Chapter (25) THE TROUT

THE TROUT

In the quiet stealth of a new born day

wet nettles neck high grip and sting

One thought, one mission, he makes his way

to enter combat with the rivers'  King.

 

Beneath the waters' green weeds, undulating

with head into flow and eyes sharp and keen.

Sleek brown and speckled a king lies waiting

as he hides from prey as yet unseen.

 

His armoury, rod, line and fly, the tweed clad foe

approaches step by step the chosen place.

Morning mists shroud him from the king below

neither knows what future they will face.

 

Too early yet the morning hatch of flies to take

he meets the rivers' flow with steady head.

Tail and fins with movement deliberate make

to hold his place twixt weeds and grave.

 

The rod of cane flicks back and forth, anticipating death,

snaking whipping fly line out to lure the king from his domain.

Dropped onto water soft as a lovers breath

to win the game he must, with patient care, sustain.

 

Familiar shape above he sees it sudden in his eye

Waiting, waiting, heart beating, his focus on the prey secure .

Tail beats a silver flash, he takes the fly

turns quick, dives back, then feels the prick of feathered lure.

 

He sees the ripple, reacts with practiced skill

arms high, take care don't strike too soon.

The thin rod moved with lightening speed like time stood still

the line, the rod, the man,  now one in tune.

  

His body powerful turns to use the rivers force

head down he pulls with all his might,

but from this new sensation there is no divorce

thinks only of the weeds, get out of sight.

 

The  line now straight and bent where air and waters meet

his rod of cane nodding, holds fast the reel

and pulling line by hand he drops it to his feet.

"I have you now" he cries. " You'll soon be in my creel"

 

Head turned towards the surface now knows the contest lost

and though he gulps in vain no water's in his gill.

Through his need to feed he's paid the final cost.

The net lies moist upon the grass, the King lies still.

 

Then with tender hands he takes the hook

soft fingers trace the brightly coloured sides.

Sighing,  at this river King takes one last look.

Lifts him gentle safe as back to water slides

the trout.

Author's Note

Lots of comments please.

Reviews

[Tony Dincau]

This is quite good writing! I'm not a poetry person, but I do own and have laced my creel with stream trout many a time. I enjoyed your style and elegant sentences. Well done!

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you for reading. Unfortunately I've not been able to go fishing for the last couple of seasons. Can't wait to get back on the bank again.

[MomzillaNC]

Terrific! You almost -- ALMOST -- make me want to go fishing. :D

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Ha ha. I LOVE fishing but I'm not a fly fisherman. I like rod and float.

[MomzillaNC]

I only ever went fishing with my dad. I caught a fish once. Deep sea fishing. It was a 7.5 bass. While my dad was helping me reel it in, he got a bite on his own line and the pole went flying off the back end of the boat.

He was NOT happy.

And, when the day was over, I'd caught the biggest fish. I was the only girl on the boat. And, I was only 12.

He was NOT happy.

He never took me fishing again.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Ahhh that's such a sad story. It was really funny if you looked at it that way. And how did you cook the bass?

[MomzillaNC]

They deep fried it. Blekh!

[MomzillaNC]

My dad is very old school.

When I first went to college, I took golf for my PE requirement. I wanted something I could share with my dad. I finished the final course round with an 86 on the green. My dad quit playing and got rid of his clubs. At least, until my nephew was old enough to play golf with him.

He never even went to a single on of my little league baseball games.

[MomzillaNC]

Of course, he didn't go to see me as Juiliette either…

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Oh wow Denise. I can see why you're so passionate about your relationship with Gray. I feel for you.

[MomzillaNC]

It's not an uncommon experience for women of my age. We were only expected to graduate high school, then settle down with a husband and start cranking out babies. He never really knew what to make of me…

But, he took me to my first art museum. I saw a painting there -- a Rembrandt, I think -- in which the eyes always seemed to be following you. I looked up at him and said, "Daddy, I'm gonna learn to paint eyes like that."

Bless his heart, his response was, "Honey, there are no women artists."

[MomzillaNC]

I went ahead and learned to paint eyes that way anyhow.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Good for you.

[MomzillaNC]

:D :D

[MomzillaNC]

Check this portrait: http://www.writerscafe.org/MomzillaNC/photos/Abbas%3A-my-husband%27s-father/182667/