He spins through the pond.
The bluegill avoids sharp teeth
and eats a minnow.
is littered with garnets and blackberries
It hasn’t rained enough in weeks
The ground is hard, hot, and unyielding
The bass and bluegill in smaller ponds
float to the surface
The water is rank with the smell of fish
I was never privileged
to experience the stages of mourning
when the staples of my sea
floated up
I’m grateful for the toughness
Clean water is inaccessible
to most,
the rest take water
for granted
Everything is borrowed time
“I’ve been passing time
watching trains go by,
all of my life”
You are still the rails,
the unflinching direction
of my life
“Now Ben,
if you are going to be in front
you have to keep an even rhythm!
None of that spastic, erratic
slapping of the water,
and stop banging my paddle!”
“Words of wisdom Ben:
in life you keep it smooth,
keep chatter to a minimum,
and you’ll travel the water
in style”
This is going to be a long trip
but luckily, it’s a small lake
“Stop talking so I can ID some birds!”
“Caw-caw! Caw-caw!”
“Ben!”
“Look mom!
Bluegill!
Get closer so I can pick
that white flower”
“Is there something on my back?
Mom, do you see something red?”
“No. I analyzed closely”
“I love being analyzed
closely”
I start laughing hysterically
and almost turn us over
No boats on Lake Lure
but a few lazy pontoons
at 9am
Bluegill shines in sun.
He hangs in the clear water.
Look! A tasty worm!
Marmalade was the only orange minnow in the pond
he wanted to feel special, but he felt odd
ostracized and bullied by the rest of the school
his mother tried to build him up
his father left in shame when Marmalade was born
thinking he could never have an orange son
when threatened by bigger fish,
Marmalade floated on the top of the water
Bass bluegill and catfish thought he was an autumn leaf
he lived to an old age, but was never happy
for he never felt liked or loved
baloney bacon beans and barley
bittersweet bubbly bulbous brew
buttery broiled bass and bluegill
boasting a beggar’s bountiful stew
choppy and cold river, white foam is gathering as if it has been in a blender
there is no sound this morning, no bird speak, no crickets, it is silent
I dipped my hand into the water, it was freezing like a frozen halibut.
A peanut butter cup made its way to my mouth, I tasted salt and chocolate
I could smell fish this morning, a dead bass or bluegill, most probably.
Miss Maddie Muskrat mastered Missouri mud
Reveling and rolling in it in a joyful way
Catfish groused that she was mucking up the river
Bass, bluegill and crappie told catfish off
Muskrat makes us happy with her positive attitude
Catfish had never thought about that side of it
He adjusted his attitude and began enjoying her mud antics
They became happy friends after that, thanks to this lecture
Seven and one, open gates!
Zero, cancel wild!
He who suffers, first berates!
Listen, auld to child!
Errors of the prophets?
By necessity, none.
Perfect record, get the fits?
Oracle, scion, pun?
Ergo, O my time and space!
As above, below!
Meteor, dark fire, displace.
Broken, O my bow...
Dread, thy bed. Bend back, bring. Born.
Death, thy sacred sand.
Dagger, axe, hell, heaven, horn.
Doom within all, planned...
Falcon, fix sight fast on fate.
Coals of wrong to burn.
Sight of silver haze, my krait?
Venom, how you churn.
Furious the strait? Hate? Why?
Out and holding on?
River, bluegill, is a-sly!
Sea-bass, take the pawn!
Tallest mountain, reply? Well...
Think on that awhile.
Hope, accrue? Cast well thy spell:
Quill, seek. Gentle, guile.
Vine, grow o'er. Hinterland, seethe.
Break on cliff, vast wave.
He who bereaved last did breathe.
Others, foot in grave.
‘Waupaca Awakens’
The thin ice cracks
As daylight breaks,
Along the still waters
Of a chain of lakes
Melting snow and slush
Both lapping the pier,
Letting the bluegill know
A new season is near
North of the place
The first sound is heard,
A sign of change is ...
The red-winged blackbird
Their call from the birch
Is melodic and shrill,
Carried on the winds
Of winter's last chill
Leaves of the maple
Needles of the pine,
Rustle in the breeze
Shiver down their spine
Timid, black bear cubs
And white-tailed fawns,
Welcome one of many
Warm, springtime dawns
Mallards in the distance
Returning geese overhead,
Spotted calves yawning
In their fenced in bed
Much seasonal beauty
One small town did regain,
All of Waupaca awakens
From meadow to Main.
(4/4/24)
2nd Place
"Waupaca Awakens with Poetry" Poetry Contest
waupacaarts.org/waupaca-poetry-contest-winners-1
(Just a note for those who may not know ... Waupaca is a small town in the state of Wisconsin, not far from where I live. Their annual poetry contest was held recently and I placed 2nd with this poem ... )
A Brisling (King Oscar sardines)
I opened a tin of sardines in olive oil for supper
Headless and nicely packed, except for one
that had a head and was alive.
I put the live one in a glass jar; the others looked
so dead I could not eat them, put the tin back
into the fridge
My little King Oscar sardine grew and was too
big for a jar, I had fed it bread crumbs,
real home
baked with butter.
Suddenly, there were many cats in the yard the adventurous cats tried to find an open window
I took my sardine to an empty lake.
the lake had once been full of bluegill, but overfished
to extinction, I sat my sardine free to feed on rotten
vegetations
I don't know how fish procreate, but soon there were
too many of them, a school of silvery beings
swimming around except for one going the opposite way
Bonanza!
Grilled sardines and red wine, people rejoiced, thought
this was going to last forever until there were non
except for my sardine, now so big it scared cats
when it saw me, it was so happy, jumped out of the water
caught by a passing eagle
Empty lake, a dead eye in the wilderness, tells no story
the fishing pole is ready
my victims are as good as in my mouth
her little mind was heady
on her way, she turned down south
the birdies chirped throughout the dale
April approaching made March less grim.
Night crawlers were singing in their pail
Not knowing what was in store for them.
the fishing pole was plunked into the water.
Bass and bluegill fought over the worms.
A terrific day for a fisherman’s daughter.
Enough lunch for six pachyderms.
You have never experienced fishing until you’ve fished from a dragon.
As far as I am concerned after this experience, no other seat will do.
Dussley, my dragon, entered the lake without making a sound.
I enjoyed the serenity of the lake so translucent and blue.
We sat in silence, enjoying the quietude of the mystical realm.
There were no bullfrogs here, and damselflies do not make noise.
Dussley was as still as the forest trees that surrounded this water hole.
A catfish jumped out of the water, showing off his whole body.
I figured he would be tasty eating, but difficult to catch.
Some of the savvy fish like to tease us fisher faeries.
A bluegill glided past my dragon’s claw; Dussley did not move.
He is the best fishing partner I will ever have, he is the berries!
Oh, amazing bluegill mushroom hunting gnome,
Sauntering through coral’s lifeblood, all on his own
Easing his way into the den of the fishmongers’ bit
Riding a bluegill as if his pirate lifestyle depends on it
And maybe it does, his ocean seaworthy life anyway
He slides through life merrily, hauling kelp out of his way
We watch him glide through dangerous layers of the deep
He rides a fish of beauty and strength, a steed to keep.
As I gazed out over the slow-flowing creek
Suppressing the agony of losing my child
Tears never fail to spill down my cheeks
As I have repeated this ritual for a while
Making these pilgrimages to this waterway
While I stood on this same slick, muddy bank
I enjoy observing the bluegill and catfish play
Paying their respect. For that, I owe thanks
An army swims back and forth in formation
Alerting the water inhabitants as they often do
Like synchronized swimmers without expression
The fish will come if they think you have food
It's been a year since I freed his charred remains
All that is left of his countenance is this powder
It’s hard to comprehend or for my mind to contain
As I visit my only child's ashes in these waters
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