Papa1
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2008
- Messages
- 467
Hey, I've never posted in here before. Nice to see this part of BL.
This is a poem I wrote about drinking with my Dad who is (or I guess was) an alcoholic. Fishing is drinking. Thanks for reading.
Trout fishing with Dad
Fishing at night under a dependent
sky
we both wait
for something.
There is water flowing
here
with Dad and I
on the edge of town, and there are cold hands on a
downhill river
my arms
my fingers
are addicted
and we are all strung out with a calm and pressing need to
fish.
Fish
glinting in the
moonlight
between rays of happy thoughts
intelligent and precious like a
metal
like steel,
and we clink so in the light from the stream,
warmed
with
cold hands
that cast into smooth water with a kind of need.
I remember my dad fishing
at midnight
lit
by a glow
stumbling out from the river into the madness
with a glass
in one hand
and fishing tackle in the other raving about
cold steel.
This is a poem I wrote about drinking with my Dad who is (or I guess was) an alcoholic. Fishing is drinking. Thanks for reading.
Trout fishing with Dad
Fishing at night under a dependent
sky
we both wait
for something.
There is water flowing
here
with Dad and I
on the edge of town, and there are cold hands on a
downhill river
my arms
my fingers
are addicted
and we are all strung out with a calm and pressing need to
fish.
Fish
glinting in the
moonlight
between rays of happy thoughts
intelligent and precious like a
metal
like steel,
and we clink so in the light from the stream,
warmed
with
cold hands
that cast into smooth water with a kind of need.
I remember my dad fishing
at midnight
lit
by a glow
stumbling out from the river into the madness
with a glass
in one hand
and fishing tackle in the other raving about
cold steel.
