2nd PLACEMENT : Haiku Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin : June 26
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solitaire eagle
hover to conclusive claw
rainbow trout jumping —
flawless in stillness
wings glide beak rend talons tear
colossus i fly —
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Crafty ole brown trout
lurks behind that sunken log.
My fly snags a branch.
Winner 9th Place: 1472; Brian Strand (Sponsor) 5/15/25
Crafty Ole Green Trout
Hides in that deep hidey-hole.
My fly is tempting.
bright dewdrops rest on tender blooms of trout lilies, a gem to eye.
It feels right to listen to Lord Huron and think of Montana
When reality feeds itself on one’s own myopic inertia
To be there again, a hungering and herculean agenda
To do this one life away from her, self serving and simply
I swam to this timid paradise but it drowned me nearly
The silence here is bold, it reminds me often and clearly
When you brood upon things you misunderstand they still hatch
Nevermore in Trout Creek the cold clay through my toes I’ll pinch
The silence there was warm, like chicken soup she made from scratch
What trace
Of fish madness
Remained
When trout
Leaped
And
Frothed
The water,
Mayflies
Brushed away
In silence.
Young Bartholomew Trout
had his brain taken out;
with it in he felt pain
empathy and humane
felt compassion and kind
for the rest of mankind;
with it out, he was cold
and so easy controlled.
Now a head without brain
you would think be insane
but he went to good schools
with some similar fools;
quickly rose to the top
with a clippity clop.
Started stirring a crowd
with his speeches so loud;
“see the man with no brain
he will lead us and reign”
said the folk with blue hair
plus the odd millionaire,
and new people in town
who did not see the clown.
Now, because of all them
he became the PM;
told us all how to think
or be thrown in the clink
for it’s thinking’s the crime.
That’s the end of my rhyme.
she called it love
A cloak against the winds
Of ideath and loneliness
But Brautigan and multi-colored days
Were like a stranger to her
There was never a trout in her
Dreams; nothing as warm as Margaret
Between us
It wasn't love, not like Pauline
Not close or real like the fine
Berries we shared for breakfast.
She called it love but it wasn't
Arboreal chum noodle trunk gesticulating
Male pattern baldness syndrome squiggles
Trigonometry Palisades uneven ripple
Framework salmon people
Rise evangelical steeple
Pigmentation feeble
Hillock molehills
Hedgerow backyards
Autumnal equinox
You'll find a rainbow in rivers and lakes
Cast a rod, a fly for bait
Just one strike is all it takes
Alongside a boulder they'll sit and wait
"Fish on" I say...when water breaks
A fly fisherman's ultimate fight
A rainbow-colored steelhead trout
To reel one in is pure delight
"Fish on" again, we scream or shout
With each and every catching bite
So long, my friend...my precious prize
Perhaps we'll meet again, we'll have to see
If again you strike my drifting flies
But you might just want to stay away from me
If I hook you when your elite in size
Your taste, my buds...don't like at all
Aged meat- with trout, tastes old
If I catch you again, you may be in for a long haul
And I hope I do not sound so bold
But I just might set you on my wall
There are 2 of us on the boat, trying our best to catch a big rainbow trout,
We tried so many flies but none seemed to work, throwing our plans into doubt.
There are wet flies and dry ones, but which one will work best,
So we keep on perservering put each fly to the test.
I tried a dry fly one that was gently floating,
When a trout suddenly grabbed it, a beautiful fish, I looked at my mate but I admit I just couldn't help gloating!
There's a dull ache in my casting arm,
But I can't complain everything is still and calm.
I just have to try and try,
To make sure I use the right fly.
There are so many to choose from either dry or wet,
I am going for dry which seems the best bet.
The one I choose I tied myself,
You won't find another on any shop shelf.
It's shiny and green,
And is bound to be seen.
I wind in all of the slack,
Then I cast the fly back.
To the spot I saw the water swirl,
And I thought I saw a big tail curl.
My aim is spot on,
And in an instance the fly has gone.
In an explosion of foam,
At last a trout of my own.
In the sparking shower of green, silver blue,
At last my hopes have come true.
I am content now just the water and me,
And a lovely fresh trout to take home for my tea.
Ben is Australian, a BBQ king,
Burning and scorching meat is just his thing.
He came from Aus some years ago, and met his own lovely English rose.
He still has an accent, but has learnt to call his friends mate, instead of just cobber,
He loves fly fishing because you carry less clobber.
Ben's prefect day would be to catch a trout,
Then BBQ it and share it about
there was a young trout named Dan
who loved to steel bait from the line
one day it was said
a fly hit his head
and Dan became fillets in the pan
A perfect picture- season's best
Mountains of green and skies of blue
Where birds of prey fly from their cage
A fine day stored in "Beauty's Chest"
White spotted clouds, above; they flew
'Bove winding rivers vastly rage
Beyond the darkened hills that rest
Looking like; from a bears-eye-view
A beauty set on summer's stage
Somewhere between the north and west
Trees wall where the river runs through
Nature's wilderness turns the page
A photo that is sure to sell
Of where the wild rainbow trout dwell
Photo#2
*Howmanysyllables
Trilonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
6/13/2023
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