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Sit and enjoy something light and fishy: fly fishing haikus and other poems.
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Three things are certain:
Small fish, aching muscles, beer.
Guess which one I want.
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Can't catch anything
With my CDC quill fly.
Need woolly buggers
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Bull rushes stirring,
Quiet pond and fearful bait--
Bass big as Buicks.
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In winter snow deep
Deep the tiny fly must go,
Around the rocks slow. | |
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Small little fishy
Grow stronger and slippery.
Don't find my hook now. | |
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Evening moon on me:
I am a man you need to seek,
Not a trout to be. | |
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For once can't there be
A lone trout looking up at me
Moving fins toward me. | |
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The sun leaves me now
Lonely smells and riffles now--
Now a rise will rise. | |
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A lonely caddis
Here, now there, seems everywhere
but no fly for me. | |
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Now the loneliness
Across the cactus and scrub
Of the meadowlark.
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The tires on the road,
Garbage cans against dumpsters--
The song of the thrush.
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A winter river
Many anadromous trout--
The sound of cold rain.
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No one walks this way
No one fishes near these stones--
except birds and I. | |
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The rain, the wind, night
Some things that try my fishing
and makes the trout laugh.
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The moon sees me now
The birds and weasels see me--
And now the trout do.
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The Fish
by John P. Sisk (1914-1997)
Where mighty waters
Roll and swish
Is called the creature
Called the fish;
The which is known
For stoic look
And an appetite
For a barbed hook;
While some debate
The fish's reason
Pragmatics trap
Him out of season;
And there are those
That take him whole
With lemon in
A casserole--
But in a pool
Or in a dish,
The fact remains
He is a fish.
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The Ballad of the Food Chain
by John P. Sisk (1914-1997)
How absurd of that bird
To feed on a turd!
How absurd of that turd
To be food for a bird!
Mother Nature,
What's the word?
"Bird and turd
Are not absurd:
Ecology has just occurred."
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Epigram For Bedlam
by John P. Sisk (1914-1997)
All men are foolish
As all are brothers;
The wise ones know it
And tell the others:
Who take the wise ones
Righteously
And hang them up
For heresy.
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Machinery
by John P. Sisk (1914-1997)
Wheels within wheels
And cogs to wind them
And the mind reels
At the wheels behind them;
And the oil to grind them
To temper the squeals
That frictive fusion
Rings from the wheels;
And the shrill confusion
of the gears in gears
That so appeals
To the Robot's ears
Who spins the wheels
With iron laughter
To drive the pullies
In the rafter;
And who has taught
us where to kneel
And to question not
The mighty wheel.
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Fly fishing haikus 
