Best Fishing Gear Poems
“Do you like yabbies?” Barry asked. I replied “Are you sick!
I’d just like to ask you; now is the Pope a Catholic?” …
So we headed off across the ranges, where Barry’s cousin Ray,
had a dam that’s full of them on a property near Yea.
There’s no sophisticated fishing gear that we needed to get.
Just a stocking, string, piece of meat; plus a wobbly old scoop net.
The dam was quite a big one with tussocks growing ‘round the rim.
Within an hour I had scooped a bucket filled up to the brim.
We knocked off to have some lunch and to have a beer or two.
but in that hour we sat down we knocked down quite a few.
When I resumed my ‘yabbying’, my head’s spinning like a top,
and then I saw a frightening sight that made me quickly stop.
A big brown snake was sunning, between me and the dam.
The beer had made me brave enough to give this bloke a slam.
I picked up an old dry limb and gave it one tremendous whack;
it squirmed and twisted in death thro’s; then lay dead upon its back.
Barry claimed I was a hero when he’d seen what I had done,
not many tackle brown snakes; they slide faster than we run.
“Is that so” I said to him, and was sobering ‘quick smart’,
watching Barry in his stupor pick up the snake and play his part.
He opened up the mouth and then he got out his pocket knife.
Put the blade behind a needle fang, “Here’s what takes your life”.
Then said “I ought to skin him; it’s prob’ly worth a ‘pretty pound”.
Then just for fun he grabbed the tail and swung it ‘round and ‘round.
“Be careful mate!” I turned and ran; making sure, I’m out of the way.
“What’s the matter?” Barry laughed. “This mongrel’s had its day.
I‘ll show you something else” and held the snake behind the neck,
then put its head into his mouth; then he gave it’s nose a ‘peck’.
Barry seen that I was nervous; that he held me in his palm.
He watched me flinch and shiver when he wrapped it ‘round his arm.
“Ah that’s enough” he grinned, but I reckon he’d been rash,
then he swung it high into the air. We watched it fall and splash.
Barry laughed, “That’s ‘gunna’ give the yabbies quite a feed”.
Then something happened in the water that Barry didn’t need.
We turned to walk back to our strings - Barry’s face turned ashen grey.
It took a while reviving him when the brown snake swam away.
You pack up all your fishing gear
On the night before
Then you wake up very early
And you head on out the door
You drive when it's still dark outside
And mist is in the air
Sandy-eyed and wide awake
Because you'll soon be there
As you approach the river
And the sun begins to rise
You step into the water
With your fishing pole and flies
Quietly you cast your line
And let the flies drift free
You let it flow into a spot
Where you think the trout might be
Patience is the remedy
And patience does prevail
You may just hook the fish you want
To bring home for a meal
I prefer to catch a trout
And then to set him free
I may keep one or two all year
And that's okay with me
When I do release a trout
It's a feeling I can't explain
I like to see him swagger off
And leave him in no pain
It's always nice to fight a trout
And it's fun to reel one in
But just to be out on the river
Will always make me grin
So if you see me fishing
Or if you see me out
Rest assure I'll be fishing for
That big old rainbow trout
CONTINUES FROM : Just A Farmer 1
NOTE: Type of Music Video I had in mind is one that starts out with the son driving home but arrives too late and his Dad has died. After the funeral the son drives to the cemetery, gets out of the car and walks toward his Dad's headstone. The son removes his cowboy hat and begins to talk to his Dad's spirit....
I'm remembering our favourite fishing hole...Do you remember when you near lost your lure studded hat . When you and old Misery begin the routine combat. You fell in the river and old Misery got away...again ! I laughed myself to tears as you thundered home soaking wet . (silent pause as son reflects) miss you pops (deep breath exhales and sighs) Mama sent your trophy hat with you . perhaps old Misery followed knowing you ..would be fishing in a crystal river way beyond the blue...(The son turns away from the headstone and is astonished at the ghost-like figure of his Dad. The Dad is wearing the lure decorated fishing hat and dressed in fishing gear, a fishing rod is leaning against a tree. the Dad smiles & waves as the son stands speechless. The Dad reaches for his fishing rod, rests it on his shoulder. The son comes out of his trance and waves back just in time. The Dad turns and begins to whistle as his ghostly figure slowly evaporates. The son now filled with peace and joy replaces his cowboy hat on his head and walks to his car. He opens the drivers door to find lying on the passenger seat is his Dad's lure studded fishing hat)
(ALTERNATIVE Part in MUSIC VIDEO) the son could ride his horse to the cemetery and upon returning to the horse find his Dad's lure decorated hat slung over the saddle horn)
Wake up bright and early
Eat a hearty breakfast
Pack up a yummy lunch
Check all of your fishing gear
Put on your oldest clothes and favorite fishing hat
Don’t forget the sunscreen
Time to get a move on, while the fish are still really biting
Quick stop at the bait shop for night crawlers
Then onto your favorite fishing spot, down at the local lake
First thing to do, is set up your day camp & make sure no wild critters can get into your food
Then, it’s time to bait your hook and throw in your line
Nothing left to do, but sit back & wait for someone to nibble on your line
Best part about going fishing is sitting back and enjoying nature, without dealing with your daily hectic life
Gone fishing.
We decided to go fishing,
Granddad Dad and I .
We booked a Bed and Breakfast
up in the Isle of Skye.
We set off Friday morning
with lots of fishing gear,
and Granddad even managed
to sneak aboard some beers.
Up the road we went,
arriving late at night,
and in the early morning
my goodness what a sight.
The mountains stood so purple
and on the Loch a haar.
We were quickly down for breakfast
and then back to the car.
We drove down to the Loch
and hired a lovely boat.
The weather was quite nippy
so we buttoned up our coats.
We settled down to fish.
It was a brilliant day,
and Granddad told me stories
of the ones that got away.
We rowed back to the quay
and unloaded all our fish.
The day was quite successful,
even more than we could wish.
I tied the boat up tight
and walked back to the car.
When someone drew attention,
by shouting from a far.
A man was standing pointing,
back towards the quay,
and there we saw the boat
floating out to sea!
Grandad looked at Father,
then Father looked at me.
"I thought it was secure,
how can this possibly be".
"When it comes to tying rope,
the skills i have not got,
you thought i was a Sailor,
I am a frayed knot"!
Stateless
…thatched houses catch fire
sparrow tires from romping in the coned-flower chestnut
tree
alights on the road
tires crunch macadam
sparrow perches on live telegraph wires
winds sweep the plains
topple high-tweeting power poles
sparrow haunts deserted godowns
caterpillar cranes tear down loading wharves
sparrow unloads wings on marshalling yard
trains shuttle screeching now forth now back
sparrow glides then tumbles in air-pockets
temperature plummets
snow flakes
magpie in the châtaignier shrieks disgust to the skies
melting snow runs down eaves
air sizzles with imminent
thunder
Zhen of a sudden clapclaps righteous terror
The Eldest Son of High Heaven has high business to supervise
tapeworms bore deeper into the ground
the cicada scarcely calls to mate
wet hungry ruffled sparrow
has no chestnut tree to go back to now home to transiting seagulls tries to alight on spring-green spare Pawlonia chockfull of crows
averts the mulberry tree à la feuille de platane
fishing gear lie splayed against the trunk
the dense dripping prickly hibiscus hedge
affixes
house-full
sparrow perches on the terrace rose pot
the neighbour’s Siamese cat’s ears perk up
sparrow rolls its eyes
April 24, 1997
From the privately-pub. coll. (rev. 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris: 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Poem to be read with Picture Number 2 (boy on boat)
For Him
In the midst of a simpler time
A boy and his boat set a-sail.
Anchored in dark, murky waters
Fishing gear, picnic lunch, and a pail
As he baited the hook, his zest grew
Underwater, the line disappeared.
Waiting patiently, eager with hope
The boy stared in case anything neared.
From the shore, mud-smeared friends queried why
The boy chose to spend this day alone.
Most times, the lad fished with his daddy
They’d watched him learn how as he’d grown.
But as dawn woke the weary that day
The boy had been struck with the news
While he slumbered, his daddy’s soul passed
Full of shock, he had no time to lose.
So, transfixed to the surface, he stared
For his father, his hero, he prayed
A ripple...a tug...the boy smiled…
Through his tears, he showed Dad who he made!
Won First Place!!!
Written on November 11, 2021
The sea calls my name; to the call of waves I respond
For seven full days with no one I’ll correspond
My fishing gear packed, I board a cabin cruiser
To escape society, man’s worst abuser
The GPS set, I head fifty miles offshore
To a reef where city lights can’t be seen anymore
The sea would remain calm; hey, this is my story
And the galley’s pantry filled with inventory
Gull screeches and dolphin cackles, the only sounds
In each direction a blue horizon surrounds
Since the break of dawn, the grouper have been biting
Catching my dinner; nothing is more exciting
As the orange sun paints clouds pink before it sets
I commune with God and nature, have no regrets
Through the skylight above the cabin’s comfy bed
Venus, Mars and the Milky Way appear overhead
Reminders that I’m but a speck in God’s grand plan
Merely a traveler whose perceptions expand
A lifetime I’d want, but settle for just one week
To live upon the ocean and adventure seek
* For Carol’s “A Week to Do as You Please” contest
THE MORNING WAS PLEASANT, THE WEATHER WAS FINE,
BREAKFAST OUT OF THE WAY, FISHING WAS ON MY MIND.
I’D WAITED ALL WEEK, BUT IT HAD FINALLY ARRIVED,
GOING FISHING AT LAST, THANK GOODNESS ALIVE.
WITH REEL IN MY HAND, TACKLE BY MY SIDE,
I HEADED ON OUT, NOT TOO LONG A RIDE.
TO THE LAKE I WAS GOING EARLY ON THIS MORN,
BEFORE DAYBREAK, AND BEFORE THE SUN WAS BORN.
WITH COOL DRINKS IN THE ICE CHEST, LISCENCE BY MY SIDE,
I’D BE OUT FISHING BEFORE A BABY BIRD CRIED.
GETTING TO THE LAKE, NO TROUBLE I HAD,
I LEARNED ALL THIS EARLY, STRAIGHT FROM MY DAD.
HE SAID, GO OUT EARLY, BRING THEM ON IN,
THAT’S WHEN YOU CATCH THEM, HE SAID WITH A GRIN.
I SURVEYED THE AREA, ALL GLOOM AND ASLEEP,
I’D CAST TOWARD THE MIDDLE, OUT WHERE IT WAS DEEP.
I PULL BACK MY ARM TO GET A GOOD SHOT,
BUT WHEN I WENT FORWARD’S THAT’S WHEN THINGS GOT HOT.
CAUGHT MY LINE ON A TREE BRANCH, LIKE TO BROKE MY ARM,
THOUGHT I HEARD SOME ONE SAY, NO FOUL NO HARM
WELL THAT MADE ME MAD, THAT’S WHEN THE TROUBLE BEGAN,
I YANKED AND I YANKED AND YANKED ONCE AGAIN.
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED TO GET THE LINE FREE,
THAT DAD BOB BRANCH WOULDN’T GIVE IT BACK TO ME.
WELL, I THREW DOWN MY REEL, AND CLIMBED UP THAT TREE,
I COULD SEE IT WAS GOING TO BE TROUBLE TWEEN THAT BRANCH AND ME.
WELL I FINALLY CRAWLED OUT ON THAT BIG BRANCH.
FIXING TO GET MY WRAPPED UP LINE UNHOOKED, FAT CHANCE.
CAUSE ALL OF A SUDDEN AND MUCH TO MY SUPPRISE,
I WAS ON A HORNETS NEST, RIGHT THERE BEFORE MY EYES.
YOU TALK ABOUT PANIC, I THINK IT WAS TOO LATE,
CAUSE WHEN THEY STARTED UP, SEEMS THEY OPENED THE GATE.
LORD! I HOLLOWED OUT AS MY FEET HIT THE GROUND,
GET ME OUTTA THIS MESS AND MY LIFE I’LL KEEP SOUND.
THEM SUCKERS WAS POPPING ME, POPPING LIKE HECK,
I JUMPED IN THE LAKE, WAY OVER MY NECK.
SEEMED LIKE HOURS, BEFORE I HAD THE NERVE TO COME UP.
LUCKILY THEY WERE GONE, ME I WAS SOAKED LIKE A PUP.
I EASED TO MY TRUCK, GOT IN AND STARTED OUT FAST,
THEY CAN HAVE MY FISHING GEAR AND THEY CAN KISS MY FOOT.
I used to fish from the banks of a lake next to our farm
many many years ago. My fishing gear consisted
of a thin branch cut from a willow tree. For a hook
I used a needle my mom gave me. I would use pliers
and hold it over a fire.
Then I would bend it to form a hook. For a line, I would
use white sewing thread. For bait, I would use mom’s
cookie doe and shaped small balls and place them on my home-made hook.
I remember the blue green water of the lake where one
could drink without fear of contaminants. I would
use a match stick for a bobber and caught numerous perch and crappy. Mom would clean them and cook them in lard she made herself.
Life was simple then. Dad and Mom were always together and would often held hands as they walked to the grocery store. The air was so clean and pure that breathing was like inhaling nature. I would listen to the silence and my thoughts
were so clear and simple. I knew who I was and where I came from.
Oh, how I miss those carefree days.
Two friends go out fishing,
it was a lovely day.
You cannot beat this pastime
to dwindle time away.
They park beside a bridge
get on their fishing gear.
Feeling really good
they even have some beer.
Further down the road
coming from afar,
three cars are approaching
one is a Funeral car.
As the front car passes
one man stands and bows his head,
clearly showing respect
to the bereaved and to the dead.
He lingers for a moment
then puts back on his cap.
His friend looks on in awe,
thinks what a decent chap.
"That was very nice of you,
to stop, respect a life."
"To take onboard the pain involved
for a husband or a wife."
"It was the least that i could do,
in fact i feel some tears."
"After all she was my wife
for nearly twenty years!"
On a Monday public holiday and with my son home from school,
we organized to go out fishing in a creek where blackfish rule,
and while we’re putting in the boot, our bamboo poles and fishing gear,
I heard a voice from in the street “so what are you pair doing here?”
Bertie Brooke approached us and I said, “we’re going fishing mate,”
and Bertie uttered “are youse now; I suppose it’s way too late,
to drag along an old codger, who doesn’t mind to wet a line,
either that, or go boozing all day long, but fishing would be fine.”
Now Bertie is an army veteran who spent time in a war,
and he’s in his eighties now and never mentions what he saw,
but the whole town knew of Bertie and how he ran the R-S-L,
so taking Bertie fishing with us, could only serve us well.
And as we three plied our fishing trade, Bertie gave young Glen advice,
on how he lured in a blackfish when a young’un once or twice,
and he spoke about the good old days that thankfully are gone,
but I was cringing knowing, that the generation gap is on.
The young boys of these modern days don’t want to hear of horse and carts.
They’re all for war games on computers and seeing grisly parts,
but young Glen was interested, because some homework from his school,
was based upon war history, and old Bertie now is cool.
So while I fished I listened to the questions Glen asked Bert,
and heard solemn answers ‘bout the war, and most appeared to hurt,
then gingerly Glen uttered, “did you kill anybody Mr. Brooke?”
and Bert responded in a somber tone, “probably – I was a cook.”
Today I decided to clean out my closet (Bad Idea)
In it I found:
A wool coat with a moth hole
Old go-go boots, one needs a new sole
An ugly purse made of lizard skin
Inside stained from a leaking pen
A baby book for each of my boys
A big box of outgrown toys
Three dresses that have shrunk, just hanging there
Old gardening jeans with knees worn bare
A bathing suit, too little, I fear
Even some old fishing gear
A purple pantsuit..Holy Chit
Glad nobody ever saw me wearing it
Some baby clothes that belonged to the kids
Potpourri jars that have no lids
So much junk on the floor
I can hardly close the door
I know I should throw it all away
But guess I'll save it for another day
Well, that was fun, I think with a grin
And just like that, I put it all back in
A day that’s spent in the forest is a day that’s heaven-sent,
with the air so crisp and clean with ample shade,
where Mother Nature’s in control with the forest as it’s meant,
and the struggle’s all around me in the glade.
I am down in a valley, preparing for a day with fishing gear,
below a trestle bridge that spans across the vale,
and before walking to the river, I gaze around me here,
while I enjoy a morning coffee near a trail.
This hidden trail amongst the ferns has got to lead somewhere,
‘though I imagined it’s a place without acclaim,
but being curious by nature, I followed it down there,
and found a lovely little stream without a name.
When I gazed up and down the stream, in my first train of thought,
was with the gentle rippling of the constant flow,
and wondered if the overhang might hide a fish I may have sought,
but without an hours fishing here, how will I know.
The shelter logs and sandy bottom, and with shadowed canopy,
camouflage crayfish and minnows - not fishing game,
for they’d barely take a hook, and swim quite safely actually,
here in this lovely little stream without a name.
Would the Agile Antechinus, or the Spotted Quoll drink water here?
and does the little stream distribute wattle seed?
If I stroll beneath tree ferns, I could find a wallow from a deer,
and I’m sure the Rainbow Trout come here to breed.
I wonder if some gold miners, have sifted gravel, rock and sand,
in their pursuit to find a fortune in this stream,
but there’s no indication a disturbance, occurred upon the land,
perhaps that time could be a healer, it would seem.
And with blackberry and sword grass to defend the forest life,
where a lyrebird dances and a whipbird makes a crack,
water ripples through rain forest where, blood sucking leeches can be rife,
and where mosquitoes might go all out on attack.
And so beneath the trestle bridge and in the forest up beyond,
this flow of water twists and turns not seeking fame,
and the flora, fauna and the water have induced a special bond,
so I believe this little stream deserves a name.
Hawksbill Turtles are listed as, critically endangered
For 100 million years, they have traveled through tropical seas
looking for food, a play mate and a birth place that is great
as their gene of navigation, is their lifetime information
Sea Turtles help to maintain, the health of coral reefs
by eating the sponges, from the surfaces of reefs
They also eat jellyfish, with a narrow-pointed beak
to extract an exotic dish, so they don’t become weak
Human activities have taken their eggs, meat, skin, and shells
and being caught up in fishing gear, and nasty fishing hooks
has depleted their numbers, all created by the human cartels
ana the high temperatures, depleting the male history books