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IN HINDSIGHT (march contest)

The sun is well above the trees
on this late spring day
as we wade in mud near to our knees
in beaver ponds where wild bass play.

A cast made toward a fallen log
brings a swirl but it's a miss
on a bait which imitates a frog.
My brother laughs but it's all bliss.

The water is nearly chest deep
where he hooks on a nice bass
just as a breeze begins to sweep
the surface near some thick saw grass.

My turn next to hook a fish.
I unhook it then throw it back.
silently I make a wish
That for ever we can come back.


Rude thunder wakes me from the dream
thirty years or so later on.
Some wishes don't come true it seems
as reality arrives with the dawn.

Brother left here long ago
along with youth and strength of limb
while the years and belly grow
and I resent both of them.

I dig out a worn old photo
taken from some plane up high
of those wild ponds so long ago.
I study them and then I sigh.

For this is as close as I will come
to wading in those ponds again
which leaves my wanderlust quite numb.
I miss the strength and my close kin.........

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
And those beaver ponds tempt me even yet
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Hi Scribbler! Love the imagery in the first part of this - really great rhythm and structure - beautiful! The realization (for both writer and reader) that it was just a beautiful dream juxtaposed into the reality of waking from it is inspired - well done!


Michael Anthony

I was on the verge of deleting this for lack of response . You saved it! lol. Always good to have you drop by

author comment

Glad you didn't!


Michael Anthony

You were going to delete it, before I had my chance to tell you that I love your dream and it brought back a memory much like your description? On of my best friends and I just happened upon a big pond of just such as described and spent a fabulous morning there before we were approached by an old farmer who asked what we were doing there? He said he owned the land and no one had fished there for many years. We told him that we were sorry, we didn't know that it was his land and we would leave. He said no need to leave, the only thing he asked; was that we give him one of the fish that we had caught. We told him that we hadn't kept any, and he said that we were welcome to. But we lived pretty far away and no cooler to keep them and didn't want to waste them. So we caught a nice, big one and gave it to him so that he could cook it for him and his brother that couldn't get to the pond because he was sick. We went back the following year, but the farm had been sold and now there were No Trespassing signs all over the place. We didn't stay, but we have good memories of that day! ~ Geez.

It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

are at the head waters of a corps of engineers lake and thus are open to anybody willing to walk there. But in the 5-6 years we fished there we only saw one other person, a grad student checking wood duck boxes. Isn't it strange that those who have owned land for a long time are more generous in sharing it than new owners?

author comment

I am pleased you dropped in. I had to really work to keep this poem from becoming far too long for the contest lol.

author comment

I'll never get used to calling you Ted lol. The imagery is easy. I just describe memories most of the time. But you are right about the rhyming. It takes some thought to rhyme and still almost keep a conversational feel

author comment

Such a moving poem. I agree that we can all relate to memories like these. We know that, at the time, the moments are good, and appreciate them to the fullest. Thanks for the affecting reflection.
Congratulations, again!

for your kind words

author comment
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