Best Fishing Poems

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
...

I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
...

The green village, the colored city, the ever familiar locality
Each path, tree, house, turn, each native I have left behind
But creepers, hedges have entangled with my leg and hand
The green crops fields, green hills, fruit trees, call me back,
...

'Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.'
...

call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
...

When Ironbark the turtle came to Anthony's lagoon
The hills were hid behind a mist of equinoctal rain,
The ripple of the rivulets was like a cheerful tune
And wild companions waltzed among the grass as tall as grain.
...

When the moon was full they came to the water.
some with pitchforks, some with rakes,
some with sieves and ladles,
and one with a silver cup.
...

This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
I've been so goldarned busy living
I've never had the time to die.
...

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
...

Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
...

I saw you twice the other day
Stirring passion anew
It's easy saying just move on
Less easier to do
...

I'll tell of the Battle of Hastings,
As happened in days long gone by,
When Duke William became King of England,
And 'Arold got shot in the eye.
...

Sitting on the sands of the Bay, a small sea
Gigantic waves throw themselves on the sands, I see;
Methinks a true fact the sea never knows, is
How horribly, hungrily and thirstily it roars!
...

A quest for emotional provender
leaves me guided by your North Star
into wilderness unmelcoming
to my hearth loving nature
...

When the morning star,
Sees first sun ray,
And disappears,
In grief and distress,
...

I knew that James Whistler was part of the Paris scene,
but I was still surprised when I found the painting
of his mother at the Musée d'Orsay
among all the colored dots and mobile brushstrokes
...

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee,
On the shining Big-Sea-Water,
With his fishing-line of cedar,
...

Now can you see the monument? It is of wood
built somewhat like a box. No. Built
like several boxes in descending sizes
one above the other.
...

I recall that man and not two centuries
have passed since I saw him,
he went neither by horse nor by carriage:
...

Wallowing in this bloody sty,
I cast for fish that pleased my eye
(Truly Jehovah's bow suspends
No pots of gold to weight its ends);
...

A pathetic tale of the sea I will unfold,
Enough to make one's blood run cold;
Concerning four fishermen cast adrift in a dory.
As I've been told I'll relate the story.
...

On an island the soft hue of memory,
moss green, kerosene yellow, drifting, mingling
in the Caribbean Sea,
a six-year-old named Alfred
...

I

TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate’er you may believe.
...

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
...

There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,
But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fished out.
I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,
And I never quit without getting a mess of a dozen or so.
...

PIANO DI SORRENTO

Fort, Fort, my beloved one,
Sit here by my side,
...

Dürer would have seen a reason for living
in a town like this, with eight stranded whales
to look at; with the sweet sea air coming into your house
on a fine day, from water etched
...

AMERICA always!
Always our own feuillage!
Always Florida's green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of
...

He climbed to the top
of one of those million white pines
set out across the emptying pastures
of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
...

The mountain held the town as in a shadow
I saw so much before I slept there once:
I noticed that I missed stars in the west,
...

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
...

Alone.........I sit
By the fishing hole
Didn't bring..don't need
...No fishing pole
...

ON thy stupendous summit, rock sublime !
That o'er the channel rear'd, half way at sea
The mariner at early morning hails,
...

“Fishing in troubled waters” means end of happiness
Infusing hatred and violence where exists oneness
Excuses advanced with malign and hollowness
Waiting for chance to ruin and reduce to nothingness
...

Since yesterday had throw me and bolt,
Today has hurt my heart even more.
The autumn wildgeese have a long wing for escort
As I face them from this villa, drinking my wine.
...

.
I watched a movie last night about World War 2,
and the nearly 350,000 allied soldiers
stranded and under fire at Dunkirk
...

This poem is dedicated to many thousands of boat people
who perished by the sea

ooo
...

The lads, Sid, Fred, Frank and Len,
Are four dedicated fishermen,
Telling stories of their latest bite,
They'd sometimes talk right through the night,
...

There was a knock upon my door
…In…the light…was she
Grab your coat and in the rain
Come take a walk with me
...

O TO make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
...

A boy and his dad on a fishing trip-
There is a glorious fellowship!
Father and son and the open sky,
And the white clouds lazily drifting by,
...

Over Sir John's hill,
The hawk on fire hangs still;
In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dusk, he pulls to his claws
...

coming out of the falling snow
the distant green hills
grow farther away from me
with the passage of time
...

Spring

The year's first poem done,
with smug self confidence
...

Two good friends had Hiawatha,
Singled out from all the others,
Bound to him in closest union,
...

To the Memory of the Household It Describes
This Poem is Dedicated by the Author:

"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits,which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine lightof the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the CelestialFire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth thesame." -- Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy,
...

when you go to fish
go fishing for the finest kind
which good anglers always do.
...

Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers,
The exuberant voices of music,
Have charm for children but lack nobility; it is ...
...

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
...

You shall hear how Hiawatha
Prayed and fasted in the forest,
Not for greater skill in hunting,
...

When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke,
I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like;
And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught
When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught!
...

Out of childhood into manhood
Now had grown my Hiawatha,
Skilled in all the craft of hunters,
...

I saw....
Two black crystal balls
Rimmed with white
Reflecting an indefinable emotion
...

Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
from the village near by.
It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in
...

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright,
Both current and ripple are dancing in light.
We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak
...

"As certain also of your own poets have said"--
(Acts 17.28)
Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea
...

NOW shone the morning star in bright array,
To vanquish night, and usher in the day:
The wind veers southward, and moist clouds arise,
That blot with shades the blue meridian skies.
...

You're standing in the doorway.
Your workday is all done.
He waits to see you everyday,
this boy that is your son.
...

Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;
And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher
...

.
.
Out on a walk beside the wide and mighty Columbia River-
friendly hellos from fellow walkers, runners and bikers- -
...

To go home and wear shorts forever
in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate,
adding a sweater when winter soaks the grass,
...

BOOK I

Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide
...

The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
...

Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind
announces autumn, and the equinox
rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon.
Somewhere beyond the Gorge Li Po is gone,
...

Cross the meadow. On the other side of the hill,
down by, the old watermill. Watching the water swirl,
a little boy, and a little girl. Skipping rocks and fishing,
closing their eyes, and wishing. Climbing trees to
...

As an owl picked out the fixed Star
A break in the clouds, a ray of hope
Washing her hands of muddled,
Many-sided habit of mind
...

With saddest music all day long
She soothed her secret sorrow:
At night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrong
Such cheerful words to borrow.
...

Fear, like a living fire that only death
Might one day cool, had now in Avon’s eyes
Been witness for so long of an invasion
That made of a gay friend whom we had known
...

Since I stroll in the woods more often
than on this frequented path, it's usually
trees I observe; but among fellow humans
what I like best is to see an old woman
...

I see it as it looked one afternoon
In August,-by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown.
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
...

The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,
Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:
No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal,
Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel,
...

Bluebells flaunting themselves from the undergrowth of the deep forest,
Cool, shady allure like their birth so pure,
As the trees flirt with the ever changing skies,
Truth flourishes here as nature never lies.
...

So said the smart talk back in 1916.
For an out-of-work lawyer pickings were lean.
...

When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o'er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There's joyance and there's freedom when the fishing boats go out.
...

On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side,
Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame
By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream,
Or else brings them back across same.
...

With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright.
The child's head, bent to the book-colored shelves,
Is slow and sidelong and food-gathering,
Moving in blind grace ... yet from the mural, Care
...

Hey when I was a lad in fishing town an old man said to me
You can spend your life your jolly life just sailing on the sea
...

(dedicated to my all poet friend from India at poemhunter)

Jaya, Jaya, Jaya, Jayahe!
Truth Alone Triumph
...

...

Give me the pulse of the tide again
And the slow lapse of the leaves,
The rustling gold of a field of grain
And a bird in the nested eaves;
...

Fort, Fort, my beloved one,
Sit here by my side,
On my knees put up both little feet!
I was sure, if I tried,
...

What is death, I ask.
What is life, you ask.
I give them both my buttocks,
...

Perhaps it was when he first felt his shoulders
roll an oar, or when he pulled the thick boots on.
Perhaps it was when he saw the curved thin rod
of the moon angle into his father’s face and hook
...

Since yesterday had to throw me and bolt,
Today has hurt my heart even more.
The autumn wild geese have a long wind for escort
...

O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music-full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments-full of grain and trees.
...

Baucis and Philemon

THUS Achelous ends: his audience hear
With admiration, and admiring, fear
...

This is the story the stockman told
On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright;
The moon rose up like a globe of gold
And flooded the plain with her mellow light.
...

As once I rambled in the woods
I chanced to spy amid the brake
A huntsman ride his way beside
A fair and passing tranquil lake;
...

I have been reading Pomfret's "Choice" this spring,
A pretty kind of--sort of--kind of thing,
Not much a verse, and poem none at all,
Yet, as they say, extremely natural.
...

IT was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
...

Finding photograph
Father and I
Fishing
Smiling
...

The Honorable Ardleigh Wyse
Was every fisherman's despair;
He caught his fish on floating flies,
In fact he caught them in the air,
...

On the small marble-paved platform
On the turret on the head of the tower,
Watching the night deepen.
I feel the rock-edge of the continent
...

Athwart the harbor lingers yet
The ashen gleam of breaking day,
And where the guardian cliffs are set
The noiseless shadows steal away;
...

I

I doubt if ten men in all Tilbury Town
Had ever shaken hands with Captain Craig,
...

I was walking down the river bank it was just the other night
When a vampire with a fishing rod gave me a real bad fright
'I haven't had a bite all day' it said and bared its drooling fangs
'A pint or two of your cool blood will cure my hunger pangs'
...

Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ,
His wife he cabin'd with him and his boy,
And seem'd that life laborious to enjoy:
To town came quiet Peter with his fish,
...

Since I don't know who will be reading
this or even if it will be read, I must
invent someone on the other end
of eternity, a distant cousin laboring
...

The sun has set on yet another day.
I am relaxed and at peace as,
I listen to the sounds of the night;
an owl’s mournful hoot,
...

The Violation

It was getting dark
And Sage Parasaran had just left
...