Fishing is generally a quiet activity, but fish songs? We discovered they are mostly, in the words of the resident teen, “kind of overly happy sounding.” We’ve got a roundup of the [mostly] happy songs in our new Gone Fishing Playlist. Catch a listen:
Fishing is a poetic experience. It can be a metaphor linked to many of life’s experiences. In Hemingway’s novel, The Old Man and the Sea, the character Santiago looks wistfully across the ocean and thinks, “My big fish must be somewhere.” At one end of the rod and reel is persistent frustration, but tied to the other end is hope.
Gone Fishing Poetry Prompt: Write a poem about fishing as a metaphor for your life.
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Glynn we enjoyed:
An eternal silence beneath
the surface of the wave, moves
untroubled by the crashing
sound above, moves forward,
always forward. The line
of sight compresses
to a infinite point
where the four converge:
four corners of sand,
of sea, of shore, of air;
four boundaries of earth
of air, of fire, of water.
Four winds blow unseen.
Four horsemen gallop
unheard and unhearing.
Four muses cry unanswered
and ignored, the cries emptying
into a wave of silence.
Photo by William Doran. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
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Donna says
I cast in my line,
Pull out my own beating heart.
Splunk… it needs more time.
Heather Eure says
I like this, Donna. Catch and release… for now.
Donna says
Glynn, really beautiful. I love how you use the number four throughout…
Rosanne Osborne says
http://poetryhawk.blogspot.com/2014/08/because-we-could.html
Heather Eure says
I especially liked the last line, Rosanne.
(smoked fish sounds wonderful, too)
James Scott Smith says
Here’s a fishin’ poem on the metaphorical slant.
http://dogwalkerjames.wordpress.com/2014/02/08/joe/
Heather Eure says
Wonderful!
Marcy says
I’ve fished with a man,
My line tight.
Reel them in,
Left and right.
Only thing he hooked,
Was my long beautiful neck.
Walked back to the car,
Took out my keys.
Wrote my name,
Where everyone could see.
Marcy says
Really T.S. Poetry friends here,
He really did hook my neck.
I had to go get a shot.
On the way to the car,
There was a huge snake
I had to pass.
This is a true poem.
Every time we fish,
I caught the fish and
He doesn’t.
Heather Eure says
He caught a prize, didn’t he?
Glynn says
So I went fishing, metaphorically speaking. http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2014/08/im-fishing.html
Heather Eure says
You made me smile, Glynn. Staying in one place, waiting, silent, steadfast, can leave you numb. Sounds like a good metaphor to me.
Prasanta says
I threw out a line… and here’s what I pulled up.
http://pathoftreasure.wordpress.com/2014/08/07/casting/
Heather Eure says
I can relate to time-worn nets. Lovely poem, Prasanta. Thank you!
Gin Suan Tung says
Fishing Alone
Happiness comes before daybreak
He drifted through, like a cloud of smog
Gliding into eternity
The dark-blue lake and the soft, cool breeze
Fresh smell of fish, water hyacinth and algae
He halted to anchor the boat, and observed:
You mustn’t disturb the waters, he said,
You don’t want to wake up the fishes yet.
Still, the world is enshrouded
With a cloak of mystery forever
Beneath the boat, there are mud and rocks hardened
Through/by the passage of time and pressure
Far away, he looked up and saw a pale, shimmering light—
the morning star;
Some housewife must have gotten up early, he remarked
Then he took out the fishing pole, and struck the water (twice!)—
Splash! Splash! The surface burst out, the boat tossed, and
bending forward
He began to collect the stars floating on the flashing waves
Gin Suan Tung
August 8, 2014
from
http://noschoolpoetry.wordpress.com/2014/08/08/fishing-alone/
Gin Suan says
Fishing Alone
Happiness comes before daybreak
He drifted through, like a cloud of smog
Gliding into eternity
The dark-blue lake and the soft, cool breeze
Fresh smell of fish, water hyacinth and algae
He halted to anchor the boat, and observed:
You mustn’t disturb the waters, he said,
You don’t want to wake up the fishes yet.
Still, the world is enshrouded
With a cloak of mystery forever
Beneath the boat, there are mud and rocks hardened
Through/by the passage of time, heat and pressure
Far away, he looked up and saw a pale, shimmering light—
the morning star;
Some housewife must have gotten up early, he remarked
Then he took out the fishing pole, and struck the water (twice!)—
Swoosh! Swoosh! The surface burst out, the boat tossed, and
bending forward
He began to collect the stars floating on the flashing waves
Gin Suan Tung
August 8, 2014
from
http://noschoolpoetry.wordpress.com/2014/08/08/fishing-alone/
Heather Eure says
I like the imagery you’ve created here. Collecting stars…
Robbie Pruitt says
Been Fishing for Me
The old man and the sea
Fished into eternity
I’ve been fishing for me
Casting constantly
Waiting endlessly
For a great catch from this sea
Hemingway never made it
To the end of the catch you see
He was caught by death and despair
When his line tugged under
He pulled and fought
Until his fingers bled
He was pulled asunder
Distraught until he was dead
The old man caught the sea
And I wonder, “What will become of me?”
© August 8, 2014, Robbie Pruitt
Heather Eure says
Life as an epic battle, hooked by life or death, connected by a thin line.
Robbie Pruitt says
Right on.
Marcy says
Old Boat
She’s a dingy for sure,
Peeling white paint,
From her wood.
Water, calm but many colors,
Today.
Dark Blue, Deep Purple, Rouge Red,
Bottomless Black one could say.
Above sky is full of stars,
They all begin to fall.
Stars falling all over me,
Silver like lightening but
Beautiful to see.
Heather Eure says
I think she’s lovely.