Abandoned
Neglected
Forgotten
Failing
That I find the beauty in it
Renders the experience
Of encountering it
All the more
Painful
Discouraging
Disturbing
Heartbreaking
Tag: fishing
Waiting It Out
In the off season
Lobster traps wait in repose
Fishers count the days
Closed for Business
Bidness as usu’l
For outports and canneries
Once the cod were gone
Scraped Clean
The way life clung
To the cracks and crevices
Of the hard rock cliffs
Fascinated him
He imagined it
Like the bottom trawlers
That once dragged The Banks
For cod and haddock
Rather than nets, though
It was glaciers that scraped
The cliff face smooth
Erasing all signs of life
It took thousands of years
Of time and erosion
For life to eek out
This small foothold
His grandfather used to tell him
About throwing a bucket
Over the side
And cod would fill it up
When they closed the cod fishery
It was like another ice age
Swept across Newfoundland
Few fishers survived it
He imagined the ocean floor
Scraped clean by the trawlers
And wondered how long
Before the cod came back
Imperfect Hopes
He woke
Later than intended
Sunlight streamed
Through the trailer window
Rising
He pulled his boots
Over his socks
And clambered out
From the cliff edge
He saw most boats
Were still in the harbour
“That’s good,” he thought
He rushed back into the trailer
Pulled his pants on over the boots
Grabbed the bag with his gear
Made sure the trailer was secure
In the truck
He hoped for the worst
For some other bloke
So there’d be an open spot on a boat
It wasn’t a hope
He liked to hope
But he needed the work
And someone else had to lose out
It was either that
Or over to the cafe
And then the pub
To nurse whatever drink was before him
There was barely enough money for that
But even less to make the trailer
A place he wanted to spend
Any more than a restless night in
Fathers ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #197
Paddling
On a perfect day
On a perfect day
I remember days long past
Of sunshine and calm
Depths still clear
At forty feet
The rod held
Expectantly
In your son’s hands
Paddle in yours
The strokes
A gentle
Powerful
Grace
You didn’t care for fishing
But I did
So out we went
My youth
A stream of summer memories
New England lakes
Bass and wallabies
A pickerel here and there
The perch and sunnies
Disdainfully thrown back
Paddling today
On a perfect day
I reflect on those times
And the times that would follow
Times of storms and dark clouds
Murky shallows
When we were not always
So gentle with each other
Awkward
Sometimes graceless
The depth of you
Forever unreachable
But still I knew you
As the father who’d take me out
For no more than the pleasure
Of my pleasure
That is
I knew
Always
That you loved me
You’ve been gone now
For longer than I ever had you
For your eulogy
I used the metaphor
Of the missing wingman
A natural for the pilot father
But on this day
Of sunshine and calm
Of depth and clarity
I notice a second paddle
Laying against the empty seat
Wishing your hands were upon it
So that once again
We could take on this task of living
With the harmony of paddling
Together
Earth Day
I dreamt there’d be a day
In some none too distant future
When an architectural abstraction
Outlived all the fishes in the sea
In some none too distant future
When an architectural abstraction
Outlived all the fishes in the sea
Now I cannot sleep
Gone Fishin’
Specular reflections
Like shattered glass
Milfoil reaches
For the light
Like shattered glass
Milfoil reaches
For the light
The waft of
Lazy water
In the air
A worm
A hook
A bobber
A length of string
And a stick
Contented child
All summer long
Pix to Words 