by Ron Rash Water-flesh gleamed like mica: orange fins, red flankspots, a char shy as ginseng, found only in spring-flow gaps, the thin clear of faraway creeks no map could name. My cousin showed me those hidden places. I loved how we found them, the way we followed no trail, just stream-sound tangled in rhododendron, to where slow water opened a hole to slip a line in, and lift as...
To a Trout of the Brook
by Peter Pindar Why flyest thou away with fear? Trust me there’s nought of danger near; I have no wicked hooke, All covered with a snaring bait, Alas! to tempt thee to thy fate, And drag thee from thy brook. Oh, harmless tenant of the flood, I do not wish to spill thy blood; For nature unto thee Perchance hath given a tender wife, And children dear, to charm thy life, As she...
by John Montague for Barrie Cooke Flat on the bank I parted Rushes to ease my hands In the water without a ripple And tilt them slowly downstream To where he lay, tendril-light, In his fluid sensual dream. Bodiless lord of creation, I hung briefly above him Savouring my own absence, Senses expanding in the slow Motion, the photographic calm That grows before action. As...
Fishing By Moonlight
by Jim Yaussy Albright The lake was waiting for me, though I was very late. A bright trout came to the fly, went back in the water taking all the light with him. The moon brushed out of the pines, cast its glow on the lake. I drifted, fly drifted through the silver-blue night. A silver trout pulled on the fly, let go. “Bestir yourself; time to be on your way.” The moon...
by Amy Lowell Naughty little speckled trout, Can’t I coax you to come out? Is it such great fun to play In the water every day? Do you pull the Naiads’ hair Hiding in the lilies there? Do you hunt for fishes’ eggs, Or watch tadpoles grow their legs? Do the little trouts have school In some deep sun-glinted pool, And in recess play at tag Round that bed of purple flag? I have...
The Drunken Fisherman
by Robert Lowell Wallowing in this bloody sty, I cast for fish that pleased my eye (Truly Jehovah’s bow suspends No pots of gold to weight its ends); Only the blood-mouthed rainbow trout Rose to my bait. They flopped about My canvas creel until the moth Corrupted its unstable cloth. A calendar to tell the day; A handkerchief to wave away The gnats; a couch unstuffed with storm Pouching...
Intimations of Mortality
by Jim Yaussy Albright A late August evening on the lake. All seems calm, but everything is hurtling at breakneck speed through time and space. Each day dies a little more; each coming of summer dark presages the impending onset of the season of darkness. The trout know, and rush to intercept the swirling fragments of life that will stave off starvation in the ice time. They fight the...