The Traditional Fisherman's Poem

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The Traditional Fisherman's Poem

Post by Mark » Mon Dec 19, 2011 12:04 pm

I would like to thank our very own Gary Bills for kindly writing this poem for the Traditional Fisherman’s Forum.

The Traditional Fisherman

So long as there are dreams, the monsters rise
And farm ponds hold their secrets in the dawn
When slanted quills ask questions of the hour
And bubbles wink, as though they keep their promise.
A moorhen shrieks her loud and harsh alarm
And stilt-walks over pads, from flower to flower,
A bull-rush shakes; then something leaps far out;
The surface turns to stars and oily swirls
Before the silence falls and lays it calm;
Then nothing stirs the float or bumps the bread;
But still the angler waits. His pipe-smoke curls
Like thoughts which cross the blue, indifferent skies.
No luck today, but better luck tomorrow;
So long as there are dreams, the monsters rise.

By Gary Bills
Mark (Administrator)

The most precious places in the English landscape are those secretive corners,
where you find only elder trees, nettles and dreams. (BB - Denys Watkins-Pitchford).


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