Memory Fishing Poems

I miss early mornings 
the chill on my legs in the boat 
as we glide easily across the lake 
the smell of fish and earthworms...

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I will turn back the pages of my life,
to a small girl fishing with my grandpa;
we would leave at dawn and soon all was...

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Once almost a little village
Within the city’s bounds,
Huddled around the fish dock
With its own smells and sounds,
Streets of rows of terraces
All well kept and neat,
Pride...

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There's a feeling of sadness
Mixed with a wistful awe
As we pick our careful way
Across a rubble strewn floor.
An eerie sort of half light,
As though hiding...

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Are there ghosts on Hessle Road
Do the bell bottomed boys
Slide quietly into Rayners
For the pint, the craic, the noise.
Do their pockets still jingle
Until, having spent...

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Started on a happy note that foggy cold December day
School being closed, for adventure, our spirits craved
After breakfast, with my cousins, I joyfully set out...

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Fishing with Grandpa Sam
I could feel the shiver
As we headed for the river
The morning air
Was light and fair
A new journey I was taking
I could hear...

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Thought Police

Be careful what you say, 
be careful who you say it to. 
It might be heard... 
by someone that does not like it!

They will...

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Congregation of deception,
Sitting in darkness and decked out

In fineries: the silk, the fur,
Feathered dull or bright, just waiting

To be called by river’s song, rings
Of rises...

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the boat is as weathered as his face
it is his life, his treasure
steering the prow to sea hours before dawn
and in that darkness, the nets...

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A chambered shell 
with each a secret Lie. 
Memory dwells spiraling 
down deep and only the Infinity 
knows what is kept in each. 
A secret...

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I reach for my fishing tackle box.
Deeply hidden is the photograph of Nathalie.
For two days I knew her, but have fantasized for fifty years.
She stays...

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My uncle took me fishing.
He’d smoke his favorite briar
Stuffing the cherry blend in with stubby
Welsh fingers more suitable for digging coal,
Than compacting mulched tobacco leaves.

A...

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Just an Old Cooler

Not much to look at,
Hard to carry,
Won’t through it away.

To you, it looks dirty,
To me, it looks used.
From the late 1960s

To you,...

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I didn’t even know about the trip we were to make.
That very first adventure that old Gramps and I would take, 
I’ll not forget the...

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