Friday, January 20, 2012

I Love Thee Like A Carp

Not to be outdone by the tender words of the lovely Erin Block, we note that Zakur and Quill have been waxing their lyrics these past few days. Bravo! Well, be damned, if our very own TJ Brayshaw hasn't sent me his poetry this fine evening. Inspired readers are encouraged to submit poems of their own, and we'll select a winner based on our own criteria of what the best shit is.

Fuck Steelhead

It matters not the fly I have chosen
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.

The Novice

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!

Old English, up a tree again.

The Guy We All Know

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

English Jonny

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.]


  1. 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.

    Thank you both for setting the standards you set.

  2. Brook Trout I
    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.

  3. Very clever, Z. I'm still trying to find the iambic pentameter in the last line of number 2, but I like them both.

    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.

  4. Yeah, that last line is clearly derivative of Seuss.

  5. The carp poem really moved me. In a bad way, but I was moved. Here's one about another noble outdoor sport.

    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

  6. When I saw the title, I thought your poem was about something else.

    But, despite that, I do like this one. If anybody should know possum snatchin', it's you (

    I particularly like the Yoda-speak in line four ("Count his fingers you should"). Big fans of Yoda speak, we are.

  7. I just made this one up. It's a work in progress, this particular day.

    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.

  8. Horrible. It makes me want to eat haggis, and I don't know why.

  9. Ode to this post
    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

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  11. edit.

    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.

  12. I'm more worried about YOUR wife and kids, not mine.

    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.

  13. 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":

    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.

  14. this trip's been not very fruitful
    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.

  15. 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.

  16. Twasn't my first time to be honored either. I enjoy high marks from the med students too:

    Veterans and sports target demographic. Next I focus on architects and the world will be mine.

  17. Clif, I would have bumped you a hell of a lot higher on that list than they did.

    Course, I ain't no doctor, veteran or architect, so take that praise with a grain of salt.

  18. 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. Jonny

  19. 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.

    Re: left hand - I call it "the stranger."

  20. "The Guy We All Know," not a chance with carp. Too scary, scares me anyway.


  21. The answer to the question posed in your carp poem would be, yes.