Just beneath the road insensate,
in the little creek that crawls through town,
the rains brought him.
Iron-blue, patient, slender, high sits his head –
a lance, now raised – now half-tilt as he sights his prey – raised again
as a drifting leaf disrupts his aim.
Upstream he prowls, that his prey sees
him not.
He stalks with long, slow strides, his legs thin and
graceful not to disturb the quiet current of the water and
give himself away to senseless quarry. Few call him spindly,
I imagine. Not I.
By the shore, fish-bones, whole
but for the flesh,
sink into the mud.
A thoughtless dart, a flash, a writhing
beast falls still on his speartip.
What am I, then, that
he flies when I draw close?

This is the Fisherman's tale
With a rod in hand and live bait in a pale,
Of a day spent out on the beach
And fish just a cast out of reach.

The day started as any fisherman would
Before the sun was up, when the fishing was good.
He hopped on his bike and road the old trail
Till he could smell the tides from the ocean gale.

Today was the day, he could feel it in his bones
He would bring food to his loved ones at home
This was his day, he was so sure,
With a brand new rod and a homemade lure.

Cast after cast, hour by hour
Time moved by until he started to sour
All that time and not a single bite;
Now clouds rolled in, black as night.

The wind started whipping the sand all around
Still the old fisherman stood his ground
The storm was coming, in just a matter of time
"I can't leave" he thought, "until that fish is mine."

As the thunder boomed and lightning crashed,
He decided to give just one more cast
As the rain came down, soaking him through
This was the one, he swore it was true.

Waiting there patiently, slowly he'd reel
Even if his legs he could no longer feel.
When all of a sudden with a great flash
he was able to tell that this was the cast.

The line went tight as he threw back the rod 
He was hooking this fish, he thought with a nod.
The battle that followed was one terrible fight
Fish verses man all through the night.

And as the sunlight rose, marking the dawn,
The fisherman still fought as the battle raged on.
He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't let it go
The fish was his, and he would soon let it know.

The fish neared the shore jumping clear through the sky
Only to get robbed off the hook by a seal passing by.
The fisherman stood there, staring in awe
"The seal stole my fish!" He thought dropping his jaw.

"The fish it was huge, six feet at least," he would say
"I fought it all day and night till that beast took it away"
Yet no one believed him, they just called him a goof
And scoffed, "how convenient it is, that you don't have any proof."

Still this is The Fisherman's story
After fishing all day and night on the beach
One filled with unseen glories
How he was one cast away from the catch of the week.

a lone woodpecker
aerating the garden, no!
stealing the workers

You cast out your net
Woven from fibers interlocking like our fingers
And disturb the calm of the surface I understand
Speech bubbles rise in my throat and pop with the sound of your name
There are plenty of fish in the sea
But I'm too tangled up in you to look
This isn't love, it's subterfuge
Yet somehow you still lure me in
And I fall, hook, line, and sinker

You went on your fishing trip
Caught a big one this time,
You said.
This one's a bit heavy,
Weighed down.
With a sharp tug on the pole,
You finally retrieved your catch.
Well, what is it?,
You asked.
You held something in your hand
Pulsing and black.
Whatever it is,
It's not worth it.
You threw it back into the water,
Back into the dark depths.
Let's keep on fishing.
I wanna catch a big bass.

They say there's plenty of fish in the sea
But you didn't even notice,
When you caught my heart.
Sure,
It was beaten
Almost unrecognizable.
But it only took you a second,
To judge my darkness
As impairment,
And toss me back to a personal hell
You reeled in my heart,
And you didn't even know.

I'm sorry I can't be
**The catch of the day.

caught in little fishing hooks
pierced ears gone awry
its scales scrubbed viciously from flesh
hacked open
gory madness
soaking into the oak table
not very hygienic
not much of anything
congealing, drying
still wet enough that to touch it would be
to spoil everything
(makes such pretty colors in the wood)

Freedom …
It’s just a line.
Dominion Dominates.
The Republic baits the hooks with choice then
Casts the lines to catch those brave enough to bite.
We have all bitten.
Hook line and sinker.
Sink or swim is irrelevant because out of the water
We are out of our element.
Placed in a new environment with the worm of freedom in our bellies we are blissful.
Yet, we cannot breathe. Short of air, yet without a care the worm provides the mirage we need.
We fall prey to our captors with ease, as we delve deeper and deeper into slumber.
Fortune crushes the brave, as we ate the line with the bait essential to our life.
Caught in our own folly of freedom flayed with knives the worm is gone.
Bought and sold in markets kept fresh on ice for those who caught us then
We are cooked or fried in order to keep the fishermen alive.  
Freedom after all…
It was just a line.