Long Trout Poems
Long Trout Poems. Below are the most popular long Trout by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trout poems by poem length and keyword.
......................................Sadly I heard my mother Groan
Look how tall my son has Grown
Poor little lamb what have you Heard?
Is the big bad wolf hiding in the Herd?
Now come and see the most amazing Feat
I will walk on my hands instead of my Feet
At the ball game sitting on the third Tier
The TWINS LOSE I shed a joyful Tear
Yesterday I had a dream, a dream so Real
Caught a Six pound trout with a Zebco Reel
Inspired by a comment on “Hodgepodge POETRY”
Dedicated To Raul Moreno
Give it a try my POETIC Friend
Stop it! Quit being hypocritical about freedom
What type or what kind that you are talking about?
Be serious! Keep on talking about freedom
Until you drive me to boredom
Until I am strong enough to eat a live trout
Keep on yelling freedom, freedom
Until you lose your kingdom
In Galatians 5: 1,13-15: we found these words, not in error
"You shall love as yourself your neighbor"
"But through love become slaves to one another"
"If, however, you bite and devour one another,
Take care that you are not consumed by one another"
Go read the Bible yourselves, ‘because we are free'
We are brothers and sisters, we should love one another
Yes, Christ died for our freedom, for our liberty
We want freedom in America
We want freedom in Cuba
We want freedom in Columbia
We want freedom in Haiti
Which is poor because of exploitation
Corruption, violence, hatred, pollution
Lies, extortion, racism, theft, distortion
Misery, slavery, crimes and discrimination
Stop, stop being hypocritical about freedom
Let's finish elaborating and talking about freedom
Before alluding to or commenting on democracy
Which is more twisted, complex, convoluted or mazy
Big brother is supposed to protect the little one
In this world, we should fight for freedom for everyone
For the rich, the poor, the underprivileged and the elderly
The strong must protect the weak one. Oh! Miss Liberty
Stands for something noble and divine for all
"For freedom Christ has set us free", so we can walk tall
So we can think freely
So we can wink freely
So we can talk freely
So we can walk freely
So we can laugh freely
So we can clap freely
So we can write freely
So we can chat freely
While respecting each other
And protecting one another
Oh! Freedom, Freedom. Too many humans have senselessly
And falsely die in your name. Oh! Freedom. Oh! Liberty.
Copyright © July 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Mountain Sleep
Mountain sleeps once upon a lake
Yellow bird skims the surface of liquid blue
Draws in an insect on the slender beak
A subtle noise discerned as it gathers up the bug
Disturbances below are heard, a lifted fin, a splash
In nervous motion the trout moves back below
Cheated by the bird who stole his living meal
Above the lake, below the gaze of mountain
Snow melts, rain rides the spine and washes down
To purify the path
Make the past and present one and the same
Gliding between here and now
Mountain looks for a cover
But only finds the white of ice
Trees are used as toothpicks upon the ponderings
Lake is gargled with the blue and brine as mountain thinks
Wakes, meditates. It rises on green grass
Mirrored at the water’s edge
Pretends to see right through it
Then turns with each hour of the sun
Bakes with the red birds spinning like rotisseries
Mighty wings lift and swoop on clouds
Rivers rush with them to some lost town
Forsaking summer in a rush of churning waves
Joined by colored feathers keeping tempo
Mountains are too heavy to go with them
They are only rocks and rocks don’t run or fly
They only fall and roll with wisdom into winter
Tectonic movements take them slow along the land
Steeped in snow that covers everything with solace
On the giant slopes pulled over like a blanket
The mountain, brought to its knees, to sleep
The rolling humpback hills
dips down into the valley
Fading off into the horizon.
Giving the illusions of vast herds of buffalos.
Roaming and grazing peacefully
Across the sun lite plains,
Over fertile fields of wheat and wild grasses.
Stretching into native lakes,
Surrounded by tall-growing bulrush weeds,
And cattails gracefully arching into magical gateways,
with every little breeze, your imagination
travels on a journey with mother nature.
Riding the flowing rivers filled with speckled trout shimmering across the sun lite waters.
Up Over the moss, and onto the banks beyond the tee pees into wind swept prairies with herds of buffalos
and dancing with daffodils bending and swaying,
over the grassy hills and dales.
in your imagination
I catch myself roaming around our cottage by the bay this July--- the glare of sun toasting shells along the coast. My mind wanders on until nets are hauled by fishermen of our town, arms bronzed by summer’s tug and rowboats swelling with a day- long’s catch. On through dusk, moonlight gradually rises as elders welcome exhausted yet joyful trawlers with a serenade.
fragrance of heat wafts
on mariners’ parched bodies
reflecting noon’s toil
With delight, I await grandfather’s arrival along the dock. Knowing he loves the sea, we linger on the bank while I help him carry a weighed basket of trout, the prize of his quest . Quite nimble at sixty- eight, Gramp begins to tell me a litany of fables gathered from his water-world journeys—the sails through rainstorms and the different glories of dawnscape… orange in the moisture of bamboo shoots. I start to laugh quietly at his repeated tales knowing his memory slightly fails him now.
After mellow exchanges, my gaze lifts above, tracing eventide’s call by the path of new stars on the foreground. I revel at how we would stroll back home with laughter in our eyes, my own knees bending with his wobbled gait…the music of folks streaming.
as nightfall hushes--
guitar tunes ripple like waves
cooling blaze of night
Haibun Contest for Mick Talbot
7/3/2018
Mao I
(After an ink drawing by Mao I, Song dynasty, c. 1100
in the Freer Gallery of Oriental Art)
Faded, brown, discrete, as flowers pressed
in some antique book or magazine suggest
an intimate mood--fleeting, flown,
perennial, between timeless print grown
meaningless, his femur sausage-linked
bamboo or supple joint-less trout, lightly inked,
survived the arson and the coup d'etats.
We find no window-sized Madonna
or noble in fluffed moustache
winking across the room at a burgher
winking back.
Here on a silk pane, light-boned swallows
toss in the wind-sifted willows,
While at wind-arrested edge of flight one flies
caught forever turning in his almond eyes.
Behold Queen of Priestesses
I bow my head in your sanctuary
Of cool stone, circling your obelisk
Receiving roses and papyrus
to cover my breasts
of aching love and thorns
Glyphs pierce my skin
I thank you for God’s grapes
put before me and the many
Jewels for my altar to the Sun
Your emeralds dissolve in the
Rivers of Africa
turning to sparkling trout
For San to catch
Your tears fill our dams to the brim
as the One speaks into your eyes
I listen with heart strings pull tight
A cool breeze sways my
Spine clear of all want
As Pyramid moves to Moon
then descends again
Our robes touch planets
To bring you messages
for your rule and
Cloth for Kem
Ever upward we move
to the indefatigable
Light
©ghairodanielspoetry2022
Toasted teacakes,parmesan cheese
Croquetted chicken,fricasees;
Apple dumplings,yogurt creamed
Welsh mutton,in pudding,steamed.
Baked Alaska,Banbury cake
Lyons ices with Cadbury flake;
Gorganzola buttered roll
Side salad oil drizzled,in a bowl.
Melba meringue,warm mince pies
Filet mignon,mushrooms and fries;
Sunday roast in dripping jelly
Onions and peppered tripe belly.
Trout poached,not microwaved
Slowly cooked,and no time saved;
Thick fishstock,bouillabaissed
Beefsteak so lightly braised.
Hash browns,sausage,gravy and mash
Casseroled stew or goulash;
Poached,simmered maybe pressure cooked
Tempting meals from Granma's book.
He chose a small safe snowy slope.
Well dressed with goggles and helmet,
Sunglasses and ski boots
And a pair of good skis.
It was lovely as he descended the slope.
The small breeze bothered him not.
Occasionally he would peer
At all the snow-covered mountains
Where eagles and hawks flew above.
But wait, the first poles were in view.
Trained well he zigzagged around
Occasionally touching some pole.
Until the end arrived and oh man,
How elated and happy he felt
As he had finished the run.
Changing into normal clothes
He met his girl as she gave him a hug.
Into the restaurant they went to order
The best displayed on the menu.
“I’ll take a mountain trout,” he said.
“Not me” she smiled “I’ll have a special treat”.
And promptly ordered a Baked Alaska
Release the shelter of bare feet,
rhinestones on big toes sparkle.
The tentacle-shine of sunwheat
on the scrapyard-swig of river.
Like a sunflower, the mudlark
shuts her eyes, complexion
surrenders to the sun’s spark
as sighs rush about cool ankles.
This lackadaisical leisure lost
to the whimsical call of wings.
Her playful ponderings defrost —
she ponytails long cinnamon hair.
Wonders what the silt will give up
today, muscles prepare for work out.
Long hours linger — she’s no buttercup.
The slow rustle of water into the pan.
The seersucker-mud like a baby’s first
shoe — she cannot wriggle out of them
and for this Eurekan-tub she thirsts.
A simmering giggle at her search.
Tinkering with the gold dish —
shuffling treasures in the round.
Precious stones ticklish,
the swishing sound resplendent.
Her ancestors with wagons came,
ready to obtain riches and lavish land,
in the cold-hearted chamber untame,
traded ditches and shovels for pans.
Their memories roar in loss of their eyes
in the tundra of time. What’s lost in mystery,
she hopes to find — their trinket goodbyes.
What was the cost, for it was not her life.
Perhaps a broach of a great-great aunt —
oh what pleasurable mint but repetition
of weeping, for surely the ghost would haunt
but it would be a worthwhile footprint.
Her plum-warm cheeks enjoy the dive
and swirl of her memory-seeking sojourn.
Her golden irises and vibrating fists survive
peeking into the melodic riverbed’s thoughts.
Her tail swings with ebb and flow of seconds,
like a cuckoo clock with precise repetition.
Surprised, the splash of a trout beckons —
his stock contained in this friendly wave.
Up and down all day securing finds of ugly
nails and twine, but then she finds a button.
A payday! It’s small and torn but lovely.
Eureka! a Victorian star, a sign of life.
3/30/2020