The domain "kreatedbykewpie.ws"
is registered with:
Shop HERE for your own domain name and related products.
Poetry
by
M. B. Baldwin
The Fisherman
At some point in history
his predecessors decided they could outsmart their prey
with rubber worms, plastic bugs, and metal minnows,
better than their brother bear with his swift strong paws
or their sister seagull with her small sharp eyes.
He sits at the water's edge in the dawn,
fully equipped
with a Thermos full of hot coffee
and two custard donuts with chocolate icing.
He casts his line, and he waits.
He sighs contentedly thinking of his wife
--the way she felt last night when he held her,
how she was smiling in her sleep when he left this morning--
and he waits.
He furrows his brow
considering business options which he faces,
he makes an important decision,
and he waits.
He grins thinking of how
he will later congratulate his eight year old,
following the homerun the boy will hit
in this afternoon's game,
and he waits.
He thinks about his lunch
of fresh fish and home fries with onions,
and he waits.
The sun climbs higher in the sky,
the day grows warmer.
His Thermos, his stomach,
and his fish bucket are empty.
He drives into town
in search of a tunafish sandwich
and some potato chips.
He will return tomorrow
to repeat this ritual.
He is smiling as he thinks of it,
for whether or not
there is a catch,
the time alone in peace
to gather his thoughts
makes each fishing trip
a success.
Return to Poetry Index
Shop HERE for your own domain name and related products.
Poetry
by
M. B. Baldwin
The Fisherman
At some point in history
his predecessors decided they could outsmart their prey
with rubber worms, plastic bugs, and metal minnows,
better than their brother bear with his swift strong paws
or their sister seagull with her small sharp eyes.
He sits at the water's edge in the dawn,
fully equipped
with a Thermos full of hot coffee
and two custard donuts with chocolate icing.
He casts his line, and he waits.
He sighs contentedly thinking of his wife
--the way she felt last night when he held her,
how she was smiling in her sleep when he left this morning--
and he waits.
He furrows his brow
considering business options which he faces,
he makes an important decision,
and he waits.
He grins thinking of how
he will later congratulate his eight year old,
following the homerun the boy will hit
in this afternoon's game,
and he waits.
He thinks about his lunch
of fresh fish and home fries with onions,
and he waits.
The sun climbs higher in the sky,
the day grows warmer.
His Thermos, his stomach,
and his fish bucket are empty.
He drives into town
in search of a tunafish sandwich
and some potato chips.
He will return tomorrow
to repeat this ritual.
He is smiling as he thinks of it,
for whether or not
there is a catch,
the time alone in peace
to gather his thoughts
makes each fishing trip
a success.
Return to Poetry Index