Love Poems About Fishing or Fishing Love Poems

Fishing love poems and/or love poems about Fishing. Read, share, and enjoy these Fishing love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.

Poem Details | by Elaine George |
Categories: family, fishing, love, sun,

The Love of a Gentle Man

There is a place where the land bows down to kiss the misty tide,
Where rolling waves bring memories of the place my heart resides.
There among the old fishing shacks that stretch along the shore,
I find the thing I’m longing for, in your sweet embrace once more.

We sit together on a weathered log I carve my initials on,
And as you mend the fishing net, I sing your favorite song,
“Oh Danny Boy”, falls on the wind and floats across the bay,
As you smile at me and melt my heart, with words you do not say.

Beneath a golden sun with the fish and the smell of wild flowers,
A little girl and her Grandpa, sit happily and while away the hours,
And when the sun dips in the bay, we put the mended nets away,
And hand-in-hand walk home again, to the end of a perfect day.


                                    ~~~~~~

Author:  Elaine George




(In loving memory of Theodore Evans - My Grandfather)


Poem Details | by A.O. Taner |
Categories: august, beach, beautiful, cool, crush, deep, destiny, devotion, fantasy, feelings, first love, fishing, freedom, funny love, future, girlfriend, hope, i love you, i miss you, journey, joy, judgement, lost love, love, love hurts, meaningful, miracle, ocean, people, places, romance, sea, sensual, simple, spiritual, water, women, world,

Hope

Don't rush to wash off the sea salt 
drying on your skin;
the hopes it carries from other oceans,
those remain yet to be seen.


Poem Details | by Flora Mae Gudez |
Categories: first love, fishing, girlfriend, love, marriage, valentines day,

The Woman and the Fisherman

There was a young woman living by the sea.
Her house was on the shore owned by her family.
The house of a fisherman that was tall and slender,
Was built on an island opposite to hers.

It was a starry night when they met.
Fisherman was on water preying fishes with net.
He saw a woman drowning in the sea,
She was caught by his baits accidentally.

The fisherman came to save her;
Brought her home and offered food and water.
Under the moon,they laughed and talked,
Footprints marked the sand as they walked.

The moonlight flashed in both eyes,
Hidden feelings suddenly arise.
Hearts were pierced by Cupid's dart
Filled the place with love and art.

Came the sun rise and ended their night,
Woman needs to go home and leave his sight.
Poor young fisherman can’t defy;
Hugged her and kissed goodbye.

Days have passed but memories still in mind.
On the balcony she sits, staring on the opposite side.
So she went to the opposite island to see him,
But found fisherman and his wife and child with him.

The woman stepped back and went to the shore;
She drowned herself for life’s not good anymore,
But someone stopped her and grabbed her.
It was fisherman who gladly said “You came back” and pulled her out of the water.

Out spoke the woman, --”You’re now married, so let me die!”
“What? I’m not married, you’re telling a lie!”
“I went to your house and saw you with your wife and child!”
“That’s my twin brother”, the fisherman smiled.

Now, it’s the fisherman and the woman living by the sea,
In an island where they both dwell happily.
With the moon above, they exchanged their vows so quiet,
On a lovely night where the stars are bright.


Poem Details | by Jason Williams |
Categories: cute love, first love, fishing, love, memory, youth,

The Fishing Hole

The Fishing Hole
by Jason Williams


Twenty years is quite a while.
And yet I still reminisce and smile,
thinking of those carefree times,
that we trekked and we climbed,
over fenceposts and through pasture,
to reach the fishing hole.

Oh, how I remember those hikes.
And the glow of the warm sunlight.
The smell of manure and wildflowers,
still shining with dew from the early hours.
Oh, how we’d joke and we’d laugh,
on our way to the fishing hole.

It was at the water’s edge,
where our love we first pledged,
and under pale blue skies,
I looked in your eyes.
And kissed your sweet lips.
Down at the fishing hole.

The fondest memory I can think of,
was out in the open, when we first made love.
On a blanket of grass we watched the sunrise,
and the dancing and buzzing of dragonflies.
They simply didn’t notice, we never caught a thing,
All those times at the fishing hole.
________
**My poems with audio recordings can be found here:
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000075581702&sk=notes


Poem Details | by Reason A. Poteet |
Categories: farewell, fishing, friend, sweet,

A Settled Sweetness in Love

  two septets with rhyme  

At last, my friend and I bear no shame.
We spent a year seeking a soul-mate.
His eyes obliged my life to claim,
yet he could not, he would not propose.

Our calm ship was headed aground
for months we kept it together -
an ocean of hope, my playground.


Fisherman's widow!  At long last
I reeled in and quit my fishing.
I found my reach exceeds my grasp.

Two smiling faces fade from sight, 
we travel on very different waves.
Feeling free, we are all alone tonight,
the settled sweetness of farewell.


inspired by a quote from Andrea del Sarto byRobert Browning, 
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,"


Poem Details | by Tom Zart |
Categories: adventure, happiness, nature, men,

Besides Love Men Need Fishing,

FISHING


Besides love men need fishing, 
And for both, most are wishing, 
Catching trophies chosen best,
To be envied by the rest.

Fishing is a game of sport 
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish’s eye, 
If we plan to stir and fry,

Some use boats while others wade, 
As they fish the sun or shade
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day, 
While life’s troubles fade away.

Most men feel they've everything, 
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake, 
We all pray our line won't break.


By Tom Zart 


Poem Details | by Jen H. |
Categories: lost love, loveme, me,

Fishing

He's just another fish in the sea
Or at least that's what they told me

They said, why would I want to love a fish
When I can reach for whatever I wish

Dry my tears, have some fun
They said, stick around, there's no need to run

They're building me a bridge I don't want to get over
Trying to give me a fake four leaf clover

But I just don't get it, why for me are they wishing
When really, I'd rather go back to fishing


Poem Details | by John Crowe |
Categories: fishing, fun, love, metaphor, mystery, sin, women,

Pearl

You have to eat a lot of oysters If you want to find the perfect Pearl Slide your tongue in the shell And give it a good whirl When you finish shucking Move up to a higher place Give her a Pearl necklace A few Pearls on her face Here's a Pearl of wisdom That I'll give you for free If it smells too fishy It's best if you don't eat But don't let that stop you It might still be nice and tight Crack that shell and dig right in With your oyster knife
Author's Note: Another word prompt with Judy Dunbar Check hers out, its been published in a Nat. news paperIt's (damn) good.


Poem Details | by Shanity Rain |
Categories: addiction, autumn, beautiful, beauty, best friend, brother, cat, celebration, change, childhood, christmas, cousin, dad, dog, fishing, food, football, grandparents, grief, halloween, happiness, heart, hero, holiday, home, life, little sister, love, mom, mother, music, native american, sister, write,

Family Grief Family Happiness

  
   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
          
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr, Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
         
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate
        
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate.
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix.Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
        
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
        
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    
                       
              


Poem Details | by Robert Lindley |
Categories: appreciation, beautiful, blessing, dedication, fishing, journey, lost love,

A Wonderful Day Afishin'

A Wonderful Day Afishin'


 A wonderful day fishing, frying fish in the pan
 logs sweetly burning, smokey smells of delight
 Lake nearly perfect , a pond in God's opened hand
 feast soon to start a beautiful camping night!

 That monster fish that easily broke your rod tip
 set a memory to be recalled decades from now
 As recollections in old age our minds eagerly dip
 mental pictures the where , when , why and how!

 This night shall hold us in a very deep embrace
 join me in a toast to a future so fine and sweet
 Singing of happiness , joy and your smiling face
 memories, good times, wine and fish to eat!

 A wonderful day fishing, so very hard to beat
 Nature's offering, magnificent trout to eat!

 June -09- 1978
 Robert JLindley

 I wrote this decades agoMy fishing partner was a fine
 lady that I almost married! Sadly she passed away back in 
 May of 2005..She had married and had a grown daughter 
 in collegeI hadn't had contact with her in well over 
 22 yearsStill it was a sad day for me upon 
 learning of her death...


Poem Details | by Andrea Rose |
Categories: america, beach, beautiful, beauty, blue, city, earth, environment, feelings, fishing, freedom, fun, happy, how i feel, july, june, life, love, muse, ocean, peace, places, summer, sun, travel, uplifting, wind, world,

Home is Where the Ocean Is

Summer is here once again.
The breeze is warm,
I smell salt on the wind.
The same sandy beach between my toes,
The same waters I learned to swim.
Sun burn on my nose,
To the Ocean I dive in.
I submerse myself in the waters of the Atlantic
Warmer than the West Coast Thankfully
Cold, I simply cannot handle it!
Further out I paddle faithfully,
For my mother ocean to keep me sane,
this is my therapy,
to soothe this migraine.
This place gives me energy,
a weakness with a name.
Pleasure Island, NC.
A place hidden with fortunes
and undiscovered fame.
Never could I stray from the ocean
my passions would never be fulfilled
and I would never be the same.


Dedicated to my Dad on Father's Day 2013
The man who introduced me to the ocean and educated me about it and gave me reason to love appreciate and respect it.


Poem Details | by YASEMIN BALANDI |
Categories: allegory, analogy, art, fishing, love, river, water,

THE RIVER AND THE FISHERMAN


An  alabaster jar

Amongst the discard

Embedded in the mud.

The fisherman

Well trained in the ancient art of picary

Catches a halibut

In the morn

It is the noonThe river is all but gone.

Dry as a boneA bona fide state for a river under the baking sun.

The harlequin fish now ARE all dead.

The cavities once called a river

Now await the rain for life to return in its core.

Still the alabaster jar

Among the discard- waiting to be fished out.

Next to the last alive pair of toads in amplexus.

 

Oh the river

The supreme life giverCalls for Anuket!

Times are desperate.

The sun is hotThe rain won’t fall.

Amethyst stones on its cracked banks

Glitter and reflect its sad facade.

The fisherman sits and grieves for the dry river

His eyes transfixed in the limestone.

Alas his halibut is still fresh

In the bucketHe reaches out and fishes out the alabaster jar.

 

 

 

 


Poem Details | by millard lowe |
Categories: allegory, analogy, fishing, imagery, love, spring,

FISHING FOR LOVE WITH LOVE



FISHING FOR LOVE WITH LOVE

In the pale yellow evening
of spring, from my heart,
I cast a line into a flowing stream.
In the depths of its wetness,
teased my bated hook;
but evasive were the little swimmers
in this gentle brook.
With undying love,
the pale of my heart was fully packed;
grateful not having to throw anything back.


Poem Details | by Flora Mae Gudez |
Categories: absence, bird, blue, boat, boyfriend, break up, deep, depression, desire, emo, emotions, feelings, first love, fishing, girl, grief, heartbroken, lonely, longing, loss, love, miss you, missing, missing you, sorrow, suicide,

SEA OF LOVE

Oh sea of love!
How bitter the mem'ries I have!
This place reminisce the pain
Of not seeing my love again.

Your birds up high
Remind me of his goodbye.
Your water so deep
Makes me yearn and weep.

So let your breeze blow,
And dry the tears that flow.
Let your waves take away
The griefs and sorrows that stay.

Oh sea of love!
Erase the mem'ries I have!
Wash them out of the blue,
Take them away with you.


Poem Details | by Victoria Anderson-Throop |
Categories: fishing, for him, life, love,

LOVESONG TO AN ALASKAN FISHERMAN

LOVESONG TO AN ALASKAN FISHERMAN

If tame you want 
Tis fool you’ll get
In fishing North high seas
But if you go a trolling
And you catch a fish like me
Prepare for love ---prepare for war
There’s not a moment’s peace
And you’ll forget flushed one nightstands
And follow schooling breeze

Oh-- I had loved you mighty
Knocked the pluck right from your chest
Gave you babes and warmed your nights
And wove your babes a nest
And fool you were to throw back in
A love that topped them all
But one last chance awaits you here
To heed bold Nature’s call

So head inland and fight the gales
That plague this stormy sea
Think of love that grabs your guts---
There is no fish like me.


Victoria Anderson-Throop
Valdez, Alaska
revision of poem written in 2012


Poem Details | by James Kelley |
Categories: deep, fishing, love, love hurts, metaphor,

Fishing

I’m an All-Star at bottling emotions,
I run around my court dribbling emotions
onto paperBall hogging my sensitivities,
no one has ever been able to catch me..
I’m too damn quick.
I’ve sent every nerve that has threatened 
to expose itself deep into a dark hole.
Hammered a cross at it’s base labeled 
"Eyes only."
The most technical term I could muster.
Most people steer clear of technicalities
I’m suddenly thinking about Boyle’s law.
I feel like a hooked fish,
being reeled up from deep waters
and I can picture the rushing current 
of self doubt passing over me
while you bring me ashore.
I can see your reaction
to my insides protruding
out of my mouth like that
Bass I caught in Conroe.
I just hope you can stand the image.
I’ve never felt a pull so strong.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.


Poem Details | by Fritz Purdum |
Categories: fishing, love, woman,

At the lake shore fishing

Flowers bend with the wind
Beauty so delicate survives
A pebble toss into the lake
Causes ripples of waves
Reflections of time
Deep in the solitude
Of the lake's waters
I cast my line and sit
At the lake's shore
Not to catch a fish
But to ponder my love
For you
A steady sun shines strong
Spiraling through the balding trees leaves
My straw hat cannot reflect
It's heat
Each bead of sweat is kissed
By the coolness of the lake's breeze
Teasing my senses
With your touch
A rude fish tugs on my line
But I decline it
Freeing the poor soul
Back into the water
And I answer myself
Gathering my gear
I walk back the dusty trail
Into an empty cabin
Full of memories.


Poem Details | by jeffry cohan |
Categories: angst, me, autumn, faith, fishing, love, me, together, Grandson,

free cee IN THE PAST 17 MONTHS I LOST BOTH MY PARENTS this is humbly dedicated to them

  IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THE PRIME OF MY PARENY’S LIFE WAS ALMOST 
                                        MY ENTIRE LIFE
Did you ever notice that the letters in the word “love” are sequestered inside the word “evolve”?
Because to me that is what love appropriately does
It evolves
It revolves
It solves
And after sixty-plus years together love does, 
in many ways, 
change its ways of wonderment
and is often altered on a course to sheer contentment
for that is the result of the continuation of a consecrated commitment
an abiding faith that the others faith rests upon the others shoulder
as they grow ever so much older
remembering a time of working hard together to get through the hard times together
that old fishing boat she hated so that became battered and eventually succumbed to the weather
while all the while smiling because each year seemed a bit brighter than the last
and all the joyful events that are now part of a bejeweled and fulfilling past
a past reflected in each partner’s eyes which gaze upon a tribute to dedication
a coupling worthy of adulation
he being content to make her content proves the content of their cohabitation
a union rich with rewards that come in the mail bearing pictures of their first great grandson born
a baby with beauty by an angel at birth besworn………………………
so there they sit sharing a couch and swapping a calliope of memories
he talks of fishing and she of a cool Autumn breeze
as each agrees
sixty-plus years weaves two souls together as tightly as any weaver ever wove a sweater
and for some fated reason the last decade seems somehow, in retrospect, better
well……not so much better as just plain more comfortable
no surprises, no red flags, and no warnings to heed
just a mutual and spiritual type of need
the need to talk away a partners tears
while knowing that his partner truly hears
and dries her eyes compliantly
to face yet another hardship defiantly
ever eager with a gentle finger to wipe away the wet that it might no longer linger
because these are two who vowed with strength that forever, to them, actually meant forever
through the trials…….through the riches ……….and through the smiles
but most notably through all the determination together to damn away their fears
Yes……….it seems to me that love evolves ever so softly after sixty-plus years
       © 2013…copyright PHREECEE..~free cee!~
DEAREST MOM AND DAD-ALTHOUGH YOU WERE BOTH 90 I NEVER THOUGHT I'D MISS YOU BOTH AS SEVERELY AS I DO..HOWEVER, I HOPE YOU BOTH FOUND COMFORT ON THE CLOUD YOU NOW MADE YOUR HOME!


Poem Details | by Arturo Michael |
Categories: boat, fishing, inspirational, success, true love, work,

Labour of Love- Caribbean Style

                               (((  Sailor                           
                                                   
                           Sail ~ your ~ boat

                      Sun's rising ~ on the sea
 
                           Set ~ your ~ sails 

                      Winds blowing eas~ter~ly

                        Cast your nets to fish

                       Pack your catch and go

                    Your woman’s waiting home

                         To feed the fa~mi~ly )))


Poem Details | by Spenser Jones |
Categories: life, love, girl, words, me, world, fire, day, fire, fishing, girl, love, me, poetry,

LOVE POEM MEDLEY PART 2

Sometimes everything seems fake to me, and I am so tired of people acting like they remember what love is
Everyone says it
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” 
No words are more meaningful to me when sailing from the lips of a true friend or a kindred spirit, but the rest of you have to be careful where you point those syllables 
because that’s like taking the closest thing to

 the Lord’s name that I ever understood
in vain
I was walking back from the gas station a few weeks ago and some girl I didn’t even know looked at me and said it
Her lip gloss opening and closing like some kind of sea creature fishing for plankton, and I just happened to be the nearest thing drifting past.
“Love you!”, like it was hello
Now I have just one question
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN” 
You have no idea what I am
My smile’s like this because my parents had the money
My eyes are not the windows to my soul
They don’t mean jack except for genetics that I had no control over, and what my mother ate when I was in utero
That’s like acting like my poetry is who I am
Like how myelinated the neurons in my linguistics center 
I can feel the right to decide that I am more or less, valuable
It happened again earlier too.
I was sitting on the greyhound back home, having a conversation with a girl with guys all around her like fire ants with their mating tubes outAll of them with ink, piercings, and sizing me up 
because my six-foot-four stature could not speak for itself.
I’d like to think we talked about something more important than my assets and destination, but as she turned to disappear out of the bus with her escorts, she cast the three words back on me
like throwing a fishing line on the off chance something might bite,
“I love ya.”
….what in the world
After this, I think of the only one whose words held their weight
I don’t mean no harshness, 
but if I could go back in time and have half the balls my poetry does, I’d take you aside, and tell you something you wouldn’t understandSomething like, “BAM! I am a tulip field on fire at sunset.” 
Something like, “My shirt, is from the Goodwill.” 
Something like, “You’re telling me Christ could have saved the world with His cheekbones?”
“You’re telling me I’m viable and worth a few minutes of your attention?”
“You’re telling me tall, black, and attractive is what’s in this century?” 
But let me tell you.
You don’t have any idea of the size of the planets you’re saying you want to try and swallow when you say those words to me
I’ve been waiting to be able to hear, feel, taste, smell, and know those words for too longYou have to mean them to say them
But you see, I was a philosopher before I was a poet, so I have to take that back and reflect it on myself
The truth is, I’m so confused that sometimes, I don’t know which end my head is at.

Poetry flies in my eyeballs that should never make it past my lips, but I’m getting tired of trying to impress people
In this past month, I’ve been day dreaming about the girl smiling at me and it meaning more than
“You look like you got good genetics”
Or
“Could I please date your self esteem?”
I’ve been day dreaming of the girl who reminded me of what those three words are supposed to mean
Like when my acne came back, and you told me not to scratch at a handsome face.
“I love you.”
Like when my poetry departs, and all I can do is ramble things too big for my head
“I love you.” 
Like when I didn’t feel like just a romantic stereo type anymore
“I love you.” 
What those words meant to me, before I made the world make them less.


Poem Details | by Andrew Shannon |
Categories: absence, beautiful, beauty, bereavement, depression, desire, devotion, emotions, fishing, for her, girl, goodbye, how i feel, i love you, loneliness, lonely, longing, lost love, love, passion, relationship, romance, sad love, woman, women, youth,

This One Girl

This One Girl,
Every night she greets me
In my arms she rests
No one else's around, we're free
Time's standing still, a sweet caress

This One Girl,
I've always loved the most
We've gone our separate ways
To two distant, far away coasts
To spend the rest of our days

This One Girl,
I'm not knowing if her face
I'll ever see again
Or if of her, I'll ever find another trace
But still all my love, her way, I'll send

This One Girl,
There's just something about her
A magic to her ways
Making my heart stir
She's got me in a daze


Poem Details | by Victoria Anderson-Throop |
Categories: adventure, life, love, natural disasters, nature, passion, lost, fruit, lost,

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET                                 11/24/2012


He was lost in white surprise
Of drugs and doctors quips
His mind was filled with flapping sails
Of white that guide the ships
To dance among the white capped rocks
In North white nights of June
Bring in the catch to catch the maid
Who’d be his wife so soon.

Wild hair so white it shamed the sheet
That soft caressed the grass
The grass-plagued daisies held her there
As clouds triumphant passed
In columns white the bossy clouds
Marched brisk across the sky
But none of them could match the spark
Of whiteness in her eye.

Fishing was the fruit of life
their land bore little green
the joy and danger that it brought
left little in between
and men who braved those waters
better be prepared to die
for reaping nets and filling holds
bows to a fickle sky

And then his shocked brain shifted
Jigged timed across his life
How many white nights had escaped?
The maid now was his wife!
Saw breasts so white that milk they gave
Seemed paltry in contrast--
To feed the babe that snuggled there--
The fruit of love surpassed.

Then shipwreck banged into his head
The white-flashed lightning zing--
He tested feet and moved his legs
Seemed he’d  survived this fling
Of nature’s whims again he’d live
To tell the lusty tale
      of how north winds had jumped from waves
      to grab their ship's main sail.
Before the White-Christ
Had emerged from his Semitic genes
The sailors would have cried for Thor 
To ease his hammerings.

Sailors lost were prices paid
To live in Arctic shores.
And, lost at sea was ever feared
By them, and wives adored.

He’d play a trick, they’d think him dead--
Would make a crafty tale!
By his hearth and in his bed
would sound a mourning wail.
His house would be a feast of black
Mad weeping would impress--
Then his imagination called her tears
He vowed each tear to bless

He smirked to think of their surprise
When he stalked through the door--

       An unsuccessful leap from bed—
                       He’d rest a little more.

And being man-- he pondered sex
And pleasures it would bring
There was no sizzling passion like                            
His lover’s offering.

a putrid glass forced through his teeth-
Morphia drew him in
To dream the dreams of healing arms
       prickles kissed his skin
       He found her face beyond his pain, smile that could disarm--
       In dreams , with wife, in languid bliss
       he caught a fish of charm



Poem Details | by Roberto Santana |
Categories: books, color, death, desire, family, fishing, i love you,

My Sunshine

I love you now more than ever ,
For you mean the world to me ,
I love everything about you ,
I'll search around the world for thee
Your smile is so inviting ,
Your kisses are so divine ,
I want to hold you in my arms ,
And bring you safely home
Whenever I am near you ,
I shake like a willow tree ,
The stars above shine brighter ,
Cause you belong to me.
The Ocean's wave in unison ,
They want to drag you in ,
But I am here to save you ,
" True Love' is from within.
I'm waiting by the window ,
Letting the sun shine in ,
Will you be there for me my dear ,
Together and without sin
 


Poem Details | by zamir osorov |
Categories: rain, , Lullaby,

The fishing weather of love

O yes, that is fine day
For fishing in mountain river
When weather is bad, 
And raining from early gray dawn
When world look so pity and doleful
Maybe for artists and poets
But so nice for big and hefty fishes.
They are swimming out 
from deep and cold bottoms and hidden caves 
to surface 
collecting on shallows, 
sometimes one by one
splashing and jumping out watercourse
close to edge 
with clear joys and playing ecstasy 
as if that silver living marvel 
suddenly felt and predicted
the next Great Flood, 
or time of Paradise
when all creatures
will coexisted friendly, peacefully and intermixed
Lullabying with one unimaginable divine future

So its seems that fishes
have tryed set on the benches and wings 
of  some awesome waterwheel,
more grandeur than London’s or Singaporean’s Eyes, 
appearing airily
for the vision of greatest waterfall
between joining Heaven and Earth, 
Seas and Skys
in rainy day.

The skillful fishermen 
Have good sense and flyer 
For such days and luckiest instant
They early wake up and gone to river
And capture lot of precious fishes, 
Plying so naively for own hopes, dreams and ruptures.

Alas, for fishes 
But good for intrinsic and great love 
That also has such marvelous days
When you captured your reward, 
If you early wake up and prepare himself
for catching precious golden 
Swimming up from deep and waste waters


Poem Details | by Connie Moore |
Categories: happy, humorous, uplifting, fish, love,

A Fishing

Oh, I Love to Go a Fishing.
I Go Most Every Day.
There Are Stories I Could Tell,
How the Big Ones Got Away.

But Only Another Fisherman,
Could Begin to Understand,
The Excitement That I Feel,
When the Big One Hits Dry Land.

Then of Course, There's the Cleaning
And the Fun of a Big Fish Fry,
Inviting All the Neighbors
And Your Fish Story Is No Lie.

Oh, I Love to Go a Fishing.
Would You like to Come Along?
It's Quiet by the Water
And Nothing Seems Too Wrong.

It's Peaceful and Relaxing,
Except When the Cork Goes Down.
Now That's When It's Lots of Fun
And it Keeps Away the Frown.

Connie Moore
6 3 93


 


Poem Details | by Melissa Tracy |
Categories: death, fishing, love, memory,

After forever

After forever when I can no longer be here
When memories start to fade don't fret I'll always be near my dear
An evening while out fishing, feeling lonely because it's me your missing
That's one of the very best times to be reminiscing
I'll be right there beside you with each cast of your fishing pole
As you sit fishing in one  of my favorite honey holes
When you feel the warmth upon your face from the sun
It's a kiss and caress of my hand for you Hun
When you find yourself chilly due to the weather
That snug tight fit is me hugging you just like your sweater
When the gentle breeze lightly tickles as it blows through your hair
It's a sign from me letting you know that I'm there
When you hear the birds and crickets playing their songs
I'm singing for you too, in your heart I've been there all along
With the creeks steady peaceful flow
My love will be with you wherever you go
When you smell the scent of pine in the air
That's me pining for you, letting you know I still care
I'll be your cloud cover when the fish bite the best
Always protecting you, I'll be that eagle soaring high above its nest
When you start to fade to grey and you feel your heart begin to break
I'll add a splash of color and be the beautiful vibrant flower pedals you see beside the lake
If grief overcomes you in the midst of a storm and frozen on a standstill your numb with too much pain
I'll be raindrops of encouragement enticing you to dance in the rain
Don't think like the salmon that we had a great run
Our precious time together will never be done
Tall, proud, and strong like a solid oak tree
Let all of these things remind you of me
While sitting on  the bank watching a beautiful sunset
I'll be the waves crashing over you, you'll never forget
If you decide to go out on your boat
I'll be your life vest that will help keep you afloat 
Out fishing in nature is where we'd share some of our very best dates
You had me hook, line, and sinker, didn't need any bait
For you my loves, in heaven you're all well worth the wait
You will always be my fishing partners and very best mates
On evenings when the fish just won't bite
I'll be the stars that help guide you home and light up your night
I'll be the silhouette you see dance across the water from the light of the moon
Don't be in a hurry to get back to me too soon
When you catch a fish and think back to how I'd always catch the best ones
Your right, it's you and our kids and after forever when you's catch up we'll have even more fun
12/16/2017


Poem Details | by andy thomson |
Categories: fishing, love, romantic, sad love, sea, space, voyage,

Spaceman vs Sea Monster

At the bottom, in her clutches, you’ve found your new home
Her ghostly embrace makes you feel more alone
Spaceman, at peace in the depth of your night
On glamour and glory, you’ve gotten too high
And somehow you slipped and crashed through the sky
...one day you just rocketed by
Earth’s son is drowning in a tub with the chills
The water is draining, blood laced with pills
One of her many eyes saw your descent
While eating the shrimp from a sulfurous vent
Which, until she’d seen you, had made her content
...her heart boiling out through cement
And while you were down, she baited her hooks
She made you feel hopeful with helpless, sweet looks
And nested your spaceship in her hidden crooks
...blowing kisses that warm like chinooks
And she pulled you in close when you started to sink
And confused you with needs and a cloud of black ink
Disarming your valor with sweetie-pie blinks
...with fish guts and sea-rotten stink
Orbiting so long gave you the spins
You splashed down through brine, and the ocean’s slick skin
In barbed tentacles you’ll sleep with your twin
...in challenger deep growing fins


Poem Details | by jeffry cohan |
Categories: anniversary, autumn, faith, fishing, love, me, together, Grandson,

FREE CEE live to evolve

                           LIVE TO EVOLVE
Have you ever noticed that the  letters in the word love are sequestered inside the word “evolve?
Because to me that is what love appropriately does
It evolves
It revolves
It solves
And after sixty-plus years together love does, 
in many ways, 
change its ways of wonderment
and is often altered on a course to sheer contentment
for that is the result of the continuation of a consecrated commitment
an abiding faith that the others faith rests upon the others shoulder
as they grow ever so much older
remembering a time of working hard together to get through the hard times together
that old fishing boat she hated so that became battered and eventually succumbed to the weather
while all the while smiling because each year seemed a bit brighter than the last
and all the joyful events that are now part of a bejeweled and fulfilling past
a past reflected in each partner's eyes which gaze upon a tribute to dedication
a coupling worthy of adulation
he being content to make her content proves the content of their cohabitation
a union rich with rewards that come in the mail bearing pictures of their first great grandson born
a baby with beauty by an angel at birth besworn
so there they sit sharing a couch and swapping a calliope of memories
he talks of fishing and she of a cool Autumn breeze
as each agrees
sixty-plus years weaves two souls together as tightly as any weaver ever wove a sweater
and for some fated reason the last decade seems somehow, in retrospect, better
well not so much better as just plain more comfortable
no surprises, no red flags, and no warnings to heed
just a mutual and spiritual type of need
the need to talk away a partners tears
while knowing that his partner truly hears
and dries her eyes compliantly
to face yet another hardship defiantly
ever eager with a gentle finger to wipe away the wet that it might no longer linger
because these are two who vowed with strength that forever, to them, actually meant forever
traversing together mile after mil
through the trials.through the riches and through each smile
but most notably through all the determination together to damn away their fears
it seems to me that love evolves ever so softly after sixty-plus years
       © 2012....copyright PHREECEE..~free cee!~


Poem Details | by jeffry cohan |
Categories: angst, autumn, faith, fishing, love, me, together, Grandson,

free cee

                                            NEVER LEFT ASUNDER
TO MY LATE MOM:
Did you ever notice that the letters in the word “love” are sequestered inside the word “evolve”?
Because to me that is what love appropriately does
It evolves
It revolves
It solves
And after sixty-plus years together love does, 
in many ways, 
change its ways of wonderment
and is often altered on a course to sheer contentment
for that is the result of the continuation of a consecrated commitment
an abiding faith that the other’s faith rests upon the other’s shoulder
as they grow ever so much older
remembering a time of working hard together to get through the hard times together
that old fishing boat she hated so that became battered and eventually succumbed to the weather
while all the while smiling because each year seemed a bit brighter than the last
and all the joyful events that are now part of a bejeweled and fulfilling past
a past reflected in each partner’s eyes which gaze upon a tribute to dedication
a coupling worthy of adulation
he being content to make her content proves the content of their cohabitation
a union rich with rewards that come in the mail bearing pictures of their first great grandson born
a baby with beauty by an angel at birth besworn………………………
so there they sit sharing a couch and swapping a calliope of memories
he talks of fishing and she of a cool Autumn breeze
as each agrees
sixty-plus years weaves two souls together as tightly as any weaver ever wove a sweater
and for some fated reason the last decade seems somehow, in retrospect, better
well……not so much better as just plain more comfortable
no surprises, no red flags, and no warnings to heed
just a mutual and spiritual type of need
the need to talk away a partners tears
while knowing that his partner truly hears
and dries her eyes compliantly
to face yet another hardship defiantly
ever eager with a gentle finger to wipe away the wet that it might no longer linger
because these are two who vowed with strength that forever, to them, actually meant forever
through the trials…….through the riches ……….and through the smiles
but most notably through all the determination together to damn away their fears
Yes……….it seems to me that love evolves ever so softly after sixty-plus years
       © 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~


Poem Details | by barbara agarwal |
Categories: fishing, for him, longing, lost love, remember, romantic, youth,

Small Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake

Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake
				by Barbara CAgarwal


I left my chance when
A chance I did not take
When I saw you long, long ago
At Lovegrove Lake.

Do you remember per chance also,
Me perched on the wee porch there?
Me, dangling my silver sandal?
And sipping my white wine with care?

The blue chiffon band of my straw hat
Blowing in the river-lake air?
Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair?
Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share?

You stood tall and out on the river dock
Of the lake You stood wide-shouldered, as I  recall:
A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against 
The railing of the driftwood-grey quay.

I could hear you whistling, though afar.
I can hear you whistling still, by the song
I was won: “once there were valleys, 
Kissed by the sun....”

Then—after some secret bless-ed 
Moments of wonderful watching
I saddened to hear The Four Brothers'
Notes and your whistling cease

But then you drew yourself  together
With a sigh,  to return  
To your cabin, near and yet far:
Up the hill from mine,

Drew near enough you did
On the brown graveled path, 
Near enough that I could see
The smiling creases aside

Both your boyish brimming
Brown eyes, barely shaded by
Your beaten tan angler's hat,
And you were coming my way


In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt,
(Your rod used like a shepherd's staff,
With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging-- 
Against your pail) you were coming my way

Near enough to me that I
Might smell that primal scent
Some sensuous men emit
After their hard days' work.

About to pass me by, 
You slowed your step
You  paused
Perhaps just for breath?

Or was it just long enough to wink 
That well-and-wanting wink at me?
I smiled but put my eyes back to page.
You then continued up the way

To your cabin
More far away than hope.

It was then I think
That I stopped living
Or began dying from lost delights:
Reveries of what-might-have-beens,

There by Lovegrove Lake
On that Tuesday afternoon.
“Gone are the greenfields.../
Where rivers used to run.”