"bobbers" poems
~
the smell of timbers,
aging in the sun and daily misting;
neath the shuffling sound,
footsteps of a man,
bucket filled with daily catchings,
the reeling in of memory’s castings,
of creosote's faint lifting,
drifting on the breezes;
of old tackle boxes,
of shrimp and lures;
the gatherings of hands,
ragged and weathered,
the collecting of years;
of hand-me-down hooks,
bobbers and sinkers,
the odd bits of dust,
gathered in corners,
pliers worn by use and rust,
save from drownings
grateful rainbows
one by one,
their too-short lives
extended with each
catch and release.
tired ropes wrapped
’round bent iron ties,
summer-time-baked...
cracked and dried,
by day's too old to count,
the numbers, the flutters,
since this heart began its bleeding,
it's journey beating,
floats of faded red and blue,
recall of a yesteryear
of a grandfather renewed;
the one-time, one-day
he and i walked
hand-in-hand
down a dusty road
to an old, wood fishing dock
on a grassy river bank;
dock and day long gone,
but love-scribed now,
deeply in this memory.
a day with rod and reel
when on a river long ago
a boy and a man,
an afternoon of fishing
to his heart listening.
a wistful day
of boyhood’s dreams
now in wishful haze;
forgotten midst
the growing years,
tumbling out in verse,
those smells, the sounds,
now reel out words
between the tears,
now catch-releasing,
a heart's docking...
and memory’s rebirth.
~
*post script.
funny, this memory thing... how we can be so not conscious of what lies ’neath its surface, but then is reclaimed in vivid, YouTube vision by the smallest sight, sound, or smell. with a childhood spent 8,000 miles and an ocean away from my home country, i have scarce few memories of my grandfather. today i am grateful to reclaim this one, a tearfully joyous recall of a six-year old's wonder-filled afternoon,
caught and released so long ago.*
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
I signed my life away
A week ago today
I took a pledge to be a warrior
To serve my country with pride
I am proud of this
I need not your approval to be the man I wish to be
For I will be my own
Traveling my own path
Finding my own me
I have finished the part of my life to try to impress you
To try and make you proud
I am done expecting you to be there for me
The cracks are too easy to fall through
I hope one day you will wake up from this slumber
We will talk about our lives while we fish for lost time
The bobbers on our lines dancing on the water like ballerinas
The man I am becoming
Ignoring the child inside
Screaming and pounding
For my daddy
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Hasta la pasta?
Annoying filament knots
of spaghetti spools.
The squeals of delight
flow from all fishing children
with uncontained joy.
Sounds of spinning spools
always brings me much comfort,
for I’m not at work.
Floating down the stream?
Not a dream, after dropping…
A bag of bobbers.
In early morning
anxious fish are awaiting
the autumn school bells.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2006, All rights reserved.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
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.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
You come down some backroad
And you'll hear some big 'ole diesel trucks
Gravel flying everywhere
The Girl's hairs whipping in the wind
Mud all over the teenagers
A beer in hand
You come down on a ranch
And you'll hear some shotguns
Bullets flying everywhere
The grow men grunting and stalking
Deer antlers for the walls
A beer in hand
You come down on a farm
You'll see Old McDonalds
And you'll hear the animals everywhere
The family out on their trail
Screaming "Yee-Haw"
A beer in hand
You come on down to the lake
You'll see families fishing
You'll hear the bobbers hitting the water
A beer in hand
You come on down to camp
You'll see men living off the land
You'll hear laughter everywhere
A Bon fire going, bringing out the s'mores
Someone with a guitar singing to George Strait
A beer in hand.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
A warm Southern summer night
Dozens of cork bobbers
Dancing the night away
Speaking softly.
Where has it gone
A thought not one had.
We were taught not to wonder.
It's just life
The way it has always been.
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 6:10 PM UTC
i live in a helicopter over the city
everything too ***** to land
i see crimes from here
and i dont care
who lives
or who dies.
i see horses running races.
winners resemble losers.
the ocean is sewage
the sand is termites
the streets are drains
draining the victims.
wives and families.
the people are bobbers
to catch goliath beasts
from underneath.
they sell their bodies for *****
filthy
clothes.
to cover up
their shameful ashes.
deep down
they want what i want,
me and the goliaths;
they want to crash
and choke
and be eaten.
someone to set a fire
to clean up the mess.
a fire to clean itself.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
Porch in the midday sunlight
Birds fly
These little dudes currently walking
All fun no time for talking
Single-file behind Mama Quail
All the while head bobbers bob
So goofy
On the saddest days
The world still has its ways
Smiled in midday sunlight
My memory, The Quail, and I
Nostalgia..
Sadness defied
Hope defined
Simple and corny
Just fine by me..
I am too serious
Too often
Thank you, Quail..
... Goofy little dudes
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 10:47 PM UTC
Its quiet on the lake
at almost one
in the morning
where the sway of the trees
in front of the stationary lights of
the island themed bar
across the way
gives the impression of endless dancing
despite the bar nearing
closing time
and the guests yell a little less loudly
out of respect for the night sky
where I find myself staring at the stars
instead of the bobbers in the water
because
even though fishing is great,
there's always
something better to catch
out there in the cosmos
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC