When fishing, sometimes it's not what you catch, but what one releases while there that makes the trip worthwhile...

When I had a much younger face,
I traveled to a far off place,
To a site where I fell in love,
Riverside, patch of Heaven above,
There we sat and fished a'while,
Memory lane can bring us smiles,
Golden dawn on a riverside,
Under hills where eagles glide,
Spring blooms of wildflowers,
Where we passed those happy hours,
Riverside to fish a'while,
Yes, memory lane can make us smile!

Under the great Dipper
A man
I shall call
Bruce
Takes is boat out
On the water and
Does some midnight fishing
"the fish are fine and the dipper bright"
He exclaims.

The waves hold secrets
of fishermen's lives
fishermen's wives

buried at sea
sacrificed
giving life
to the ones they love
left on the shore, looking out
to an endless horizon
praying for God's mercy, love

safe return
for the fishermen
and the fisherman's friends
who left port
with bravado, confidence
they could conquer Neptune's wrath
sail between heaven and hell
bringing home the catch
from the depths

celebrate another day of life
snatched from the precipice
of a watery grave

Here's another story I'll tell
someday
when you read it, you'll know

it was afore-told, by me,

now.

It's got links to Disneyfied legends

haunting childless-by-choice or chance
Millennials,
who keep jacking up the prices
at Disneyland

with all their mis-be-gotten **** dollahs
(double income no kids).
WSJ say Millennials think Dineylan worth a Grand,

be some mythical dope dealer angel-level
worthy,
y'ax me,
*****-fuggetabouder.

dings and whistles from the slot alert him escape -
sit before my image enter its wild wolf canyon escape

winding road in lofty forest landscape
beckon her - leave him for my green escape

triple x signs promise writhing bodies
heavy breathing and dark dank escape

the flute lay still of the silent table sparkling
sweet melodic memories of fingered escape

the frothy surging surf traces the seam of the sea -
bathe in my *****, wrap your self in my fluid escape

locked door soft light from below no sounds
inside creative energy sparks a poetic escape

on the placid lake he casts his hopes
awaits the tug - he and his prey escape

she stands eyes closed, smiling face turned upward
feels the breeze in her hair thanks God for this sweet escape

he runs in the field of goldenrod tears stream
and he screams a desperate entreaty for escape

the sylvan spirits flown from the mountain trees
into the green glen whisper as angels - escape!