CALL ME ISHMAEL

My alias precedes me,
even if my history doesn’t.
A Nantucket sailor on a whaler?
Not absurd though it sounds as if I’ve been around;
from classroom to classless seafarer, dare I
step away sight unseen from the Merchant Marine?
A man obsessed and depressed in Manhattan,
following death as she follows me.
Ahab’s Pequod offers refuge in this centrifuge
chasing the great white; following death as she follows me.
Narrator, philosopher, sometimes poet. You know it
isn’t easy when you’re among only men adrift at sea.
Let me introduce myself. I am Ishmael. Call me.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 9: Call Me ____

FISHERMAN

(A Kenning poem)

Bottom Feeder eater,
Real reeler,
Nibble feeler,
Worm impaler,
Trolling sailor,
Fast caster,
Bass master,
Fly tier,
Rod for hire,
length liar
One hip-wader,
Master baiter,
Net getter,
Nothing better.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #20: “Kenning Poem”

OFF THE HOOK

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Earl was a weird guy, he never did fit in. He was a fish out of water as far as life was concerned. He learned what he needed to succeed, but indeed he was on his own. It was the way he lived. It was the way that he died. Flopping around on the grass like a trout, he went out hook, line and sinker. Death lured him home.

On the grass, Earl left
leaving his family bereft,
fodder for the worms.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Written for MIZ QUICKLY’S IMPROMPTU POETRY – Day 27 – Alt
Shorpy Images

CHAMPION ANGLER (MASTER BAITER)

He walks by night
flashlight at the ready,
he holds it steady
to keep his prey at bay.
Creepily, he slinks; fisher by day,
and by the way, he’s good at his craft.
You’d have to be daft
to walk in the shadows
of the dark moist night,
they’re right under foot
as night owls hoot, and they scoot.
Creepily, they slink, earthbound
and round, for now off the hook.
But as the day breaks
he’s got what it takes,
and anglers, they wait;
they always take the bait.
Just the earthworms he’s chosen.
Two bucks for a dozen.