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Gone Fishing: PhotoPlay and Prompt

By Heather Eure 45 Comments

Gone Fishing PhotoPlay

Some days, the hobby of fishing could be considered less a sport and more of a discipline of quiet contemplation. So relax and unwind a bit with us. The fish don’t seem to be in a hurry.

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

Watching waves crest and sink
Surfing down summer’s summit
They cast time-worn nets
Catch fleeting dreams before they slip and enfold
into deep waters–
Before they meld into sandy shore
Pulling out enough for the current day
They sift through the granular bucket-list
Of final plans
Before gasping for air.

—by Prasanta Verma

PhotoPlay Prompt: Capture a photograph of someone (or something) fishing. Whether they’re searching for actual fish is entirely up to you. Slow down and take your time. Don’t alert anyone to your presence. Wait patiently while you “fish” for the perfect shot.

***

NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Find inspiration from the photo in the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading. :)

Photo by Spyros Papaspyropoulos. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

________________________

Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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  • Author
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Heather Eure
Heather Eure
Heather Eure has served as the Poetry Editor for the late Burnside Collective and Special Projects Editor for us at Tweetspeak Poetry. Her poems have appeared at Every Day Poems. Her wit has appeared just about everywhere she's ever showed up, and if you're lucky you were there to hear it.
Heather Eure
Latest posts by Heather Eure (see all)
  • Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
  • Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
  • Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018

Filed Under: Blog, Fishing Poems, Photo Play, Photography prompts, Poems, poetry, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, writing prompts

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Comments

  1. Amy says

    August 11, 2014 at 9:56 am

    Angling for a Notion
    http://amyglamos.tumblr.com/post/94433998880/angling-for-a-notion-i-wonder-sometimes-in-the

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 11, 2014 at 11:18 pm

      Thank you for sharing your photo and poem with us, Amy. We can relate to those murky depths.

      Reply
      • Amy says

        August 12, 2014 at 10:38 am

        Thanks, Heather.

        Reply
    • Donna says

      August 13, 2014 at 5:55 am

      Really nice, Amy. In your image I love how the fishing pole catches the light. 🙂

      Reply
      • Amy says

        August 13, 2014 at 12:51 pm

        Thank you, Donna.

        Reply
  2. Prasanta says

    August 11, 2014 at 6:28 pm

    I am very honored to have my poem posted here. Thank you so much.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 11, 2014 at 11:15 pm

      We’re glad you’re here!

      Reply
    • Donna says

      August 12, 2014 at 8:36 am

      Prasanta I really like your poem… especially the imagery of the granular bucket list of final plans. Ohhhh.

      Reply
      • Prasanta says

        August 12, 2014 at 12:26 pm

        I appreciate that Donna; thank you.

        Reply
    • Elizabeth W. Marshall says

      August 17, 2014 at 2:23 pm

      So glad you’re here. Your poem is a treasure. Thank you.

      Reply
  3. Donna says

    August 12, 2014 at 8:46 am

    I hope it’s okay to share an older image, taken in May 2014, not today, on a day that was so silent I could almost hear the fog lifting.

    http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2014/08/morning-mass.html

    Reply
    • Prasanta says

      August 12, 2014 at 12:28 pm

      Donna, this image is breathtaking.

      Reply
      • Laurie Flanigan says

        August 12, 2014 at 12:34 pm

        I agree with Prasanta, Donna. Your photo is thought provoking and stunningly beautiful.

        Reply
    • Donna says

      August 13, 2014 at 5:51 am

      Thank you 🙂

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 8:14 pm

      Oh, Donna this is wonderful!

      Reply
      • Donna says

        August 17, 2014 at 8:54 pm

        🙂 Thank you, Heather.

        Reply
  4. Laurie Flanigan says

    August 12, 2014 at 12:31 pm

    Fishing in an Ocean

    They’ve named the syndrome for its two poles
    one that swings wild with laughter,
    casting lines against the sky,
    letting tethers flutter
    like Chinese
    kites in the
    high summer
    sun.

    The other
    holds the
    weight
    that breaks
    the surface,
    stirs the silt,
    trawls for bioluminescence . . .
    or any signs of life . . .

    I keep casting questions
    at the waves,
    hoping an aquatic-
    shaped ally,
    capable of underwater-
    breath, will let me
    watch
    its fins spin,
    reminding me that
    we are both alive,

    but all I end up pulling
    from the salt-inoculating-tide
    is a wear-pocked shell.

    I let my mind slide
    into its core.

    I don’t wonder at his last thoughts,
    or pretend I understand.
    I’m caught in the incalculable,
    in the undertow of loss,
    and the nothing we could do to stop it.

    I wish I had less inspiration for this one. I’ve lost dear friends due to the overwhelming sadness of the depressive end of bipolar disease. Robin Williams death hit us all hard and brought back the grief of those other losses for me.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 8:13 pm

      Your words are full of courage, Laurie. Thank you for sharing them with us.

      Reply
  5. Prasanta says

    August 12, 2014 at 12:48 pm

    Laurie, this is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
    I find these lines especially poignant:
    “but all I end up pulling
    from the salt-inoculating-tide
    is a wear-pocked shell”
    I have no words. I’m sorry for all of this pain in your life.

    Reply
    • Laurie Flanigan says

      August 12, 2014 at 2:45 pm

      Thank you, Prasanta. As for the pain, it’s not worse for me than it is for most other people, and it’s far less than it is for some. Expressing it in writing helps me, so did the walk in the woods I just took. There’s something therapeutic about berry picking. 🙂

      Reply
      • Donna says

        August 13, 2014 at 5:53 am

        Beautiful. And yes, berry therapy can be very good. 🙂

        Reply
        • Laurie Flanigan says

          August 13, 2014 at 4:14 pm

          Thank you, Donna.

          Reply
  6. Richard Maxson says

    August 14, 2014 at 1:23 am

    Scales
    -for Uncle Jack

    A small boy, between firelight and water,
    fishes the night, a dark river bearing
    yet another version of the moon.
    Near a whiskey creek the river feeds,
    his uncle sleeps beside the boy; he dreams
    of railroads, the airy flush of the ring-neck,
    the spring of a white tail buck,
    the ending reflex. Of the boy, of himself
    he does not dream with questions,
    the feel of entrails, skins
    drawn back, the snap of bones,
    and death’s cataracts. His
    remembering is past these things,
    lodged now in the curl of his fingers.

    This is an ancient scene: a baited line
    drawn through the reflected moon
    anchored just offshore,
    a pale mote in the still of the boy’s eye,
    not a memory for the mind, but a fusion
    in his veins with the river’s long and terrible wind;
    something long lived in the blood, a fish,
    for when the whiskey creek is dry,
    and pheasants sleep undisturbed by dreams―
    the invisible armor of scales,
    a cool gaze in the white-hot center of desire,
    a ceaseless faithful motion of the heart, there
    when the fire will settle itself to embers,
    and love will become fine and rare,
    precious as breath, a gentle radiance
    against the skin, the slide along a palm
    as a trout returns to water.

    In time the mirror will return
    a parent’s nuncial reflection; the boy
    will hear the uncle dreaming again;
    the rod will bend, the line straighten through the moon;
    the river will yield its own;
    the struggle will be brief;
    in the soft, white, open belly,
    with great reverence, his fingers curl;
    scales float like stars on the water
    as the opaque moon rises on closed eyes.

    Reply
    • Laurie Flanigan says

      August 14, 2014 at 1:24 pm

      There’s so much to love about this poem, Richard. I can hear the rhythm of the river when I read it. It’s beautiful.

      Reply
    • Prasanta says

      August 16, 2014 at 11:20 pm

      This is beautiful. I love the first line, the “whiskey creek”, and so much more.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 8:04 pm

      I ditto their sentiments, Richard! 🙂

      Reply
  7. Donna says

    August 14, 2014 at 9:39 am

    I’ve left a poem on my page today – fishergirl.

    http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2014/08/fishergirl.html

    Reply
    • Laurie Flanigan says

      August 14, 2014 at 1:34 pm

      I especially like the lines ” she could/ weave a worm guaranteed to arrive in the fish’s mouth intact/ unhook the catch without wincing at blood/cast her line with a nearly inaudible whir”. I like the rhythm and the sound sense of it and the way you’ve used line breaks and spacing. Well done. 🙂

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 8:03 pm

      That’s great, Donna! Clever photo of bobbers hung in a tree– I’ve cast my fair share of lures into their clutches.

      Reply
  8. Glynn says

    August 15, 2014 at 9:44 am

    Well, I didn’t exactly look for the perfect shot. Actually, the perfect shot may have found me. And it wasn’t fishing, exactly. But it was close. http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2014/08/feeding-fish.html

    Reply
    • Donna says

      August 15, 2014 at 9:56 am

      Glynn, I’d say you had the catch of the day!!! 🙂

      Reply
    • Monica Sharman says

      August 15, 2014 at 6:04 pm

      Love it, Glynn! (And it’s at a koi pond!)

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 7:58 pm

      How sweet. I like the complementary blues and oranges. Oh, and especially those little chubby cheeks!

      Reply
  9. Monica Sharman says

    August 15, 2014 at 6:05 pm

    This photo prompt is right up my rod and reel. Seems like all I do every summer is take photos of people fishing! Here are my photos:

    https://www.flickr.com/photos/monica-sharman/sets/72157646507126575

    Reply
    • Prasanta says

      August 16, 2014 at 11:21 pm

      What a beautiful spot for fishing– gorgeous scenery.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 7:54 pm

      What beautiful scenery! Thank you for sharing these. Where did this delightful fishing expedition take place?

      Reply
  10. Monica Sharman says

    August 15, 2014 at 6:40 pm

    For the poem prompt:

    At the shore,
    holding off for one more
    to cycle home in the basket
    before it catches
    slants of rain.

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 7:51 pm

      Very nice, Monica! Slants of rain…

      Reply
  11. Robbie Pruitt says

    August 16, 2014 at 3:41 pm

    Imaginings

    End my ponderings
    Pull the line under
    Break the stillness
    Shatter the wondering
    Ripple the surface
    Stir me from bucket perch
    Bow my cane pole
    End my patient waiting
    Meet my hopes—console

    © August 15, 2014, Robbie Pruitt

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 7:50 pm

      Stirs the imagination, Robbie. Thank you!

      Reply
  12. Robbie Pruitt says

    August 16, 2014 at 3:52 pm

    Casting Illuminating Lines

    The sun casts its lines
    As rays of light
    Breaking the day
    Hoping to make a catch
    Illuminating life, time, ocean,
    Beaches, ships, mast and sail
    And one lone fisherman
    Hoping to prevail

    © August 16, 2014, Robbie Pruitt

    Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      August 17, 2014 at 7:49 pm

      Hoping to prevail… I like that.

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        August 17, 2014 at 7:52 pm

        Thank you Heather.

        Reply
  13. Robbie Pruitt says

    August 16, 2014 at 9:27 pm

    Here are the two poems with the photo on my Tumblr blog: http://robbiepruitt.tumblr.com/post/94956857010

    Reply
  14. Marcy says

    August 21, 2014 at 12:05 pm

    “A Love for Fishing”

    Fished for love,
    Threw myself into the sea.
    Sat on the bottom of the ocean
    Waited,
    No one could see me.
    Strings with hooks passed over me,
    With patience and acceptance
    Watched as every hook came by.
    Then came the little fishing boat.
    The one with piercing blue eyes.
    Accepted the hook,
    He reeled me right in.
    Love is all about a boat and a man.

    Reply

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