Poetic Tides Through Time

Fresh Fish

A flash of silver streaks in sunlight,
An arc of movement with fins.
The angler stands, his boat is rocking;
He tries his best to land him.

The fight is on; the fish in water
Plunges deep, the line he tows.
The angler tries his best to hook him;
This fish is wily, he knows.

Under the rocking boat is motion;
Waves lapping as the fish fights,
Struggling against the hook and taxing
The fisherman with its might.

Playing the line, the patient angler
Sits, waiting for the right time.
Suddenly the rod arcs, bends in half;
He jerks hard, hooks his fish fine.

Satisfied that the fight is over,
He slowly reels in his catch.
Net ready, he leans forward to scoop
His fish – a sizeable match!

Grinning, he settles down in the boat,
And lowers his fishing net.
He grasps his fish, a rock bass it is,
Holds him softly, like a pet.

He unfastens the hook from this fish
Not injuring mouth or gill;
He smiles wide as he holds up his catch -
Five inches won’t fit the bill!

As his fish splashes clear, this grandad
Grins and assures his grandkids,
“He’s too small to keep, so he is free;
Gosh! What a fighter he is!”

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Entry: April 2, 2017
Prompt: Carp or any kind of fish, fishing
For: Dew Drop Inn Poetry Workshop
Form: Quatrain stanza (or poem) consisting of four lines. Lines 2 and 4 must rhyme while having a similar number of syllables.
Line Structure: Each quatrain has a 9,7,9,7 syllable structure. The rhyming lines (2 and 4) have 7 syllables.
Rhyme Pattern: aBcB, cDeD, etc.

Commentary ▼

         Fishing was an important activity in our family. It was a generational activity that all the men in my Dad's family heartily and happily embraced. We took fishing trips to Canada, fished rivers and nearby streams local to my birthplace. While this was a recreational activity, it was also a serious one. During lean times, Dad was fishing to feed his family; I was raised on a lot of freshwater fish when we could eat fresh fish and had clean rivers. Here, Dad uses a fishing experience as a teaching moment.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~~Robert Frost