He used to cast his words indifferently,
random forays into random pools in
hopes of a nibble. Now, he selects
his bait with care – a metaphorical
jig, an alliterative spoon, a methodically
tied fly well-placed into the heart of
the brook. There, he sets the hook
with practised hand, reeling in
a string of gleaming tales
to recount at tomorrow’s camp-fire.
Wow – this poems says so much! Loved it.
Thanks so much! 🙂
Rich, amazing poem. So well written, complete but still open.
Thank you! I take that as a high compliment. (I may just frame it, actually, and bring it out when my teenagers are particularly convinced of my low intellect…) 🙂
This poem makes me think how careful we should be at choosing our words especially angry ones, Before I was a Christian I never gave much thought to the damage I caused with caustic remarks spurred by hurt or anger, Now I ask the Lord to put a muzzle on my angry retorts and make me think first before speaking. Once someone has set the hook with hasty words they can never be taken back
What a wonderful interpretation. You are so right. We need to be very mindful of the words we use, because once spoken, they are impossible to retrieve…
Excellent–I got it, and I’m not a fishing person.
I’m not either! It just struck me as a good metaphor. Plus, I had the experience of sitting in the canoe when Brent caught the silly thing… 😉
See, that works for me too–just to observe, not have to “do”–voila, poem.
Exactly! Fish guts free, no dirty hands. I’ll take it!
But I wonder how the smell was–if there was a breeze I guess you’d be okay; but if it was rather still and warm–I might get kinda gaggy–you know me, sensitive…
No smell at all. Nice, no?