Since the rivers are blown out or are all frozen
And so I admit
Once I've finished my fit:
With large steehead I'll not be posin'
I Love Thee Like a Carp
With these carp I feel a connection
Those lips give me cause for reflection
I can't get enough
Of that scaly stuff
Is it wrong that I have an erection?
Not Fishing on Sunday
My double haul's perfect, my mending inspired
The backing is fresh, the guide has been hired
I work late on Friday, lest I get fired
In housework the next day, I'm totally mired
Now Sunday is here... but I'm too fucking tired.
Your passion is real, your commitment sincere
You've learned how to tie, you've got all the gear
But please don't forget
That your ears are still wet
Since you've fly fished for what? Just one fucking year!
The jacket is "Simms", it fits like a tux
Your Charlton reel costs twelve-hundred bucks
Yet despite all that money
(It's really quite funny)
You don't even realize: your casting still sucks
There once was a fellow from Guilford
Who fished from Rhode Island to Milford
At night he would go
Where the Culvert doth flow
This time from his family, he pilfered.
[Two of these limericks were published in slightly different forms in the Fall 2013 issue of "The Drake" magazine. Thanks to Tom Bie and "The Drake" for putting it out there.]
Some people aspire to Culvert, while others have Culvert thrust upon them. They may never actually become Culvert, but they will at least have the satisfaction of having been thrust upon real good.ReplyDelete
Thank you both for setting the standards you set.
Somebody's got to do the thrusting.ReplyDelete
Brook Trout IReplyDelete
A beauty described in a book.
Haloed sides deserve a long look.
But you're dumbest of all,
For you often fall
For rabbit's foot bound to a hook
Brook Trout II
You brought joy to all who partook
The love which we read in a book.
You're the fairest piscine,
You make drunk men scream.
Into the fire the book was shook.
Very clever, Z. I'm still trying to find the iambic pentameter in the last line of number 2, but I like them both.ReplyDelete
Jonny tells me he read the carp poem to his wife at bedtime, and she replied that this was a cry for help. It wasn't clear if she was referring to him or to me. In any event, as I have done so many times, I wrote her another poem:
Ode to Lady English
Your wife is quite clever, her wit razor sharp
If she were a fish? Undoubtedly…carp
But lucky for you, we all can infer
She isn't a fish, 'cause you'd never catch her.
Yeah, that last line is clearly derivative of Seuss.ReplyDelete
The carp poem really moved me. In a bad way, but I was moved. Here's one about another noble outdoor sport.ReplyDelete
All anglers should try snatching 'possum
As a passtime it's really quite awesome
To tell if he's good,
Count his fingers you should
If a snatcher's no good, he'll have lost some
When I saw the title, I thought your poem was about something else.ReplyDelete
But, despite that, I do like this one. If anybody should know possum snatchin', it's you (http://lowbrowangler.com/blog/?p=668).
I particularly like the Yoda-speak in line four ("Count his fingers you should"). Big fans of Yoda speak, we are.
I just made this one up. It's a work in progress, this particular day.ReplyDelete
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
... A moment white--then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow trout's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Horrible. It makes me want to eat haggis, and I don't know why.ReplyDelete
Ode to this postReplyDelete
First comes the gay stuff between you two
Book rhymes with hook and that much he knew
Some crap about digits
And fluff from the British
Just like the others this one too blew
This comment has been removed by the author.ReplyDelete
Those are all really good. Poets, the lot of ya's. I prefer battle rap.
On the attack, you know I'm mad at ya still
whole posse's wack, look at 'em grabbin' the gills
i'm castin' with skills, time to honor the great
throwin' 90' loops while you swing bobbers & bait
with your slobberin' face, i'm top shelf with the bars
watch me not win a race, burn myself with cigars
jam a hook through my thumb, yeah i may need a doctor
drink a six pack of beer, I can run through waist deep water
he's like a crazy otter, maybe a russian hog
i'll lose 30 straight flies on the same fuckin' log
what i'm sayin' dog, best be sure not to miss it
or i might kidnap the mrs.
& hogtie your kids with some tippet
4x on the wrist shit, had to go & get gangster
clappin' at bangers, & rappin' ass anglers
hold their fam for some ransom, try to hide from the D's,
take what they paid me straight to a guide in the Keys
where the skies & the trees are all painted in color
fuck straight outta compton
I'm straight out the Culvert!
Man that took some weird turns. Nobody worry about your wife & kids.
I'm more worried about YOUR wife and kids, not mine.ReplyDelete
Oh, by the way, I'd like you to pop a cap in the ass of a guy we call "Clif G". He needs to learn some respec' for The Culvert.
Do this, and I'll bring you some smack, or maybe some nice Dinsmore Split Shot, the next time we fish.
That's a bit harsh on ol' Clifford. After all, his arse (which I beleive is olde English for ass) must already be fair throbbing from recent elevation to "fishing professional" in this comprehensive list of "top fishing blogs": http://www.veteransbenefitsgibill.com/top-fishing-blogs/ReplyDelete
I think we should recognize Cliff as a purveyor of "the very best in tips and tricks; from learning how to tie knots, to the best local haunts, to how to tie your shoe laces and spell your own name, to what color lure you’ll need to reel in a monster - these blogs have all the bases covered."
Dude is so un-Culvert. Let's not make it worse.
this trip's been not very fruitfulReplyDelete
short strips in the wintery hole futile
at last you were caught
I'd smash your head on a rock
if it weren't for that shimmery gold bugle.
EJ - you called Clif "un-Culvert" and then you tell me that I'M the one being too harsh?! I think we can all agree that it's better to be dead than to be un-Culvert, so my threat against Clif's life was, clearly, the lesser insult.ReplyDelete
Twasn't my first time to be honored either. I enjoy high marks from the med students too: http://www.sportsmedicineschools.org/best-flyfishing-blogsReplyDelete
Veterans and sports doctors...my target demographic. Next I focus on architects and the world will be mine.
Clif, I would have bumped you a hell of a lot higher on that list than they did.ReplyDelete
Course, I ain't no doctor, veteran or architect, so take that praise with a grain of salt.
TJ. I thought I'd send you this PM just to catch you up. I know you've been away practicing. But don't misunderstand me. I was cleverly trying to puff Cliffy up, you know, as an expert (wink, wink sort of game; like your superb Man of Steel post that some folks got but others, not so much) but then really what I was getting at was that his comment was as rotten as elderly knob cheese, but I didn't want to come out and say that, because he might think I was being distasteful or in some way disrespectful, which you and I know is my complete MO to counter the tsunami of deathly boring fishing blogs out there. Cliff writes some pretty good shit, I follow him on Facebook, and he's quite nice about the Culvert, but don't tell him I said that - he'll probably win more awards. His poem was crap though wasn't it? Cheers - and good luck switching to the left hand. That RSI is a real drag. JonnyReplyDelete
Ole Jonny Boy, this is Bray-sheezy. Don't let him know you're weak. He obviously has no sense of humor and we can't have sticks hanging around in our mud. Stay strong and he'll wish he'd not shown face at the Culvert.ReplyDelete
Re: left hand - I call it "the stranger."
"The Guy We All Know," not a chance with carp. Too scary, scares me anyway.ReplyDelete
The answer to the question posed in your carp poem would be, yes.ReplyDelete