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Just wondered if anyone out there knows of a poem that celebrates coarse fishing [UK] riverside or lakes, not fly fishing or trout or carp... Dad never one to go after them...
Something that is like a final fishing peg, reserved just for dad
I know it is a long shot - seems all the ones I find are american ones...
Dear Jules, I am sat here looking for exactly the same thing. If I find anything suitable I will let you know.
Hi Jules sent you PM - Might help with some ideas ?
Let me know how you get on.
Take care and be safe Big Hugs Love Sarsfield.x
In case you missed my post on your 'gone fishing' thread - I'd be happy to oblige you with a poem. Visit http:/www.bobturnermemorialtrust.org.uk and send me a message via the Contact the Trust page.
For the benefit of anyone else for whom fishing has a deeper meaning, here's a little poem I wrote in the first few months after my fiance passed away.
Fisher of Men
Beyond the clouds, beside a pool, an angel bides his time,
So patient, pure and peaceful, he casts afar his line
Baited with his love, enough for every one,
He simply waits, waits and smiles beneath the endless sun.
It's not the ones he catches - for these shall know his love,
But those who slip away, not knowing that above
Another world is waiting; those who seek shall find
And sit beside this fisher man, and know true peace of mind.
With loving thoughts for all of our angelic anglers,
Sylvan Rose xx
Typical but then it is past 2am!
"Trout Fishing" by Eunice Lamberton 1873
Give me a rod of the split bamboo,
a rainy day and a fly or two,
a mountain stream where the eddies play,
and mists hang low o'er the winding way,
Give me a haunt by the furling brook,
A hidden spot in a mossy nook,
No sound save hum of the drowsy bee,
or lone bird's tap on the hollow tree.
The world may roll with it's busy throng,
And phantom scenes on it's way along,
It's stocks may rise, or it's stocks may fall,
Ah! What care I for it's baubles all?
I cast my fly o'er the troubled rill,
Luring the beauties by magic skill,
With mind at rest and a heart at ease,
And drink delight at the balmy breeze.
A lusty trout to my glad surprise,
Speckled and bright on the crest arise,
Then splash and plunge in a dazzling whirl,
Hope springs anew as the wavelets curl.
Gracefully swinging from left to right,
Action so gentle- motion so slight,.
Tempting, enticing, on craft intent,
Till yielding tip by the game is bent
Drawing in slowly, then letting go
Under the ripples where mosses grow
Doubting my fortune, lost in a dream,
Blessing the land of forest and stream.
perhaps you can adjust the above - i have emailed a friend to see if he can do a special one xx
I have emailed a friend - who if he receives it in time will no doubt write exactly on the lines requested. Fingers crossed. xx
The Fishing Contest
The contest now had finished and the fish were all weighed in
And Dad sat there so satisfied and expecting yes to win
His bag of Bream was quite supreme with quality assured
And Perch they were innumerable more points of yes were scored
The Roach so shiny as the stars a dozen more or so
Mixed in the bag were Tiddlers small too tired back to throw
TheTench of course weighed three pounds each condition they were prime
And Pike and Eel and Dace of course caught on my Dads new line
There was a Pike so beautiful a record he was sure
It must have weighed a hundred pounds he winked p'raps much more
And Barbel caught on luncheon meat from sandwiches he had
Whilst sitting on his favourite peg, reserved of course for "DAD"
Yet in this competiton now just one other took a part
And yet he did no fishing when the hooter sounded start
And Dad he seemed so puzzled as to why he let him win
And yet his face familiar looked.......... behind that gentle grin
At last presented with the cup all made with burnished gold
Adorned with Angels Wings so bright the winner had to hold
My Dad now recognised the face, of him who stood aside
And let him walk as champion his heart now filled with pride
The Fisherman of Gallilee and Dad was quite amazed
As at the face of Jesus now he looked and stared and gazed
Our Saviour said in humble tones no fish I caught its true
But from today on Jordans shore a peg, reserved for you
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