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peninsula
by Glenn CurrierThat rocky thumb
juts from land to lake,
wet with enough promise
to unsleeve children
from nearby sleeping bags
and extract old men
from the predawn
sleep next to their wives
who barely stir
at the clink of belt buckles
and the woosh of blue jeans
going up bony legs.
Pickups rumble to a stop
doors complain and bang
tackle clatters
boots crackle gravel
and these dreamers
are hooked for three hours
by the random reinforcement
and dictatorship
of white bass. 05/21/2004 Author's Note: Written during a two week campout near my favorite lake in Texas.
Posted on 05/21/2004
Copyright © 2024 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Anne Engelen on 05/21/04 at 06:01 PM so easily to place oneself at the scene! most enjoyable! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/21/04 at 07:34 PM Lively and worthy companion piece for your other recent posting Glenn. |
| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 05/22/04 at 06:13 PM poems written from personal, actual events always stir me... like looking at a photograph of a dear friend... thank you for the snap-shot, glenn... blessings... |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 05/25/04 at 05:42 AM Yes excellent word picture Glenn....Charlie |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 05/25/04 at 04:48 PM The allure and the call of the white bass... this poem takes me back to my father and our fishing trips. Great read that brings back the past. |
| Posted by David R Spellman on 05/26/04 at 10:23 PM An excellent look at the early morning activities leading to the waters edge in search for the elusive catch. Great snapshot Glenn! |
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