Swollen Limbo
Strolling a lake in September
Its muddy shoreline rippling
From darting Bass,
And wanting to jump for tree limbs,
Their bark hating the wind,
Their leaves snagged by dusk,
I stopped and listened to frogs
Court one another.
Their bellies swollen
Like the lake, water dripped
From their bodies
And scurried to nowhere
Like leaves in the night.
Mending down stream
Under the footbridge at Swain’s Lock’s
Shallowest run-off,
I sit in mud and watch ants rush about.
Down stream, a man in waders roll casts
At the shoreline
And mends his line.
The water splashes
The man jerks and sets hook,
The fish jumps and throws its body.
I note –
Dry flies landing two yards off shore,
Use current.
Call of a Guide
(Whisper)Throw Cahill Caddis –
Land it twenty-five feet out(finger point right)
Off the bow.
Pick it up, put
It back down – have to be faster.
No more false casts,
No trout in the air.
THAT ripple. There!
Throw it upstream, mend it.
Wait. Just wait on it.
Set it! Raise
Your rod, let him run –
Let him get tired.
Keep him wet, oil
From your hands kills fish coils.
Picture time.
Smile.
This collection of ‘Fish Poems’ was written by Morgan Spencer, Poolesville, Md resident, past fly fishing guide, part-time author, past Montana Lodge owner, grandfather of 6. Mr. Spencer has fished the Mid-Atlantic for over 25 years - he’s stalked trout, bass, carp, bluegill, catfish…you name it, Mr. Spencer has caught it. He spends his time these days photographing the banks of the Potomac River. |
