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Gone Fishing: Poetry Prompt and Playlist

23 Comments

Gone Fishing

Fishing is generally a quiet activity, but fish songs? We discovered they are mostly, in the words of the resident teen, “kind of overly happy sounding.” We’ve got a roundup of the [mostly] happy songs in our new Gone Fishing Playlist. Catch a listen:

Fishing is a poetic experience. It can be a metaphor linked to many of life’s experiences. In Hemingway’s novel, The Old Man and the Sea, the character Santiago looks wistfully across the ocean and thinks, “My big fish must be somewhere.” At one end of the rod and reel is persistent frustration, but tied to the other end is hope.

Gone Fishing Poetry Prompt: Write a poem about fishing as a metaphor for your life.

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Glynn we enjoyed:

An eternal silence beneath
the surface of the wave, moves
untroubled by the crashing
sound above, moves forward,
always forward. The line
of sight compresses
to a infinite point
where the four converge:
four corners of sand,
of sea, of shore, of air;
four boundaries of earth
of air, of fire, of water.
Four winds blow unseen.
Four horsemen gallop
unheard and unhearing.
Four muses cry unanswered
and ignored, the cries emptying
into a wave of silence.

—by Glynn Young

Photo by William Doran. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

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Your Comments

23 Comments so far

  1. Donna says:

    I cast in my line,
    Pull out my own beating heart.
    Splunk… it needs more time.

  2. Donna says:

    Glynn, really beautiful. I love how you use the number four throughout…

  3. Marcy says:

    I’ve fished with a man,
    My line tight.
    Reel them in,
    Left and right.
    Only thing he hooked,
    Was my long beautiful neck.
    Walked back to the car,
    Took out my keys.
    Wrote my name,
    Where everyone could see.

  4. Fishing Alone

    Happiness comes before daybreak
    He drifted through, like a cloud of smog
    Gliding into eternity
    The dark-blue lake and the soft, cool breeze
    Fresh smell of fish, water hyacinth and algae
    He halted to anchor the boat, and observed:
    You mustn’t disturb the waters, he said,
    You don’t want to wake up the fishes yet.
    Still, the world is enshrouded
    With a cloak of mystery forever
    Beneath the boat, there are mud and rocks hardened
    Through/by the passage of time and pressure
    Far away, he looked up and saw a pale, shimmering light—
    the morning star;
    Some housewife must have gotten up early, he remarked
    Then he took out the fishing pole, and struck the water (twice!)—
    Splash! Splash! The surface burst out, the boat tossed, and
    bending forward
    He began to collect the stars floating on the flashing waves

    Gin Suan Tung
    August 8, 2014

    from
    http://noschoolpoetry.wordpress.com/2014/08/08/fishing-alone/

    • Gin Suan says:

      Fishing Alone

      Happiness comes before daybreak
      He drifted through, like a cloud of smog
      Gliding into eternity
      The dark-blue lake and the soft, cool breeze
      Fresh smell of fish, water hyacinth and algae
      He halted to anchor the boat, and observed:
      You mustn’t disturb the waters, he said,
      You don’t want to wake up the fishes yet.
      Still, the world is enshrouded
      With a cloak of mystery forever
      Beneath the boat, there are mud and rocks hardened
      Through/by the passage of time, heat and pressure
      Far away, he looked up and saw a pale, shimmering light—
      the morning star;
      Some housewife must have gotten up early, he remarked
      Then he took out the fishing pole, and struck the water (twice!)—
      Swoosh! Swoosh! The surface burst out, the boat tossed, and
      bending forward
      He began to collect the stars floating on the flashing waves

      Gin Suan Tung
      August 8, 2014

      from
      http://noschoolpoetry.wordpress.com/2014/08/08/fishing-alone/

    • Heather Eure says:

      I like the imagery you’ve created here. Collecting stars…

  5. Been Fishing for Me

    The old man and the sea
    Fished into eternity

    I’ve been fishing for me
    Casting constantly
    Waiting endlessly
    For a great catch from this sea

    Hemingway never made it
    To the end of the catch you see
    He was caught by death and despair
    When his line tugged under
    He pulled and fought
    Until his fingers bled
    He was pulled asunder
    Distraught until he was dead

    The old man caught the sea
    And I wonder, “What will become of me?”

    © August 8, 2014, Robbie Pruitt

  6. Marcy says:

    Old Boat

    She’s a dingy for sure,
    Peeling white paint,
    From her wood.
    Water, calm but many colors,
    Today.
    Dark Blue, Deep Purple, Rouge Red,
    Bottomless Black one could say.
    Above sky is full of stars,
    They all begin to fall.
    Stars falling all over me,
    Silver like lightening but
    Beautiful to see.


Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Casting | Prasanta Verma, Writer - August 7, 2014

    […] for the Tweetspeak Poetry prompt using “fishing” as a metaphor for life. You can click here to read more or to submit your […]

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