
when she said what do we
do After the Thrill is Gone
I knew she was angling for
a way to end it
she finished her drink 
cooly stood up and walked out
no word of goodbye nor tear
in her eye
she left a gaping supermassive black
Hole in the World
I was sucked in to the hole
with no chance to escape
tequila was my only relief

I live in hope that
One of These Nights
I will find another just like her

The World Is An Aquarium

The world is a sea of gigantic aquarium 
Of immeasurable acreage;
With eclectic species of humans:
Coal, Amber, Snow and Bronze;
365 score days in the whale's gut,
Junketing from Kolkata, Kalamazoo, Kathmandu,
East, West, North and South,
Hustling, jostling,  bustling, brainstorming;
Angling for a mess of portage 
At the close of season;
Like Jonah,
We will gracefully, and discretely age and be dispensed,
To the other side of the divide,
To interface with the HeadMaster of all Master's!

Aimless Wanderer

Suitcase packed 
Going on a journey
No fixed plan nor agenda
Through the shady woods
A bonfire in the night 
To a riverside camp 
Angling by a stream 
On a mountain trail
Where the snow capped peaks
Touch the sky 
Soaking up the sun 
On a sandy beach 
Listening to the billowy waves
Crashing on the shore 
Gazing at a glorious sunset 
And a star studded sky 
Passing through a lush meadow
A grassland swaying in the wind 
I wander wherever my heart desires

2 Squirrels

"Ralphie, Big Yellow. Ralphie, get up here it's Big Yellow!" 
"I'm not as excited about Big Yellow as you are. I've made this quite clear."
"But the STOP! The STOP, Ralphie! We made a bet!"
"Brendan, I'm not gonna sit here and bet over people's lives."
"Holy hazelnuts, Ralphie! It's nearly here. One stop away!"
"I refuse to participate. These are human children."
"Last night you bet me no one would ever run the STOP."
"That was the walnut liqueur talking."
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
"That car went right past the STOP!"

Breaking ranks through the branches
They jumped across rows of trees.
There maple brown fuzz now rejoined,
Brushing against each other in the 
Early angling sunlight.
Squad car sirens took to the air.

"Ya see that, Ralphie! Someone DID run the STOP!"
"With all those children."
"With all those children."
"But Ole Blue took care of it. 
"Yes they did."
"I'm going back to sleep."
"The city bus comes thru in couple minutes."
"Good-night."
"It's MORNING TIME!.....
...
...
sorry for yelling."

My second letter to the little princess in waiting line

I am having one usual day, as it is, most of the days
I, a misfit, wandering around, since 
the ultrasound and incubator, they are ever invasive
The world with the main theme, and the off topic, outlier
A peace, to find solace, within.
You are a tiara, a bracelet a pearl and a teardrop too
When I think about the unbridled, unbundled gone spirits, my lion cubs
They are busy in angling, somewhere, elsewhere.
They grew up too close to a Skokie Swift Childcare, they surely do.
They used to tap around the keyboards, busy and always chatterbox
They hardly open up about radiant ways, as they are always busy to pave the gaps.

On a rainy day, they will be sitting inside with their jersey whims for a newer day
And I will be, the ever undecisive, is it the sky blue or the deepest wave, a say or a may

I wish I could be sitting around you, just to see the pristine may
A butterfly stroke on a lonely morn, a red leaf, and a grasshopper day!

A Nonsense composition

Problematic punctuation
How could it be , mother dear , on my forehead , is it your Biloxi ? I had an entire morn, in good mourning, leaving for good, still it could! and in so many ways it is true, just know there to be true, at least to start somewhere, once again, forever, more!
I and thou, to know how,  our buffalo  in Henry Wordsworth Longfellow went on for an angling, to find them in two, to believe in threads, yes!!! we do!!!
And the pretty leader! here I come! He meows throughout a day,with his brightest may, as white pure as  it can be, along the longest unbroken (frontage types of noises) along an once prevailing sea!
Tell him, mom, he needs to sigh, Bartholomew!
The day is done, wrap your unspoken words in clouds and shapes, with a blissful grace, and heal thy soul, through your biblical four!
The beloved unknown, went to fetch a ladder of stone, for no good reason, out from nowhere, came a big spider!
The evangelical holy water!

In amputation, amputee a nation

NonsenseLiterature

In amputation, amputee a nation 
Here we come! Here we are so! I woo thee!
In three we count and clutter, and toothless joyous, smiley me!
Giggling and stomping are they! Here they come!  Brother keeper brethren herd! Feelings elation, rainbow, cuddly!
None knows why! Even though, they are in the hardest try! As it came along, seemingly! 
Once wonder, why are they so? Give them up and clear them all, aside!
Then the second passed, caused me a blast! Succumbed with a second tide!
To see them coming! To see them sharp! To see them with eyes closed, with a vivid gaze!
I and my laughter! We muse each other! We tickle each other throughout the day! See page!
Laughing surmised in moonlight, needle of the cuddly seamstress and the salvation of the angling boat!
The light beaconed high! the platoon of ants and the truth! The train and the brainless pain with oil coat!
Laughter we are in! We see the slates in we are in shine! The very first ones of the letters and slates among, silly!
Carbonated the gas in response! And the laughter enhances! Fanta and fantastic responsive, gluttonous belly!

A translation of Sukumar Roy Nonsense Literature

Nonsense Literature

In amputation, amputee a nation 

Here we come! Here we are so! I woo thee!
In three we count and clutter, and toothless joyous, smiley me!
Giggling and stomping are they! Here they come! Brother keeper brethren herd! Feelings elation, rainbow, cuddly!
None knows why! Even though, they are in the hardest try! As it came along, seemingly! 

Once wonder, why are they so ? Give them up and clear them all, aside!
Then the second passed, caused me a blast! Succumbed with a second tide!
To see them coming! To see them sharp! To see them with eyes closed, with a vivid gaze!
I and my laughter! We muse each other! We tickle each other throughout the day! See page!

Laughing surmised in moonlight, needle of the cuddly seamstress and the salvation of the angling boat!
The light beaconed high! The platoon of ants and the truth! The train and the brainless pain with oil coat!
Laughter we are in! We see the slates in we are in shine! The very first ones of the letters and slates among, silly!
Carbonated the gas in response! And the laughter enhance! Fanta and fantastic responsive, gluttonous belly!

Summertime

Summer is the season that brings forth buds and blooms,
When every hill and vale in green livery, clad,
When the busy bee around opening flower zooms,
And stray clouds in the blue-sky roam so glad.

It is the time when grasshoppers vault on silky grass, 
When every blade and leaf at dawn sparkles with dew,
When black ants move with tiny carcasses en masse,
And ladybirds dance in frocks of black and red hue.

When on breezy evenings children set out to play,
And men go for angling in babbling brooks.
When farmers after the harvest dry their hay.
And sunbeams weave patterns even in forest nooks.

But summertime pleasantly cool in the evenings can turn,
Sultry at noon when lacerating rays come down to burn!

A Fishy Tale

We'd get the punt from St Mary's church,
We clambered aboard, with enough gear to make the punt lurch.

There was my Dad my Uncle, me and a family friend,
You could feel the day was going to be hot,
But off we went to discover our fishy lot.

We each had a very expensive rod, but we was one reel short that someone had forgotten,
But Dad didn't mind he was just as content to lay back and rest, while we all put our angling skills to the test.

We tried for at least 5 or 6 hours but we had nothing not even a bite,

Well except for my Dad who unknowing to us had tied a line to his big toe, and would you believe he had a sharp tug, and he pulled on board a shimmering Perch,

All we could really do was to fall about laughing and to cause the punt to make one final lurch.

Lotto and Gambling Compared

I find little wrong with lotto.
They don’t play it in a grotto:
Hotels and parks lovers go to;
Camera free with its photo,
On some scene of play priest’s motor.
He knew where the rivers flow to...
 
Or should we fault the lotto:
It make a thing to say “No” to?
An airplane to stop its rotor?
Then, it is igneous-hard: your motto!
The lotto not like marked gambling,
For which you dropped not keys jangling,
Later on some walls fists banging;
For evening up of scores angling.

Hopes of gain rule the mind in both 
But gamblers lots of feared laws quote:
Risk consciousness less in lotto,
Gambling: frequent site in ghetto.

Afford lotto guys could child’s smile
While few things gamblers stretch a mile: 
You love gambling, you love some gun;
Mad gambler takes along his son...
So, what little wrong has lotto?
There are holier games to cling to.

The Sea of Love

Love demands no explanation at the start.
When the game of love's in season,
There is no governor of reason,
All that's needed is a firm, courageous heart.
With youth, and charm, and beauty in control,
The sea of love is easier to troll,
But one day when all charm and beauty's gone,
And the succulent allure of youth has flown,
You'll rue the ones you caught and then tossed back,
And all the times you chose to hesitate
Before you cast your line, alas, too late.
But good things often come to those who wait.
The sea of love is teeming still,
And angling is no less a thrill.
The fish are older, now, and wiser, too,
And the same old fishing lures won't do.
That trophy catch, that wish fulfilled,
Will not be caught with rod and reel,
So leave at home your pail and creel.
Your permit's good, it won't expire,
All older, wiser fish require
Is a lot more patience…
And a better bait.

A Jolly Fisherman

On a chilly winter day
Charlie, a fish loving jovial man
Walked to the river all the way
With worms filled in a can.

A long time expert in angling
He sat at the edge of the river bank
With the legs casually dangling
Got alert as the bite indicator sank.

With a jerk he pulled the line string
Lost the balance and he slipped
Fell into the river with a wild swing
By the ice cold water he was gripped.

He crept frozen on the bank like a fish
Thinking in a mental state quite mad
For dinner what would be on the dish
Charlie, a jolly fisherman was very sad.

______________

September 2, 2022
Contest : A Jolly Fisherman
Sponsored by : Julia Ward

A Jolly Fisherman

Driven by a growing angling fad
The jolly fisherman took a fishing rod
And walked onto the nearby stream
As the sun rose from the mountain seam

He had in mind the swimming Trout
With rising hope and speeding steps, he set out
Sat on a rock and swished the rod in the air
With the quickness of a practiced bowler

Looking at the line sinking low, waited quiet
Hoping to see the fish nibbling at the bait
Inhaling the fresh morning air, he sat
His head well protected with a frilled hat

As the hook line went taut in his grip
With rising hope, he pulled it up
But alas! With no booty to boast
And no fish at the hook to fry or roast

Uncomplaining, he sat like a statue on the rock
For hours, never allowing his heart to break
He waited all day till the sun went down
And at last with a smile, walked down to his town

_______________________________


August.19. 2022

A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Julia Ward

Wish I Could Eat a Pear

I am longing for the spring and panting like a thirsty deer 
too many days have past since I last felt the sun 
beneath anemic skies my body shivers in the clear
I have not become immune to the cold that winter spun 
so angling for heat I turn my collar to the wind and shun 

the whipped willow tree with her gentle arching ways   
her generous weeping branches frozen in mid air 
a healthy thrill of scissor skates, a Christmas winter maze 
perhaps I used to once but now, I got no Bartlett pears 
and my sciatic pain has grown beyond compare 

Craving for a slice of heat or a warm wet pool of water 
I hanker like a hungry squirrel looking for a nut 
hibernate of night nocturnally tucked away diurnal as the otter
perhaps I'm just an old woman falling in a rut 
wearing double swim suits while being pegged a hoarder 

I'm longing for the blossoms of yesterday's sweet garden 
for the roses my father grew inside the lattice square  
back in the days when I used to wear Elizabeth Arden 
my braids were long and brown instead of barely there 
wish it were spring instead of winter, wish I could eat a pear. 

Feb 12, 2022

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