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In Honor Of The Game

Updated on October 31, 2015

Cold comes to greet, the surface of my river

It's anxious breath rising up to find the air

hovering, waiting, longing for affair

with a sun that comes to meet it there


The quiet, tunes my ear to the music in the water

falling in tones of trickling and echoes of a dripping

cascading stones without discretion, sliding, slipping

along the thirsty banks which seem forever, sipping


I've come to meet the water, to lure from sunken lair

fish that hide themselves, beneath the morning glare

the light reveals my hope on a tiny feathered snare

while river tries to keep from me, fish entrusted to her care


Sail the line, float the air, tiny deception that I dress

Gently, softly, a delicate fall, coming quietly to a rest

seduction whispers at the top, twitching a request

floating my deceit, on the wings of a decorated guest


My eyes follow the treachery of wings disguised as sleep

and a flash emerges from below, wings swallowed by a leap

I feel the rage of fight, exploding from the deep

Firm against my hope, but it does not break my keep


It erupts the wet with furry, from hold that does not tear

Hurls itself against the deep, with want to shake the snare

It tears the surface of the water, it's anger catapults the air

It does not choose surrender, but exhaustion leaves him there


I kneel in reverence to his life, in honor to a game

slip the hook from thirsty lip and send him as he came

I watch him take the river, there is neither count nor blame

for life I held, for the life I met and life I did not claim.






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    • profile image

      Helpful Hanna 6 years ago

      This is amazing!

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      Thanks so much for dropping in and comments are coveted.

    • maven101 profile image

      maven101 6 years ago from Northern Arizona

      Catch and release...with how many loves have we done such...My Mebs fly awaits...Thank you for this atmospheric video-poem...The rapid flow kept up with the rivers current and gave strength to the life plucked from the depths...Voted up and awesome...Larry

    • profile image

      arb 6 years ago

      Larry, Good day my friend! Your comments always leave a smile that decorates my effort. Thank you.

    • Genna East profile image

      Genna East 6 years ago from Massachusetts, USA

      This took my breath away. Just superb.

      "Gently, softly, a delicate fall coming quietly to a rest

      seduction whispers at the top, twitching a request

      floating my deceit, on wings of a decorated guest..."

      I truly love this.

    • b. Malin profile image

      b. Malin 6 years ago

      That was such a Beautiful read Arb...and the Fish got to survive...and go on with his life for at least another day. Have to agree with Maven101...Voted up and awesome!

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      Genna East! I love poetry. I love fly fishing. I have always wanted to introduce them to each other. Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words. I adore your poetry and it warms me that you have enjoyed, one of mine. Be well.

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      Good Morning b. Thank you for reading. I am so thrilled that women are enjoying my tribute to fishing!

    • Nellieanna profile image

      Nellieanna Hay 6 years ago from TEXAS

      My George would have loved this, arb. He also loved both fly fishing and poetry, but I am sure he never enjoyed them together. I loved to go to the lake with him and sometimes cast, but mostly I enjoyed the ambience of it early or later in the day, having along my sketch pad $ writing gear for when an inspiration overtook me, which it was sure to do.

      When he could no longer go to the water, he cast his line out in the yard & sometimes gathered an audience of youngsters eager to learn about it. There were - still are - always fishing & golfing gear in the kitchen corner, at the ready. Truly passions of his life. He loved ultra-light line, poles and attitude for fishing. Always ~ catch and release.

      This is truly a labor of love and a love of that pleasant labor which is fly fishing! Voting up - and all the appropriate words of praise! It is simply beautiful.

    • profile image

      arb 6 years ago

      Hi Nellianna, I'm so glad that you appreciated this write. It is something I've wanted to do for a while and I enjoyed writing it. I do value your comments. Thank you and be well! :)

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      BTW Nellianna, I've never met a man who loved fly fishing that I didn't like immediately and time never did alter that find! Interesting. Perhaps a new barometer!

    • profile image

      alastar packer 6 years ago

      Wonderful melding of the art of fly fishing and the creativity of poetry! what a gift you posses arb.

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      Alastar! thank you for the kind words. One of mutual admiration!

    • Nellieanna profile image

      Nellieanna Hay 6 years ago from TEXAS

      You and George would have liked each other, I'm sure of it.

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      I too,am sure of it! :)

    • saddlerider1 profile image

      saddlerider1 6 years ago

      What a captivating work of artistry. I felt present watching from the shore as you shared the fly with comrades from the waters deep. Engulfed in each others admiration of the chase, catch and final release.

      Unhooked from the hook his lip thanks thee as you gently set him back into the waters glare reflecting back your smile and thankfulness to God for one more fly and one more day at waters edge.

      Absolutely beautiful, thank you for sharing this brilliant work.

    • arb profile image
      Author

      arb 6 years ago from oregon

      Hello saddlerider and thank you for, so kind a review. There is a certain reverence which we extract from the wild and of the things which live there. I think it is a reverence that inhabits every poet, in that, we are kindred spirits. Be well!

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