Wednesday, January 03, 2007

No Fishing

No Fishing


massage me out
gentle but firm hands
of thought

relax my larynx
cross the synapse
between wind and speech

lead me through childhood
pastures, fishing with dad
sneaking into a pond

staring at a
“NO FISHING” sign
counting the cold
minutes until

we would walk back
through cow-patties
eyes glowing in the unknown
of night, walking for eternity

dad stepping on the bottom
strand of barbed-wire and pulling
the middle and top together

while saying: “Come on
let’s go. I hear the old man
on his way to shoot us for catching

his largemouth bass.”

5 Comments:

Blogger ron st.amant said...

James, thanks for stopping by!
I'll make sure to check here often.

9:04 PM  
Blogger beckyboop said...

Hi James!

Sounds like a fond memory to me.

Hugs,

Becky

9:54 PM  
Blogger Sir James Eric Watkins said...

Ron. *nods his head


Becky. I tend to polish the memories of my father. I simply must.

wow. emotion just sneaks right up on you (myself or anyone else). Doesn't it?

thank you for being just who you are, and for your friendship.

2:09 PM  
Blogger S.L. Corsua said...

dad stepping on the bottom
strand of barbed-wire and pulling
the middle and top together


I do so relish the concrete image that lends to the effect of the last few lines (I've certainly let out a hearty chuckle). Much enjoyed this piece. ^_^ Thank you for sharing it. Cheers.

3:17 PM  
Blogger fineartist said...

I'm thinking lots of mixed emotions in this one, and your telling tell with sister Becky certainly filled in the blanks for me.

I know, I do some polishing where my mom's concerned. Yeah.

The bumps are back, they never lie.

Jeeze oh peety weety, this one is rockin', kicken axe and shining.

mega love, Lori

6:38 PM  

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