Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.
SPRING SUCKER FISH
It is mid spring as I drive by
this clear and tumbling foot hills creek
and stop before the bridge so high
dismount my truck to take a peek
This stream which many call a river
runs to white descending waters
as if it is afraid to dither
on its way to final resting quarters
Now is the time which in riffles run
above the heads of quiet pools
white sucker fish spawning in the sun
they lay stacked up like utter fools
There they are as I expected
nose to tail in shallows lit by sun
so close they seem almost connected
is spawn begun or nearly done?
I watch them hold from shaded shore
lined with laurels, oaks and birch
while I listen to the rapids' score
music played within this sylvan church
I guess I could go get a spear
and gig as many as I wish
but, instead, I'll just remain right here
too many bones in sucker fish
Comments
faithmairee
Sat, 2011-06-11 00:11
I Love It
Dear Stan-I've really missed reading you. I never thought I could ever love a poem about fish but I love this. Great diction and use of imagery.
Love-Fatith
There must be a poem in here somewhere.
scribbler
Sat, 2011-06-11 09:14
hi Faith
I guess a poet can write on any subject. Not being a poet myself, even I attempt the same lol.............stan
scribbler
Sat, 2011-06-11 09:16
hello
I have always lingered around water, even when far from it. Appreciate the visit.............stan
wesley snow
Tue, 2011-06-14 11:43
I could say...
No really, I could say...um...This is a marvelous sojourn into the subtle realities that continually slip away from us only to return, suddenly, in a truth so striking, so utterly bound up in its...um...truthiness it leaves us pondering again the aquatic ...truthiness'es.
Or, that there really are too many damn bones in a sucker fish.
Gotta say bro, I get a kick outta your poetry on a lot of levels and this isn't even the least.
wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about
scribbler
Tue, 2011-06-14 19:09
hi Wesley
I guess it's better to get a kick out of thank to get kicked out of lol...............stan