Thursday, September 6, 2018

The Fisherman

They say fly fishing's been 'round
since the Macedonians; red wool,
two feathers from under a cock's wattles,
six feet each of rod and line - and there it is:
200 A.D.

Grandma said angling's in Grandpa's blood;
once, while napping, I saw his fingers working
as if tying on flies; he awoke in the best of moods.

Weekends often found us amongst hill country's
gently moving streams, numerous lakes,
he explaining (for hundredth time)
how to read water, knots, flies, casting tips.

Remember how he ceremoniously handed me
well worn rod and reel,
adjusted float line, backing, leader.

Allowed me to choose (probably the wrong one,
but certainly the prettiest) my favorite of his feathery flies
and with sun and plenty of grass behind my back,
I cast.  Cast again, and again...

Grandpa was proud, pointed out to many passerby's
his granddaughter's natural ability.  I wasn't so sure,
glad the day's success wasn't rated with ice box bounty
but with laughter and sharing of ancient ways.

Standing upon the banks today
I find myself listening for him as I cast,
sure he's singing my praises to the angels about him,
the twinkle of his eye upon me.

by Margaret Bednar, September 6, 2018

This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform"   WAY late joining, but I will swing around and visit this challenge in the morning and comment then.


Vicki said...

I loved all the imagery in this lovely poem.

Millie said...

What a beautiful tribute to both fishing and your grandfather. It brought back my own memories of fishing with my grandpa.

Teresa from Razzamadazzle

Anonymous said...

What lovely details and specifics in the second stanza - watching a loved one sleeping and seeing the fingers working, as if tying a lure or a line ~

this was exceptional in the lovely memory poem Margaret - certainly, to share a custom, a pleasure, a hobby, and do so, with love and many special moments, for sure there were many? - is a fine legacy, along with the knowledge passed on - and this results in this wonderful poem Margaret :)

Jim said...

Times with Grandpa, you have some vivid memories of him. My grandfather owned our farm, Dad share cropped. I too have many memories, I always thought I was his favorite. My favorite was when he came early to go with him on rounds with his stud horse (I was five). That was to get me out of the house while my sister was being born. Mrs. Jim's grandmother fished and made her and her sister go along, get her out of the house so the Mom could do housework.