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.


On life’s lake languid,
lost in contemplative moments
of nature’s whispers and the ripple
stirred by each minuscule motion.
No nibble besets his anticipation,
but visions of a soul dancing freely
upon every sun glinted wave,
show the change inherent in each
breath of a restless and longing heart.
Nothing else matters. A bad day fishing
Is the best good day life offers.
The line stretches taut as
serenity soars. A fisherman,
lost in the moment.