Long Fishing Poems
Long Fishing Poems. Below are the most popular long Fishing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fishing poems by poem length and keyword.
Tranquil spaces as we wander through the park,
the heat oppressive.
The zebras herding sheep like the watchful alpaca,
yet there are no predators
A motley selection of animals in one space - domestic and wild,
they congregate without care - used to the human spectator,
wildebeests, cows, impalas and sheep.
Following the path the giraffe monopolise the horizon,
tall and graceful,
relaxed as we approach.
Almost like a petting zoo,
although close proximity is fine,
but never so close to touch.
Gorgeous - they do not run,
just continue to eat,
withstanding our presence.
The boat ride to Crescent Island Naishaiva
The boat ride through the hippo lagoon
docile and poised
yet dangerous
never too close to these animals
as they are unpredictable
and temperamental
and will turn at any time.
wet and silky they watch the watchers pass,
and sink beneath the surface.
The boat man Jimmy, who indecently
bought an English dictionary to teach himself how to speak English,
buys 4 fish.
Lovingly calling them:
the grandma, mother, sister and (me) the baby - hilarious.
One for each of us,
and then takes the boat to the fishing eagles and whistles.
Impressive - the Eagles come,
dive for the fish and fly off to dine in the tree.
Again and again he whistles - flights perfection.
The dive, the talons as they wrap around the fish,
a dance of feasting off the surface of the water.
One rejected, one stolen by another
the food chain at its finest.
Magnificent to watch - a highlight of the adventure
Dad was lounging in his chair, the football game had just begun.
Beside him with his baseball, glove and bat, stood his little son.
"Daddy, will you come outside and play some catch with me?"
"Not now, son, I want to watch the game, please let me be!"
"Daddy, will you take me fishing, it's such a pretty day,
And maybe we can have a picnic, if that would be okay!"
"Not now, son, find some friends and run along and play.
I'm scheduled to play a round of golf with my pals today!"
'Neath the tree Santa had left a beautiful, sporty Schwinn.
The lad was anxious to show it off and take it for a spin.
"Daddy, can you teach me to ride? It won't take you very long."
"Not now, son, maybe your Mother can, now please run along!"
On a winter's morn the ground sparkled with newly fallen snow.
The little fellow's heart beat faster, his face was all aglow.
"Daddy! Daddy! Will you take me sledding on my Flexible Flyer?"
"Not now, son, I want to read the paper and stay by the fire!"
Swiftly passed the years, the boy now had a family of his own.
He lived far away - his aged father called him on the phone.
"Son, please come to visit me, I'm so lonely and all alone!"
"Not now, Dad, I'm enjoying my son - a trip I must postpone!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
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
Think outside the square,
If you care,
Think outside the square,
If you dare,
Think outside the square,
If you don't easily despair.
Think outside the square,
If you think you know the right people,
Who can get you into the right circle,
One where they won't belittle.
Think outside the square,
But learn how to wrangle,
Your way out of a triangle,
Where they won't appreciate your angle.
Think outside the square,
Without going through a hoop,
To get out of a loop,
Before they put you in a coop.
Think outside the square,
But don't dive back in to share ,
With those who don't care,
And can't think outside the square.
Think outside the square,
Find someone with money to spare,
Who does not care,
If you are outside the square,
To fund your idea,
And then you can go fishing,
Where squares, circles and triangles no longer dominate your thinking.
I know you've deeply Loved me, with every beat of your heart.
I know you've always cared.
I know you've never cheated, and always wanted to be here.
I remember the beach, our walking hand in hand.
Playing in the water, feeling the warmth of the sand.
Fishing in the gulf, as the dolphins raced our boat.
Sitting on the beach, watching the sun fade away.
We couldn't have asked for a more wonderful day.
Not many could understand the deep love we have shared.
The good times and the bad, made us two.... a complete one.
And our daughter, Rebecca is the most beautiful thing we have ever done.
I was always within you and you were always within me.
The day you died, I sat and cried and thought."How am I going to tell our daughter?"
Form:
Whatever Floats Your Boat
By: Tom Wright
3-7-2008
Some might think it to be silly
To sit and spend time writing
But is it so much different
Than fishing, driving, or kiting
All have proven to shorten my life
By the amount of time I’ve spent
And toward life’s end I’ll surely
Question where all this time went
The things that I have written
Will endure for all to see
But who will know of my big fish
That wasn’t meant to be
Or the things that perhaps I saw
On a Sunday afternoon drive
As I age it becomes much harder
To keep those memories alive
And the kite that I once flew
That seemed many layers high
I now wonder was it really,
Or just low clouds in the sky
I guess that what I’m saying,
We must each do our own thing
If you don’t fish, kite, or sight see
Perhaps you’ll write or sing.
Oh, my, how excited, elated, I would be
to receive sudden financial prosperity.
The true appeal would not be the tangible
but the freedom I have longed to handle.
It is so easy and fun to imagine
the idyllic dream-cottage I would fashion.
If my pen and intent have successful flair,
Perhaps I can transport us all there.
One super, great thing about my new home
is the location in a unique, universal zone,
where society, by law, must leave me alone
and never again cause me or mine to groan.
First, I’d hand my home dreams to Thomas Kinkade
whose involvement my enthusiasm would persuade.
He would build my perfect cottage in a glade;
quaint goose bump appeal with each modern update.
Country, antique and Quaker furnishings throughout
would be joyously bought using my new clout.
I would slowly decorate within and without -
extend the thrill, I would without a doubt.
A Walt-Disney-mind will fashion green grounds
over which perfect billowing clouds will abound.
Cute, gleeful birds will provide uplifting sounds
and precious flowers will pop color all around.
Somewhere on my lush, beautiful property
will be awesome fun for others and me;
ATVs, a bowling alley and bumper cars;
a racquetball court where everyone stars;
a baseball field where rivalry will spar;
an inviting lake twinkling beneath the stars
where fishing and swimming are never barred;
and, a babbling brook playing nature’s guitar.
Every morning will wondrously begin.
Before any voice has even spoken,
a gorgeous song will be piped in,
Cat Steven’s singing, “Morning Has Broken.”
Where the tide licks a sandy beach
a running ripple
thins to wash a ring of rounded pebbles -
there, a muddy ribbon
trickles through brine rinsed trinkets
surged up as a slosh of time
from the oceans depth.
Here be the bones of seahorse dragons,
and the beached and bloated
pods of marine algae,
Fractured mollusk shells splinter,
carapace and claws swell
in a mutual dross,
a trawled-up flotsam
tossed upon
low spin drifting waves.
A sculptured driftwood
expressed into mythic forms
anchors its art where the wind combs.
Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface
to be pocketed once more.
Obscure metallic treasures knuckle
and poke-mark the shoreside
with their unanswered questions.
I walk an ankle-deep dawn light
shipwrecked on my own shores edge.
A seagull's homeless cry
keeps me fishing for new depths.
"Live without regret. Part with tender words.
Express feelings every day. "
Quote - Carolyn Devonshire
Has it really been over a year since you left?
Carolyn, you were my poetic sister and friend,
since that long ago day you joined Poetry Soup;
and shared your pen and beautiful poetry,
I am so happy it remains- I go there often !
You lived in Florida near the ocean you loved,
it makes me smile to think of you fishing;
and not just any- but fish from the deep blue,
I miss our chats about our mutual gardens;
comparing our flowers and our flower failures !
I will never view the ocean the same ever again,
for now your ashes mingle with the crashing waves;
it was your wish to join your beloved in the blue,
and I am thankful you had a friend who made sure;
your ashes were thrown from his boat !
So, many times you invited me to visit- wish I had,
we have lost many beloved poets over the years;
from this incredible community and it hurts,
and your death, like the others, is a dagger still bleeding;
I will keep a piece of your soul within my heart forever !
I promise to remember you Carolyn- your kindness,
your talented pen, imagination and your gentle nature;
I keep the shells you sent me from the beach close,
and in my mind, I imagine you healthy on that ocean beach;
kicking the sand- your laughter like a melody drifting.
_______________________
December 13, 2022
Poetry/Verse/Carolyn Devonshire, My Poetic Sister
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1508-564-13
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Who Is Your Best PS, Poet or Poetess
sponsor, Sotto Poet, Judged 01/01/2023
First Place
Options Underwater: The Song of the First Amphibian
by Michael R. Burch
“Evolution’s a Fishy Business!”
1.
Breathing underwater through antiquated gills,
I’m running out of options. I need to find fresh Air,
to seek some higher Purpose. No porpoise, I despair
to swim among anemones’ pink frills.
2.
My fins will make fine flippers, if only I can walk,
a little out of kilter, safe to the nearest rock’s
sweet, unmolested shelter. Each eye must grow a stalk,
to take in this green land on which it gawks.
3.
No predators have made it here, so I need not adapt.
Sun-sluggish, full, lethargic?I’ll take such nice long naps!
The highest form of life, that’s me! (Quite apt
to lie here chortling, calling fishes saps.)
4.
I woke to find life teeming all around?
mammals, insects, reptiles, loathsome birds.
And now I cringe at every sight and sound.
The water’s looking good! I look Absurd.
5.
The moral of my story’s this: don’t leap
wherever grass is greener. Backwards creep.
And never burn your bridges, till you’re sure
leapfrogging friends secures your Sinecure.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Keywords/Tags: amphibian, amphibians, evolution, gills, water, air, lungs, fins, flippers, fish, fishy business, bird, birds, nature, natural disaster, natural disasters, environment