Half-pint perch in sunlit water
Chase their shadows above the rocks.
A fisherman chews a cigarillo
Light brown in a darkly-golden face.
I watch him lean above the water,
Bend his line through olive light
While Lilliput swimmers in the channel
Flee the shade of their fisher-god.
His rod and reel do not protect them
Through the dark and weedy trench;
Too small yet for him to want them
Yet they fear their circumstance
Will they know, when fully-grown,
They must flee before his hook?
Or will they simply not remember
How his shadow struck and shook?
Lifting out a foot-long swimmer
Grinning while he bites his smoke,
The fisher-god secures his dinner
Meets my eye, re-baits his hook.
Hi Brian, Good one. Like the vivid details of the fisherman. Also liked your Winter Misanhrope. What self-respecting poet fails to write poems about Spring in Spring. Nothing new from me. Got some things in the works. Wish I had more time to devote to them. Communicated with RG this week regarding his Lockhartites poem. I always enjoy poems about the unchosen. Remember to tell me when you post anything new.
Now this is my kind of poetry right here. Dang! I want to write like this but I can't. Why? You write what you live right? Right. Maybe I need to go buy a pole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, I love it. When I was last in Orillia, no, I did not have the thrill of fishing, yet I can enjoy this through your poem. Lovely. Read mine - We the Unencumbered - Adeline