Dad’s Last Fishing Trip—Quatrain

Two men sat stone slope at water’s edge

Talking old ideas they once had held

Trying to fish the shade under falling bridge.

The pond in line like a planted field.

***

A quatrain is a four-line poem. This one is rhymed abab and written in a very loose iambic pentameter.

In the Cold Ocean Air

Standing in the cold ocean air            Watching the boat come to dock

Water lapping under foot                    Fishing pole and tackle in hand

Falling in with the engine’s thrum     Before the first light of day.

October Poem 44: Two Revisions of a Poem From Last Month

In these two revisions I tried to work with rhyme. In version #1, I added rhymes to the end of the lines, and in version #2, I added rhymes inside of the lines. Both versions follow the ABABCDCDEFEFGG rhyme scheme.

Version #2 has much more subtle rhymes because they are not where you expect them, but version #1 makes use of some slant rhymes (words that almost rhyme), so its rhymes are not all that blatant either.  I am not sure which of the two versions I like better.

Which one do you like better?

If you want to compare these two versions to the original, you can follow this link:  https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2017/09/14/september-poem-25-the-words-spoken-rocking-on-the-water/

 

#1: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water

 

Two fishermen anchored deep and boating

Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub land,

Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking

New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And

Great many anglers. Allies puffing through

Just lit one idea and lit another.

The light edges to end one subject. To

Start another. To find no one other

Extreme at study from search and use of

The poles and hooks and tackle and what all.

Of drifting fish, dreaming in among the

Floating ice that keeps them. Bumping the walls

And breathing in the liquid air they rend

Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.

 

#2: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water

 

Two fishermen anchored in a tin boat

Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub brush,

Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking

New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And

Great many anglers. Allies puffing herbs

Just lit one idea and lit another.

The light replies to end one subject. To

Start another. To find no in-between.

Extreme at study from search of catfish.

The poles and hooks and tackle and bucket

Of drifting fish. And dream in among the

Tickle of ice floating. Bumping the walls

And breathing in the liquid air like smoke

Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.

September Poem 25: The Words Spoken Rocking on the Water

Two fishermen anchored in a tin boat

Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub brush,

Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking

New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And

Great many anglers. Allies puffing herbs

Just lit one idea and lit another.

The light edges to end one subject. To

Start another. To find no in-between.

Extreme at study from search of catfish.

The poles and hooks and tackle and bucket

Of drifting fish. Dreaming in among the

Floating ice that keeps them. Bumping the walls

And breathing in the liquid air like smoke

Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.

September Poem 22: Proper Catfish Pie

Greg Polan, who talks to invisible

People, doodles pictures pushed out of stream

Banks flooded where high waters have peril,

Even the pearl itself. Several people

Have reported, those asked to prepare smart

Sonic for the putter. Should you prepare

To keep things especially important.

Hearing aging Plymouths or Ramblers and

Stretched trot lines prim on banks and hooks. All things

Pedestrian to be sure, unlike prime

Photon people near time and weather. And

Proper people peering preciously on

Into surreal Holly Springs skeleton

Rebuild. Beautiful proper catfish pie.

September Poem 18: In the Southern September

He added little the September things

Quiet walk has told me make following

Visiting with unusual silver.

So when I am seeing southern things like

Fire rights collapsed. Eye and the purpled

Half of homemade sausage, and native plants.

Spring fishing, bacon, and eggs are what you

Think. He metered and was guided fresh from

A chicken coop on the nature trails. You

Be slappin’ yo’ mama in with screen ghosts.

Red ear or red belly. Sidles your wife

Before you beat her. The pool, it may seem.

You stayed hard against tradition and in

Simplicity you canceled the bream trip.