The Angler


The morning mist sits softly,

on the pond, outside my door,

while the angler, glides in silence,

with the dipping, of each oar,

slowly, yet with purpose,

to that spot, along the shore,

where, he had been denied,

the trophy catch, before.


Excitement builds, anew within,

thinking always, that today,

that monster, will be mine,

he cannot hide forever,

that specimen, so fine,

it comes to him, in visions,

so clear, and well defined.


An hour passed, and I should go,

yet, I sit and stay,

to watch him cast, his line again,

and then, take out the play,

and as I watch, I wonder,

and to myself, I say,

just what, or who, was hooked,

the day, the big one, got away.



Jack Downing

May 2009



About poemsandponderings

Hearth and Health are wonderful things and if you're without either such sorrow that brings So I cannot express enough thanks to my Lord and to my family and friends for the support you afford! ~Jack Downing~
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2 Responses to The Angler

  1. Gregg says:

    is this poem about me? Actually, i think you wrote that from our sudbury house.
    nice work with the blog!

  2. you are correct sir it was inspired by the sudbury home and your passion for the art of angling. see you soon

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