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If I'd never fished I'd not have seen
ducks flaring in a beaver pond
with heads and sometimes wings of green.
I'd wave my hand and they'd respond
by landing a lot farther away.

I once saw a fish eat a snake there,
a sudden splash and it was gone.
With now passed brother I would share
tripping on logs just after dawn
while near beavers would splash and spray.

Rising mists on a calm pond or lake,
the heft of a fresh caught evening meal,
finding a stream for finding's sake,
or learning how the bullfrogs feel
while wade fishing on a summer day.

If I'd never hunted deer and such
the forests would not feel like home
and they'd not have felt my tread as much
as I walked through the leafy loam
while searching where the wild things stay.

December dawns of heavy frost
would melt away by me unseen
for I'd be dreaming as if lost
staring at a television's screen
while winter winds set limbs to sway.

The haunting snort of startled deer
would by me have gone unheard
and seeing one up close and near
would never, ever have occurred
had my path gone another way.

How could I tell of streams and trees
without ever having walked in them
or seen frost lift up in a hard freeze
when bobcats stalked intent and grim
in search of unsuspecting prey?

And had I never met my wife
one summer eve so long ago
how could I describe contented life
with a love which doesn't cease to grow
through long years as youth went on its way?

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
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Editing stage: 


After my recent efforts here at NeoPoet (subtle huh?) it's nice to go on a Stan Walk. This is a particularly good one and after reading your Death poem I have no need to suggest you stretch your skills elsewhere.
This will do just fine.

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

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I was approaching burn out so I just sat around letting my mind drift and started to think about what the heck I'd write about (or even If I'd resume writing) had I been a city boy.Only so many things one can wax poetic about the city lol.........stan PS your shop has gone over very well in my opinion

author comment

That's nice to hear.

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

This is beautiful.

I have discarded "what ifs"
when it comes to looks

Who cares if I have a flat nose
or a plain face,
a crooked smile,
a mind that is no ace
to charm girls from a mile?

So what if I am short in height
and a little plumb by nature?
I'm no hypocrite
to pretend to be another

Looks can be deceiving
though I must admit
it is a blessing
to have both looks and heart.

The people who judge others by looks
are shallow minded anyway
and it is from them
that I stay away.


You might notice my picture isn't here. Aside from lack of knowing how to put it here there's the detail I don't want my image going around frightening young people lol. Then there's the blindness which could result from light reflecting off bald head. Good to have you drop by for a spell..........stan

author comment

on the scale of 1 to 10, how close are your looks to bruce willis?


provided the lights are out lol.........stan

author comment

those who post others snaps
and try to get away
can be charged for impersonation
by the way

so stay away
don't show your face
be flowery as I am
the best I can show of
what I am
a thing of joy
for all living and dead
gal or guy
to enjoy

all ahoy
only request I ever make
of ALL thee
read my poetry
once for all!
then say
after all!

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