Fishing Poem by vern eaker

Sitting on a huge gray log
In the distance a croaking frog
Sipping my coffee from a metal cup
Noting how silently the sun comes up

Watching closely my fishing line
Any bit of movement any sign
The fire crackles behind me
As I inhale the aroma of my coffee

Embracing the cup as I take a sip
Certain I see movement of the rod tip
Preparing to give it a swift tug
My eyes glued to it, I sit down my mug

The sun rises from behind to my right
Water takes on texture as it reflects light
Waves rippled speckled diamond shape
Dancing expanding across the lake

Rod bows down then snaps back
Again it bends and I pull out the slack
Glorious morning grants my wish
On my hook a large catfish

The reel does whine before I crank
Working my bounty toward the bank
Playing along with the fight
Then winding faster keeping the line tight

A rewarding feeling when it reaches land
Weighing about seven pounds in my hand
Fresh worm on the hook cast the same spot
Fish in the cooler, coffee from the pot

The day is brighter, the air crisper
That new day smell, breeze is a whisper
I move back to the log take my seat
A day fishing can’t be beat