I contemplate the bobber on the water.
It is as still as a friend’s prayer at meeting.
Connected to this moment by monofilament
I sit as if I were asleep.
A gust of north wind roils the surface
into ridges. In the furrow
the bobber dances, dances,
dropping its seed into the darkness
perhaps to lure forth one more wish,
one more harvest from the mystery
before I lose the day’s last light.
As suddenly as the wind came upon me
it dies. Placidity prevails, a perfect crust
of ice on new fallen snow at dawn
untouched by even an insect’s wing.
The bobber is still again
as still as prayer again
Retrieve. . . retrieve . . . a small voice
urges me, unfed need dueling with sense,
to cast again, to cast again.
but I am wearier than I thought
and it is accident time, accident time.
The uncast line is better, much better.
There is something hungry in the water.
Categories:
monofilament, age, anxiety, fishing, leaving,
Form: Free verse
I come from a family of fishermen
Mitchel 300 open faced reels
size 6 hooks 10Lb monofilament line
colorful bobbers and lures-
Dreaming of Big mouth bass
and golden flanked Muskie.
We casted over on a thousand lakes and streams
I even a subscription to a fishing magazine.
Now in this lost year of 2020,,,
The year of the Chinese rat -the mask-
police brutality and uncivil disobedience.
Not to mention the crazies released from prison.
Rioting- looting and defunding (the peace..)
My attention has shifted toward
38 specials-9mm Glocks and A.D.T
and a much more serious type of
magazine-
Categories:
monofilament, nostalgia, violence, war,
Form: Free verse
Lightening bugs flash,
like the worn celluloid images of old movies,
I sit beneath a great Greta Garbo moon.
I am the heroine of this short.
The dew point drops,
Mists rise.
Crickets chirp.
Muskwats buzz.
Loons ululate and wail.
My dialogue,
The click and whir of my spinning reel.
The glug-glug-glug of the Hula Popper lure.
To prepare for the climax,
Bring out the proven method acting.
I taste the dirt on my fingers,
Licking and twisting monofilament.
The savory sign of night-crawler trails.
Add the bobber, the weight.
I smell the algae and rotting leaves.
The sweet stew of the lake.
My nose tingles from the life motes it captures.
I cast.
This night, I ad-lib.
There never was a script,
No stupid fish.
Fade to Me,
The Garbo moon,
Clever fish,
Loon interlude.
Categories:
monofilament, happiness, life, nature, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse