Prose of self imprisonment, in lieu to my self-risen-ment
Errected un-hourly to squark at my un-symmetry
And squander the squalor of dirtied mind
Cleansed to find the finest within the polluted rites
The squalor of impunitive squander hath dirtied the fishing rites
And awakened my soul at the fisherman's hour
T'wave thee 'Tally Ho!'
F'the dirtied mind enacted me, the foe
Now I, the fittest t'await and ponder
Shall await fished imprisonment and feed the sonder rays that dare awaken thee.
F'the dirtied mind has collected the tide,
To pollute mine own body.
WISHING ON A STAR
It is so dark outside,
There is not much light,
Nothing is too bright,
When it’s night,
Except when I open the
Curtains to peep from inside.
I then see the moon,
And a cross kind of face,
I long to see it round,
But soon
It will look thin,
And the moon makes no sound.
And way up high,
In that dark sky,
I see sparkling stars,
That mummy says,
If there are people on mars,
They see them too,
I wish I could meet one or two,
People from mars I mean,
Not the stars.
And my dad has shown me
The Milky Way
How exciting to see
And know what is out
There in the dark,
It’s almost like walking
With mum and dad
In our nearby park.
So I have decided to
Ask mummy to keep my
Curtains open,
So, I can see the moon,
And when there is a boy,
Who sits on the moon,
Which looks like a spoon,
Fishing,
I will be wishing
Upon one of the bright stars,
That one day we will meet,
Oh golly gee,
Won’t that be a treat.
catching a fish is easy
getting the hook out of the mouth not so much
I feel guilty
wondering how much pain they are in
feeling sad
while at the same time
wanting to cut their head off
so those fish eyes will stop accusing me
THE JOY OF FISHING
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rods in hand, fisherman stand,
the weight of the world drifting away,
each cast—a gentle surrender,
their lines dancing over glassy reflections.
Dragonflies flit, their wings catching fire,
their laughter carries on the warm breeze,
echoing in the space where time softens,
and worries drift like clouds above.
Oh, the thrill of the tug,
the sudden pulse beneath the surface,
every nibble a promise,
every catch—a moment suspended.
stars emerge, shy and trembling,
the fishermen reel in not just the fish,
but memories woven into the fabric of night;
they pause, lost in the joy of fishing
Osprey scans waters
Swoops fish caught for young in nest -
Natural food chain
4 am
fishing hole magic
I am with my daddy
catfish, bass and bluegills are calling our names
we are the only ones alive
THE FISHERMAN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in the peace and quiet
where the tall Texas pines grow,
there is Dad standing alone
casting his line
time after time
not in search of fish
just a way to unwind.
as the water swirls up to his waist
with each cast
his worries disappear
washed by the water~
he reels in one last time
and though his hook is empty
he finds peace on his line
I stepped on someone's gum
Now I'm part of a nation
I slipped on a paving slab
Now I'm part of another nation
Not that it’s up to my liking
To change nations every day
But I can't argue if there are
So many nations that I don't have time to learn
Which one I'm a part of
At every moment of the day
Whose territories I appear on
And disappear without a care
I don't mean to disturb all that
Importance of power, those dour faces
That we are doomed to notice everyday
I don't mind if anyone is converted
To their familiar religions with those
Cruel gods created by state-minded prophets
In my view all this tormenting world
Was invented on purpose to spoil life
To intimidate us for no other reason
Than power of the immortal troublemakers
Evolution is impossible
Consolations are rubbish
This species is hopeless
Not the first, not the last to become extinct
I’m already gone fishing forever
Once I saw my eternal love’s face in the sky
I wish to become a weed
Growing on by a waterlogged stream.
Good day for Huckleberry Finn
sporting a big proud grin.
Cast and caught a real winner,
he's taking it home for dinner.
Here rest my oars.
A killick thrown to the school of fishes,
To still my boat from the peering waves.
Fishy-wishy scatter as water splatters,
Like wood chips flying when the pickaxe strikes.
A ship draws near, but my killick blocks its kiss—
Its stale mouth might stagger my rest,
And send my gathered fish fleeing the net.
Much of the mud my killick swallows,
So the wave won’t tug the boat an inch.
More students from the school must reach my net.
A long wait beneath the twilight-dimming sky.
Yet the fish market waits for a refill.
The cool breeze begs my eyes to close,
But hunger bites hard with its mocking teeth—
My killick just has to steady the float.
There once was a guy with a trick:
the Florida Man limerick.
But when he got rowing,
the verses stopped flowing
or maybe ‘cuz his wife was sick.
It’s nothing but crickets of late,
and those that he musters ain’t great.
The hooks are sporadic
as fresh-water haddock;
perhaps he should try some new bait.
Remember as a child playing cards,
Go Fish?
A child's life and fishing go together,
dreaming about catching the big one.
How big is the big one?
At what age will they catch it?
Will it be from land or from a boat?
Yes a child will dream about the big one,
the big one being on the end of their fishing line.
One Day ~ Some Day.
Broad in the beam
not much of a looker
this crusty rust-bucket
of nuts screws and bolts
is a crabby old hooker
as luck would have it
dolled up trolling for supper
at any port in a storm
she still gives good service
tho' down on her uppers
now showing her years
deep in the scuppers
yet still on the game
fishing by night for a living
not to sully or bruise her good name
tho' one might unduly call her
a 'Cruiser'
this goodly vessel is truly a trawler
down went the bobber
set the hook and don’t panic
reel it in ~ fish fry!
Beneath the moon's soft glow, a city thrives,
Where ocean waves caress the sandy shore.
In bustling markets, fresh-caught tuna lives,
A testament to fishers' ancient lore.
The beauty of nature surrounds us here,
From rolling hills to palm trees swaying free.
GenSan's spirit, both vibrant and sincere,
Reflects the splendor of land, sky, and sea.
Specific Types of Fishing Poems
Definition | What is Fishing in Poetry?