Long Fishing gear Poems
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“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.
I was remembering my father,
just the other day.
It’s been a lotta years,
since Daddy passed away.
My name is not important.
My fathers name was Jim.
He never called me by my name!
I was always Butch to him!
Fishing was his passion!
It was what he loved to do!
It’s where he’d be on weekends
and I would be there with him too!
Dad had a real old rowboat,
which had seen its better day!
It had a couple of minor leaks,
but we used it anyway!
He got the rowboat from his father,
when his father passed away!
So, he named the rowboat “Pappy”,
what more is there to say!
We always took some snacks along.
They were part of our fishing “gear”!
For me, there was a couple of soft drinks,
for Dad - a six pack of beer!
Winona Lake was where we fished,
which wasn’t very far.
We always had to walk there,
cause Daddy didn’t own a car!
Winona offered an assortment of fish,
like Bass and Trout and Crappie.
It made no difference what he caught,
Dad was always happy!
Our fishing gear was a basic pole,
a reel, a hook, and worms for bait.
No fancy casting rods or expensive lures!
But our fishing trips were always great!
Dad loved to tell me stories,
much to my delight!
I never tired of hearing them,
while waiting for the fish to bite.
We didn’t always fish from “Pappy”
as I had said before!
On hot and humid days, the trees gave shade,
so we did our fishing from the shore!
Dad had the patience of a saint,
as that old saying goes,
which is a very handy virtue,
especially when fishing, I suppose!
Patience is a strength I also have
which helps me cope with stress!
Where does this patience come from?
From my father, I would guess,
My father, to me, was an Icon!
My teacher and my best friend!
He taught me how to deal with life.
Advice, on which, I still depend!
Yes, how much I learned from his advice,
it’s hard for me to say!
But, because of his love and wisdom,
he made me who I am today!
So God bless and keep you Daddy.
I pray the angels will tell you this!
My fond memories of you help a bit,
but it’s really you I miss!
RIP Dad - love, Butch
Ralph Taylor
12/21/19
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.
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.
Form:
There was a cool breeze in the air
At this location I sat and silently stared
My spouse was here by my side
Here we were visiting the place-
where I was once dressed as the bride
The flowers laid by the pond so cheery
While we would think of a timeless theory
The memory brought us back to an ageless treasure
While we walked here at our leisure
The tips of the trees brushed back with a degree
A storm was brewing it was easy to see
Then out of the corner of our eyes-
came a man all dressed up with pride
He was wearing his fishing gear
And with his personality so carefree as he appeared
We spoke to him of what if any fish he had caught
And smiled and shared his stories that he had sought
He then asked my husband if he wanted to learn how to fly fish
We turned toward him and said we’d return if you wish
We came back to him and helped him with his rod
His eyes looked so happy his soul seem to nod
He talked up storm and I stood and listened with patience
Although with his slow moves was wearing quietly on my impatience
Then the skies turned to angry steel
I knew in a moment a thunderstorm would wheel
A crack of thunder rattled overhead
And sent me a message get in the car or dread
The rain came down at sideways angle
Soon the fisherman’s lines would tangle
My husband came up running to the car
The storm took over it was so bizarre
My husband told me he was a dieing man
There I was with my new book in my hand
He told me Arthur had a stroke
He had Alzheimer disease and was dieing of cancer
Then my heart just spoke
I gave him my new book and signed my name
I told him to read it to his wife if that’s all the same
He turned and smiled,
He had the spirit of a young child
(This story was written for Arthur
Who is dieing of cancer and suffers the early stages of Alzheimer disease
May his living years ring out with sprit!)
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)
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.”
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
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"!
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