Early morning comes too soon.
Fish are biting by the moon.
Father and son make their way
Out of the house to meet the day.

The men of the house are outward bound
Seeking their fortune on the water sound.
Fishing poles and tackle boxes in hand
Off they go, to the dock to be manned.

Eyes gleaming bright, with the wind in his hair,
My son grins wide, and says, "Dad, Look There!"
Sure enough my son sees, fish to be caught,
Their trip is promising, will not be for naught.

His father smiles at the look from his son,
Saying, "Yes, son, you've found them, quite well done."
Bringing their boat to a stop they let glide,
Unpack their equiment, and come along side.

Taking their time and setting their hooks,
Plenty of fish here, judging by the looks.
There's sunfish and carp, some salmon and trout,
Walleye and crappie, and catfish so stout.

As the sun rises higher, they reel those fish in.
There's plenty of fish, with tail and fin.
The father and son are laughing together.
Can't believe their luck, or such perfect weather.

Returning home from a long day of fun,
They unload their catch and in they run.
Fish stories abound, They can't say enough,
The fish they missed, get bigger and rough.

I watch my two men, with quiet delight.
Enjoying the warmth, they create in my sight
Fishing is fun, fishing is great,
My men bonding, makes my heart elate.

There are colors yet unknown in my finite view of Earth , artistic wonders undiscovered , to this day quite alone .. Geometric shapes where Sweetgum trees silhouette the majestic Dawn .. Enchantment with every turn go I , to study my religion by day , collect my thoughts and observations by night .. To interplay among life undiscovered  , to revel someday in its happenstance ... The weathered profiles of a million botanicals unknown or forgotten . An ocean whose riddles remain unsolved , seventy percent of our precious world where exploration has barely scratched the surface .. Dark , rainy afternoons reconfigured with burst of light , the surface of oceans ever mysterious , highlighted by the Moon on hazy nights .. I flew over Moccasin Creek to sample fresh water and take in mountain greenery ..Walked the treetops of the Oconee Forest to witness the floor of the woodlands as a squirrel , crow or eagle ..Slithered along the Georgia clay like a Black Racer , cautiously studied each image before me with the curiosity of a Red fox .. Enthralled with the Savannah Dancers of Tybee Island , precious gulls , blue ***** and brown pelicans .. Welcome every change of season , Dark pine thickets tell of death and renewal ...

                                                          II­
Jagged , blue grass approaches , green straw tops , quiet
cinnamon needle oceans connected by silver streak spider webbing ..
Warm winds divide earthen cover , lifeless termite ridden forefathers lay in testament to bitter destruction ... Our Noon star nourishes bold , sylvan seedlings , beneath her languishing February predicament however ... Grassy field roads lay locked in period of service , daylight path corrections , marble land buoy sentries within thistle , dandelion and Sawgrass .. Gold , knee high cover caresses , reaching skyward beside the field road , lying forgotten , left to the mercy of kudzu , marble and granite .. Scrags reclaim rusted encroachments , tin in battle with the tepid wail of afternoon wind as stick pines mimic the Appalachians , gently roll toward the awaiting lavender blue horizon ... As pasture returns to woodlands , blanketed in hues of brown with forest echoes , carry whispered voices into tomorrow ... Lively crows live to tell their wintry tale , resting among scuttled pulp wood entanglements , to be born again , covered in the pity of lingering broom sage ...                                                              ­                                                  

                                                        III    ­                                                                 ­Across the edge of twilight where soft lavender hues lay at
rest atop her riparian horizon .. Dandelion blooms pepper the
red clay embankments , lone bucks survey brown fields of harvested
corn ..Mourning doves cry for the end of day , wild hogs lay tracks at the rivers edge . Toms sing of their loneliness  , persimmons lay bitter along country lanes , the meat of Chestnut not harvested , the final years of tall , stately Pecans go shamefully unnoticed .. Barbed wire divisions etch Winter burned pasture , Morgans and Appaloosas graze the fertile , ambrosial green narrows .. Manmade pools dot the Crescent lady , cattle ditches appear along creeks and rivers holding Rock bass , Shell ******* , Yellowbellies and Bluegills ferociously hunting the waters surface , Alligator Snappers and Mudcats work the turbulent bottoms ... Hayfields , peach and muscadine arbors flourish , boiled peanuts and sorghum syrup , collards and sweet potatoes ...Blackberry , grape , watermelon and okra ..Water oaks have taken command of the front yard ,  moss and honeysuckle line fence rows , flowing patches of wild grass and snake berry , rocks from Cotton Indian Creeks line hand built flower beds and walkways .. Rhode Island Reds , Buff Orpington's and White Leghorns work these plantations . Sassafras and dewberry , wild plum and rabbit tobaccos . Gardenia , Crape Myrtle , Magnolia , Pine and Chestnut trees  flourish to this day .. The Old Bridge behind Millers Mill still visible , what stories this elder pass could tell before the confluence of the Indian Creeks .. Crayfish , Bream , Largemouth bass , Crappie , Yellow perch and Flathead catfish ! The tale of the Crescent lady lives forever and ever ..

Growing up in Northern Alabama means you know that WalMart sells crickets and those crickets are on sale Sunday afternoons. The art of wetting a line was mine to claim from, a young age. Dad and I would spend weekends on various simplistically named bodies of water (Gunterville, Goose Pond, the Elk, the Flint) equipped with an alarming amount of crickets, ZOOM bait, honeywheat bread and cheap ham. Riptide Rush Gatorade and Michelob Ultra were the choice drinks to ensure proper hydration. The days we filled with a simple formula: cast, reel, catch, release. Bass love lake-**** and Crappie muddy banks. Catfish are not worth the effort involved with avoiding their poisonous whiskers when unhooking even though they look like Dinosaurs. After a lunch of sweaty ham and blue-bag doritos a quick swim in the water is absolutely crucial to cool down and finally get rid of the weariness sitting on a rocking boat gives you.  The big fish bite during dusk and dawn. Some only after the sun goes down. Sleep came when the green and white light rods on the boat become too bright for tired eyes. Finding a random small island in the water, tying the boat to an Hardwood Oak, and rolling out the sleeping bags on the red-clay will always provide the best sleep of your life-just don't think about snakes. The stars are always brightest and the cricket and cicada harmony the most melodic on this little Alabamian islands.

With each year the opportunity for these ventures dissipated. The fishing never stopped-the creeks in the neighborhood, pond beside our family home, and lakes on the Robert Trent Jones golf course (the 18th hole on the River Course was the best) provided ample opportunity to cure the itchy thumb syndrome.

I remember in high-school my father would fish alone by the lake with our dog by his side and an Ultra in his cup-holder almost every night. It was his time to unwind and process. I always appreciated his dedication to the art and the mastery of skills he passed on to me, but I never understood why he fished every single evening.

Until now.

I have been in the so called real world for a mere two year since college graduation. I have completed a post-graduate program, dated and broken up with various women, obtained a full time position doing honest and difficult work for those in need, and recently became a Dad to a hound of my own.

There in a river that flows through my city, but it is to far to venture to every night. The rivers surface in most places reflects bright lights. On weekends you will find kayak enthusiasts paddling against the current like wasps in the wind. The river, here, is a place of fast motion and has forgotten the beauty of a restful yellow bobber downing crickets.

Fishing equates opportunity for breathing. I still wet my line most weekends, but at 24 there is not enough time to recapture the dreams only found on red clay riverbanks. The river remembers and the fish still look like dinosaurs to me.

March and April are the time
when crappie bite and winds chime
Cedar Creek, Prince's dock
it's the spot do not mock

Years of trees submerged there
fishing rods used by the pair
minnow on one jig on the other
catching crappie is never a bother

Medium shiner and red and chartreuse skirt
cast em out wait for the ****
cold Coors lite in the fridge
if not biting here, let’s try Caney bridge

Or maybe a dock across the way
down on the dam at the end of the day
but usually the dock will do just fine
under lights at dark or in  sunshine

Fill the basket with white and black
watch the cork, reel the slack
when it bobs, set the hook
paperlip slab, fillet and cook

Electric knife and old butcher block
cleaning fish around the clock
cornmeal, seasoning and fillets
a great dinner at the end of the day

Shake in a sack and toss in hot oil
toss in some hushpuppies' watch it roil.
eating on the deck with family and friends
our bellies full, the day ends

I fell down today  and scrapped my knees, Daddy  can you kiss it please...
A cartoon bandaid, a few cookies & lemonade.

I was push today, Daddy she's  way bigger than me, she said cuz I'm black my hairs a weave,

I said I'm mixed and my hair isn't fake, she spit gum in it and pushed me into the bathroom  stall.

Can you help me, teach me how to fight  Daddy I don't want her to beat me up.


I have no where to go,

Daddy can I stay with you please, I've left him for good!

He won't be hitting me anymore,

Daddy  I need to sleep I'm pregnant & haven't had much to eat.

I got a job today and I need bus fare, can I have 4 dollars  please 2 for the bus and 2 to eat...

Daddy I'll be working after school,  at a hotel and I can even get a free room, 

I'll work in the front office and sometimes help the maids but it's ok since I'll now have my own place

I got married today,

Daddy  I know he doesn't  make much and didn't  ask for my hand but Daddy I really love this man...

He took me to the court house and we said I do, you were too sick to come and I didn't want to bother you.

I've moved away,

Daddy and I won't be coming back,

I left my husband since he has a habit of messing around, putting me down and hitting.

Daddy can you call me I need advise I'm married again 3rd time and  pregnant  for the 4th time,

I wish I could visit you maybe next year, right now I have college, work, and my 4th on the way.

I called you today but I've got no answer, we're  here now and I have a present for you Daddy, 

it's been a while and lil sis says you're not doing too well...

I tried to call you today,

I've forgot what your voice sounds like Daddy.

Forgot I can't  call you anymore, 

Daddy you're gone now.

Daddy  the realization  hits me just as hard as that girl  did when she pushed me into the bathroom  stall,

my eyes brim over with tears just like it did when I pushed out 1 of my kids...

I can't talk to you and get your advise,

can't get lemonade & cookies when I fall this time,

I miss all those years we couldn't be together cause I was in foster care, group homes and again once I moved to other  states..

Daddy I've married again have 5 girls  a few lost pregnancies and some really bad marriages,  3 times in fact.

Daddy I've had some messed up relationships along the way as well had a stalker from  New Jersey  even and what a looser he is,

I've moved  to a whoke new state 3 tines now and laat year I was super sick  and yet worse of it was not being able to share any of it Daddy ...

Not being able to call and hear your booming voice tell me how to proceed or you coming to make sure them exes and maybe even that stalker from Jersey  left me be Daddy!

It's been 14 years Daddy and every day I miss you so much,  but right now Id take the advise and tough  love.

No longer married but I'm sure it'll come...

hehehe maybe  4th times my charm,

right now I'm fine as things are I have 2 cars just got a new crappie job a new house and all your grand kids are doing good so far.

Daddy I'm a grandma  isn't thst crazy and my 1st born your  grand daughter's changed her life round, she's coming home to get her son.

Even though I don't see you I know your with me and one day I'll stand on ya feet and allow you to lead me in a finally dance,

I know someday we'll be together again , with Mommy and my grant parents

Daddy!

Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
         K.A.C.L.N ©
     All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present

You sat in the stern
minding the motor.
Bib overalls and ball cap
the Captains uniform.
Your sanctuary invaded
by invitation only.
Giggling girls
playing in the tackle box.
Stink bait loaded
we focused on bobbers.
Intently waiting
for the catch of the day.
Crappie, Blue Gill, Sun Perch,
Laughter, Compliments,
Encouragement.
Our live well was full.

Ask me what I want to do, go fish
if I had a genie, it’s what I would wish
in the lake, river, creek or pond
eagerly cast next to a fern frond

Wiggle my bait and work it some more
hoping a fish cannot ignore
flipping up under docks
or the edges of piles of rocks

Working the tree stumps
waiting on a big thump
on my lure, adrenaline pumps
waiting for the end of my rod to jump

Bass, on Carolina, Alabama, or Texas rigs
crappie and pan fish I’ll catch on a jig
white bass and hybrids, on slabs and spoons
I have even caught them casting at  loons

Sam Rayburn, Cedar Creek or Lake Fork
I’m getting excited just like a dork
Tawakoni, Amistad, or Nacogdoches
if I ran out of bait, man I would use roaches

Livingston, Stryker, or the Trinidad  Lake
catching some fish, fry them up on a plate
bait cast, and spin cast, pushbuttons oh wow
I also can fly-fish, I taught myself how

Gar, carp and buffalo, anything that bites
looking for something to make my line tight
Matagorda, or Galveston, or Port A
I have no problems fishing  the bay

Intercoastal waterway or out in the surf
no problems cooking surf and turf
Black drum, Red fish or Speckled trout
as long as they’re biting I’ll never pout

Whiting, and Croakers and even Hardheads
catching are fun, getting the slime off you dread
gaff tops are pretty, but just as slimy nasty
I’ve never had any, I hear their pretty tasty

Flounders are flat and so are sting rays
but if that’s what’s biting I’ll fish everyday
jacks, and mackerel and bonnet head sharks
so many fish in the ocean, that’s just a start.

How about invasives, silver carp and snakeheads
cast for the snakehead, jumping carp in a net
I’ve fished lots of bass, native and Florida strain
but there is one thought that sticks in my brain

Is I’d like to go catch some peacock bass
top water action would really kick ***.
catch and release or serve it up in a dish
as you can see I really love to fish

Thick fog breaks across West Point Lake ...
Bass boats and crappie fishermen , tour boats and skiers
skim across her blue looking glass , Wood Ducks test the skies
northbound up the Chattahoochee River , bank anglers anchor poles
along her fortified edges .. White granite boulders visible from the mid-line .. Indigo hope and dreams as starlings silhouette her morning miracle , shad minnows skim the blue mirror , visiting gulls feast along quiet shoreline . A tall Georgia Pine mirage forms in tranquil coves , early day crows call hysterically from the hardwood thickets .. Turtles occupy muddy banks , Whitetails quietly graze worked fields , dragonflies and monarchs  incessantly toil beneath the strengthening heat of Summer , baldfaced hornets fortify their paper rampart high atop a lone River Birch ...

Crappie running in beds along the lit docks , bridges and abutments .. Flathead catfish bigger than a grown man at the base of the dam , Largemouth bass hitting shad like battering rams , early morning , late afternoon and darkest night .. Hardwood forest brimming colorful shores , stoic Whitetail Bucks dining on acorns , field nuts and sweet moss , Canadian geese and frozen shorebirds working her tributaries and inlets .. Smokey water silhouettes relayed by whippoorwill hymns , the first angelic beam of the morn striking her poetic surface .. Lake Jackson returning to diurnal joy , across reflective , freshwater twirling plains ...

Granite and marble talismans , sugar white sandbars and felled Oak
bridges .. Smallmouth bass explode with hunger at the surface , soft shelled turtles in meditative bliss , fill driftwood and sun drenched rock islands , dancing waters and bank head flora lend a thousand different colors to the afternoon palette of a Kelleytown Summer ...
Water striders communicate with dance to the ballad of a bold Bluejay .. Young anglers test their skills with creek minnows in search of Yellow Perch and Black Crappie as the last hour of daylight swiftly begins to pass ..

Casting lines
dropping jigs
some of them tipped with pig

Chicken liver
on the river
channel, Blues or yellow cats

Texas Rig
rattle Trap
pull out that hot spot map

Spinner baits
attracting blades
casting lures in the shade

Spin cast
snoopy pole
custom rod, medium fast

Crappie and largemouth
catfishing in the south
lakes or rivers, even streams
sometimes of the gulf we dream

Finger mullet on the line
waiting on the drag to whine
sharks or rays, even trout,
man that what it's all about

Whiting or croaker
let's go catch some Redfish
or salmon for the smoker

Northern pike and walleyes
white bass and panfish
fishing under blue skies

Bring a rod and a reel
tackle box and cold beer
at the lake its the deal

Cast and wind
catch and clean
fried blackened or steamed

the strawberry bass
feeds mostly at dawn and dusk
small lures for crappie

Cedar Creek Fishing Back in the day
flipping under docks and casting all day
nosing out my buddy trying to win the bet
it’s a dollar a fish and it’s not over yet

Catching bass and crappie and sometimes a perch
driving the boat always on the search
for the next big bass, or sometimes a beer
fishing lights after dark on the end of a pier

White bass and hybrids, pulling ******* the line
laughing and joking and feeling fine
slabs and traps, and a Texas rig
every now and then just taking a swig

Tequila sunrise worms or watermelon seed
the fish are biting and are on a feed
describing a bite pulling on my buddies sleeve
casting in my spot is a big pet peeve

All-star rods, worm bag that’s full
casting out waiting on the Tap, Tap, Pull
set the hook, watch the fish tail walk
it’s been a great day out on the stalk

Concoctions of morning Blackstrap Molasses , Apple blossom honey
Afternoon Sugar Cane treat Sundays
Catfish feeder pond thrills
Stirring Bobwhite Quail wood line hideaways
Plentiful , native green grass runways
Kerosene lanterns , john boats o'er -
Black Crappie midnight waters
A thousand new songs rippled the moonlight -
causeways
Lakes melting into night
The warm , thick air of first light
Mockingbird chirrup , Killdeer call
August morning star convocations of -
Crape Myrtle with butterfly epiphanies

Glorious showers squeegee the festive blues , they scrub the trees and brighten the moon
They bathe the birdies and sweep the drives , brighten the grass and detail the sky
Brushboard pines fastidiously tend to the oaks , 'Alabamers' leave the homesteads **** 'n span and float the johnboats
The catfish come alive and the crappie bite all night , the crickets seem to chirp non-stop till sunlight arrives* ....

The sunrises with powerful myth. The sky lights up as it was on fire with reds the camera can't collect.
The shopping centers still all a jam.  When all I wanted was to buy some jam.
People pushing rushing like it's the end of life. Of my God there's only one more Barbie let's get into a fight.
Yesterday I begged for food. With others that have no one,  no where to be for this crappie holiday you see.
Jobs were cut. Just in the nick of time. As disaster seems to cloud this world of mine.
If I was an immigrant even better to be illegal. I'd probably have a ******* pillow.
Excuses from the social worker, about vacations and not enough people to help those of us.
Here we sit 2 days before Christmas. No tree in the house and not a single gift. Ranch dressing is what's left in the frig.
I paid my power bill so I could be warm. I guess that's now a choice to be hungry or warm. This life we have is really about feeling abused and worn.
Christmas can come and be gone for all I'm concerned. There is no longer the love during the holidays. Even the churches have gone a stray.
I'll give you this loaf of bread but you must stay here and let us get inside your head. I'm hungry, don't need a sermon . I've heard them all being raised conservative almost worst than a mormon. I've prayed for changes no one answers my prayers.
This time I'm giving up. And I no longer care.
Merry Christmas to all you that have everything. ***** those of us that have lost everything.

Cypress branches hang solemnly
in the early morning stillness,
I feel the polar opposite,
I know the knees of the trees
hold bass and crappie
which I am here to catch.

With Texas rigged worms
and with feather-tipped jigs,
I grin with glee at the still water
and make my first cast,
waiting and salivating
with excited anticipation.

The boat glides silently,
trolling motor directed,
ultralight rod, orange and white bobber,
red and chartreuse jig ready,
wrist flick sends a ballistic arcing bait.

Landing 4 inches from the cypress knee
the bobber never stops at the surface,
sinking quickly, I lift the rod, and line runs,
reeling quickly, to prevent tangling,
I boat a sixteen-inch white crappie,
hopefully one of many.

I am just slowly rusting away like the Russian submarines left rote loaded with horrors that bring ecological havoc. I lose all feeling emotion I feel none functional.

I was a top well oiled top of the line machine but time took its own path enstead of being decommissioned properly I was set off to expose toxins.

I have no energy or any feeling to give a ****.


I have no control over my emotions or just simply to not give a crappie what any one says anymore.


I have been holding and pulling along the weight of the world with no time to have a break I was used to hold on everyone's problem and there ****.

No I have been set off to rotate and rust with a arsenal or mass destruction and toxic chemicals  that will destroy  the economy systems



Only if I was decommissioned properly I would still be pulling the weight of the world flawlessly

I was rewarded with you
A beautiful flower
Pedals that never meddled
Just grew and viewed
Despite my attitude being rude
You were there when I became president
Watch me sworn in
Only to leave you while I win
You shrink a little but didn’t die
If I said I knew your loyalty
That be a lie
because when I was mr Knight
You stood by my side
When I was trying to get rides
To late night water slides
Your glowed dimmed
But I just press sim
Time seemed to bolt past me
Despite what you saying
I never thought it turn crappie
My friends disappeared
Like a thanos snap
No gauntlet could fix that mishap
My flower begging for my love
I so happily declined
Because the world around me
Kept me quiet like a mime
So her pedals began to fall
Since outside my life was her wall
I had all the likes
Which turned into tikes
Then a social feed
That ended with me under a ****
I had no where to go
Except low
as I sunk
Into my life’s final form
Which was a beautiful tragedy
But I guess call it gravity
Because you stayed down with me
Even though I rarely gave you water
Or sunlight
Hell I even let your soil turn white
No matter what
You knew I was right for you
So when the wind blew away
My dream
Your reality of us being together
Made life once again serene

The humming of the cast ,
the plop of the bobber
Boyhood daydreams of -
landing a whopper
The cork begins to dance then -
it quickly goes under
The game between angler -
and fish has begun
A flash of the quarry as the
rod bends over double , maybe a bass ,
a perch or a 'channelcat' enticed
to strike from deep down in the -
pond bottom rubble
Give the fish two feet then -
pull back three , heaving left to right in the-
midmorning heat
A final tug at lands end ,
"I've banked a crappie" , proclaims -
a proud young man
A krill filled with every type -
of fish the pond had to offer
Thoughts of bream , coleslaw -
and hush puppies for supper ...

-

All this rain we are having I brought myself  a gnu
It arrived at my door with out a paddle
I'm thinking what do I do now
so I went a brought brite red saddle.
My aunt died in the night I kept in a box
It got out somehow I flattened it with my sock.
I'm not very good at smelling,
But my pet bee can hum
I like whiting crappie ditties its
Fun fun fun fun fun.
Nurse nurse where are you
I do like to be beside the seaside.

Blazing sunlight, yellow and warm,
shown down behind a gray cumulonimbus,
creaking wet floorboards on the dock,
announced my every step.

Black and silver rod and reel
with green fluorescent line through its guides,
and squirming cricket now on the hook
cast and marked on the surface,
by an orange and white bobber, with a red stop.

Bouncing in the slow rolling waves
made by a just detectable west breeze,
on it the smell of hot dogs on the grill,
from down the cove.

Tranquil and mesmerized
by the hypnotic sights and smells,
suddenly the cork is ****** under,
surprised I nearly forget to set the hook.

Reeling now, as senses return,
a brief fight yields a black and silver
spotted Crappie, it joins others from yesterday,
in the wire fish basket.

Florida crappie
they hang near large schools of shad
the speckled perch, specks

I stand in the middle,
dead center under the roof,
yet still I am splashed by cold water,
both from the sides, and underneath.

The green lake water rises and falls,
as thunder and lightning crash and flash,
a slow moving storm, at mid day,
pushed by a slow breeze over me.

I am happy, as I lean on a boat,
hanging in a slip, gently swaying,
my spinning reel on a short rod
tipped with a chartreuse jig.

I drop it in the water to the bottom,
and reel it up one turn, and bounce it up and down,
a tug and a pull, and a fat white crappie,
with a black stripe and spots gets lifted to me.

Unhooked and in the basket, he goes,
several of his brethren already swim there,
their bite turned on by the storm,
I enjoy the sounds, sights, and fish.