Long Gone fishing Poems
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The snow so deep… That it was over our heads… Was a melting by the hour!
Give it a day, or two at most… and with this heat… it would all be gone, forever!
But in the meantime, we were sadly stuck, in mud, deep, within our own backyard!
The water couldn't run off fast enough; our backyard had become a swamp, marred!
Just then, low and behold my old Volkswagen bubbled up, thru the mud it came!
You know, the one, surely you do! Last year it had floated down the storm drain!
Now, low and behold something got out! OH WHAT I’ll never, ever, really know!
Said he was the REAL Swamp Thing, and tired of spring-cleaning his house, so…
He chained the car to a tree, as he hopped out. Said his name was “Gone Fishing”.
Said his Mama read it on a sign, and used it to name her sweet, baby, Swamp Thing!
But then, he saw our back yard, he shouted in delight and decided to visit for a spell!
After all, it’s turned into a real swamp! And he’s the real Swamp Thing! So, Do Tell!
Dragon, the penguins, and all else, followed him straight, to the swamp so profound..
The penguins slid down the muddy slope, and followed the Swamp Thing all around.
But when Dragon tried, his weight got him stuck! We had to wench him, to the shore.
Mud became the name of the day, with mud and snowball fights going on, in galore!
Everyone was in seventh heaven, ‘Gone Fishing’ the same, as they slide, all about!
Fun ensued! For how often can he vacation about? Only once a year! No doubt!
After 2 days of fun, the snow was almost gone, so we cleaned them, as they played.
Yes, the fire hydrant was turned on! Dragon threw his Penguins, happily, into the spray!
That shot them almost to the moon above! The closest to flying they would ever be!
They soared then slide down the street. Even Dragon did play this time! How sweet!
But ‘Gone Fishing’ knew his vacation was up. So he waved a hearty good bye…
As he jumped into the Volkswagen again, and let it fly, and man, could that baby, fly!
It flew down the street, and back down the drain! Before our very own eyes!
That was the last time we saw the Swamp Thing, as we waved, a sad goodbye!
But next time it snows to mile high deep… as it melts, we’ll be looking for our friend.
Here lies our story of ‘Gone Fishing”. It’s real! Honest! To you, I’d never lie! I defend!
And I expect, where ever he really is now… He’s ‘Gone Fishing’…THE END
That day that way we met
the nightingale sang while
whooping cranes bowed
their heads the sun danced
between the blue skies as
the clouds rushed by I
remember that day that
way you walked the way
you smiled that funny
way you dazzled me with
your cunning charm like
no other man ever had the
pink flamingos were wearing
my dress while gone fishing
signs hung about the broken
drift wood store fronts hot
sand caressed my skin the
turquoise waters released
a soft salty mist that day
that way the kiss was met
I awaited your arrival in the
midst of it all we knew full
well death would follow the
sullen hints betrothed frightening
were we wrong to fall so deep
in love destroying a brilliant
friendship by falling in love
a connection so valid why
were we wrong to hide such
a great love to covenant a love
that would someday blast off
shattering the moon sending
pieces of our love into the
universe racing sparks ignited
the stars that twinkled back
down to the earth that day
that fabulous way we met
painting a beautiful canvas
of cards hand written letters
photographs proses poetry
collection of memories that we
were forbidden to express love
hidden deeply breaking our spirits
envious minds colliding before us
an yet within warm tears flowing
shown only when a quiet storm
gathers I watch and wait
for raindrops to cover my face
this is our song for this is our time
to weep for broken hearts beckoning
thought desired to feel to touch
to only remember desperately
trying to hold on to what's left
what is really left the pain still
lingers it's truly apart of who
we are now nothing could pry
it from my aching bosom it
remains connected to my soul
like a permanent umbilical cord
that day that way our souls met
way before our hearts finally
introducing our bodies to fulfill
this sheer connection that lit
up the sky by and by my smile
and the wink of your eye why
we are but lovers clinging vessels
in time we now remain cherubs
cherbium and seraphim beauty
kelp our love an artform on display
unmoved untouchable burning flame
It was one of them nights with nothing to do
We sat round the log fire in the inn like you do
Telling ghost stories and massive white lies
Old Harry snuffed his pipe out, light shone in his eyes
I will tell you a story, once fishing, its true
I once went on the lake with Jimmy McGrew
We was drinking and smokin and things were all fine
When suddenly a snatch back, something caught the line
Well it would not come up, it was stuck or got snagged
I caught a whale, Old Jimmy he bragged
After a time, he said , for goodness sake
I will have to go down there, go into the lake
So Jimmy jumped in but he came back up fast
He couldn’t catch his breath all wheezy and gasps
I says, to Jimmy, what’s going on
We gotta get out here, come on, come on
Something had spooked him, that was sure clear
I never seen Jimmy so taken with fear
When we was back, on old Terra Fermain
He was much calmer, I asked him again
You won't believe what I saw, he did said
There was a guy down there, standing on the bed
Just standing right there with a net in his hand
Stood there, right standing, his feet on the sand
We went into town and he told the law
They came to the lake with their frog suits and all
After a while they went down for a look
Then they came back for a rope and a hook
One said to Jimmy, you saw him its true
We understand how he scared you we do
Its not what you that think, that guy is long dead
Just try and get him from inside your head
He ain’t stood there, standing, like a monster alive
I tell you what we found when we did go dive
He,s been missing for some time, Its Cornelius Peggs
The thing is, that he had artificial legs
They heavy from iron and got stuck in the sand
Boat accident I guess from that net in his hand
a walnut waltzing with a willow tree
A molecule is neither a destitute mop without a bucket house. Nor is it a seven acre field that is very cold due to having no grass. Even the most prepared of ground is a haven for a gloved concrete whose acidic greedy greyness freezes the earth allowing for no breath from the ground. It is located between the purple mountain and hawks head valley. Where the hypotenuse causes a massive erosion and lesion in the wild vibrant landscape. Birds sigh at the chaos. Trees cry for their home. And the dark eyed mystics shaking rattles speak of prophesy that was spoken and handed through time through pictorial evidence, speech, story and song. Moving a large display of teapots in a shop is imperative to create a nice display for consumers. They might buy one so always make sure spouts are facing an easterly direction for this will ensure sales and sales are salivating selfish sea lions with suits. When placing the money. When digging for liquid gold. When leaning on graves. When balancing on a breadstick over a precipice. Exert no power. Exert no pollen. Exert no excretion. And always move to the sounds omitting from a nine mile moon in a cereal packet. Harnessed by wire but untamed. Pockets picketing players. And a nice big soup causing chaos at a roadside. Yachtsman yawning yay. And the gang members are swimming in tutus. Up the mountain down the mountain. Peeling the spoken steely grey suits. Lucid suits. Sinkhole weapons of underworld. Chat chat chat. And an operatic gold star warbling on a shelf or a door. Put into a cake tin then and bake at 800 degrees. Thus ensuring leverage is even. Events equalling extraction. Then boom boom boom. All gone fishing. Xxxxx formulations Z Z Z Z
Form:
Such a wonderful sunny day of a day,
walking along in my walkiest way.
Waving to birds as they sing in the tree,
each song so special, just for me.
I came upon a sparkling lake,
under a shade tree a rest I would take.
On the softest grass in the coolest shade,
a fishing pole I soon cleverly made.
A stick of twisted crookedest wood,
from my pocket some string, tied best as I could.
A feather was found, just what I sought,
tied to the string with my knottiest knot.
Into the pond went feather and string,
slowly to shore the feather to bring.
Just as I hoped a fish followed it in,
he looked up at me and gave me a grin.
He was blue and gold in the silvery sun,
with spots then stripes where the spots were done.
Bright green eyes so large and clear,
small red fins with a large tail to steer.
“Where is the worm and the hidden hook?”
he asked me in a strangest fishiest look.
I smiled and replied, “That's not my task,
only some chat and friendship I ask.”
He leaped in the water, did a flippity flip,
splashed me with water till I did drip.
We laughed and laughed at his folly and fun,
but our time together had just begun.
We chatted about weather and the cool blue pond,
family and friends we held so fond.
Shared a sandwich of jelly and bread,
while he talked of fish schools and things that he said.
Finally the time came to say goodbye,
the string from my pole I did untie.
String in my pocket, feather to ground,
a handshake and smile to my new friend found.
Back on my path down the grassy lane,
perhaps one day I would return again.
Such a wonderful sunny day of a day,
walking along in my walkiest way.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr
5/13/16 ©
I wish my brother
The best of us in a damaged family
Hadn't died
He was my best friend through the years
He kept me level headed and laughing at life
I wish I hadn't gone fishing that day
And missed my brother calling in
It would have been one more time
That I had seen him
Before he left this world
I wish I hadn't hurt
So many innocent people
In my raging youth
I can't go back and apologise
Or fix it
I wish I hadn't let my mouth
Be so loose
Hurting people with careless words
A lot of pointless pain
Could have been avoided
I wish I had been stronger
For my children
When they were young
I could have saved a lot of heartache
For them and for me
I wish I had told my son
That I needed him
Wanted him to come with me
Then he wouldn't have believed
The vicious lies
I wish I could be
The grandma I'd aimed to be
And longed to be
Due to inability to move much
That got lost
I wish I hadn't been so careless
With caring for my body
Through the years
A little bit of caution
And I wouldn't now be crippled
I wish I could
Have my physical health back
But that is no longer an option
Only a miracle
Can change it all
I wish I could find
My old sense of humour
But it's buried too deep
In the physical
And emotional pain
I wish there was a way
To let my mate know
How much I truly love and appreciate him
But no words or gifts
Will ever suffice
I wish there was a way
To stop spiralling down
A little more each day
I don't know how to fight it
Anymore
I wish my time to go
Was here and now
My spirit longs to be freed
But the time
is not mine to choose
GONE FISHING
A few years ago, I went fishing,
With Larry & Don off the Jones Beach Pier,
We had no clue if the fish were biting,
But at least the day was sunny and clear.
We first stopped at the bait and tackle shop,
To pick up a batch of fresh bait,
So we put some squid on the fishing hooks,
We cast off and then began to wait.
Larry happened to be in the middle,
I was to his left, and Don to his right,
Then Don felt a tug on his line,
Whatever it was, started to put up a little fight.
Don reeled in his line all the way,
He caught something that looked kind of freakish,
It looked like half fish and half bird,
It was a Sea Robin, but at least it was a fish.
A little while later, something attached to my line,
And I felt my fishing rod start to bend,
I also ended up catching an ugly Sea Robin,
Don and I seemed to have started a trend.
The 2 of us were catching Sea Robins,
We were catching them literally left and right,
Oddly they seemed to avoid Larry’s hook,
And I could sense he was getting uptight.
The next thing I know, I had trouble with my reel,
I messed it up and felt like a jerk,
So Larry said to me, “Let’s just switch rods”,
And I will try to get yours to work.”
It wasn’t too long, while using Larry’s rod,
That I got another fish on the line,
This just added insult to injury,
I thought his frustration level would cause him to resign.
But the 3 of us had a good laugh,
We continued casting our lines in the bay,
I was hoping that Larry’s luck would turn around,
But he didn’t catch a single fish that day.
< Well Lets See
If This ~ Will
Work Out For
All Wonderful W
Dads Here At Soup E F
I H N I
W A E S
I P C H
S P I I
H You All A Y N N
F H A G
A E P
T R O
H E L
E I E T O CATCH
R S F S
S D A Y So I S H E M O
To say the world is an odd place'
is to say it may or may not rain tomorrow
There is the dilemma,
for nothing about the world
between birth and death is understandable
As an example
A young man walked into a store
where I was waiting to check out
hanging from both his ears were massive
ear rings,
the kind wore to only get attention
and attention he got, from me and
a couple of others
the guy behind me said "those have to hurt"
I just nodded
the young man must have heard us
so he spoke with a proud voice " pretty cool ear rings
don't you think"
and I replied as dry as I could " I don't know
if you really wanted to be cool
you would have worn eagle claw fish-hooks
with live worms hanging from them"
"Wow" was his reply..impressed by how out there
that would have been
My thought was how crazy is it that me
a normal guy could be crazier than the guy
wanting to be crazy
then I said " maybe you should go fishing more often"
with that I wanted to tell him there is a fine line between fishing
and sitting on the bank holding on to a piece of string
I afraid this guy is going to go through life
holding on to a piece of string,
never to catch a fish, it's more important to get attention
than to actually catch something
What an upside down world we live in
2/27/17 contest Upside Down World
I am giving up on poets for
a day – not poetry! just needing a break
from Communal Escapism: I mean, it is
nice to write of meadows and bird songs –
of the past, how things were; of the future,
and how things could be – of dreams, we
imagine and wish were real –
but to exclude the paramount present,
what is now, society's rapid descent to
a place where no writing will be permitted
unless sanctioned by party-peers and
Fire-breathing Government-censors, is
a damnable offense against the God given,
autonomy loving, soul of man – refusing,
I am, to be relegated to pleasant rhymes and
entrancing, hypnotic patterns, dear as
they are to my musical heart – I refuse
to end always in a place where
I must always start – I would refuse
the sun, moon, stars and air, if only to be
lighted and then floated away – far
from my source and being; I resent,
daily fleecing, forced to protectively fleeing;
daily stripped and raped of free-will, which
my creator deemed sacred, divine
and inviolable – I reject this profitless
game of seek but never allowed to find;
clean morals and values smeared over
by slick salves of scripted paste, eye-candy
for deceit – so, not from poetry but
from poets do I retreat, while still partially
mentally unshackled, using my blessed
feet.... Gone fishing.