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The Fishing Trip

The Fishing Trip

By
Ross Dix-Peek

Oh, How I remember those fishing trips with my Dad
Ah, They made me so very, very glad
Up at three in the morn
Long before the coming of the dawn

My father assembling all his fishing tackle
So very gleeful, a laugh and a cackle
“Have you got the bait boy, ready to go? ”
“Yes, Dad”, and away we would go, all in tow

In our dear old “Landie” the rugged road was ne’er a problem
As we traversed the winding dirt tracks, and some
Ah, the window down and the wind in my hair
The smell of fresh bait a waft in the air

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poem by Ross DixPeek
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Out Of The Depths: Written After The Reformation Of A Brilliant And Talented Man

Out of the midnight, rayless and cheerless,
Into the morning's golden light;
Out of the clutches of wrong and ruin,
Into the arms of truth and right;
Out of the ways that are ways of sorrow,
Out of the paths that are paths of pain,
Yea, out of the depths has a soul arisen,
And 'one that was lost is found again.'

Lost in the sands of an awful desert,
Lost in the region of imps accursed,
With bones of victims to mark his pathway,
And burning lava to quench his thirst;
Lost in the darkness, astray in the shadows;
Father above, do we pray in vain?
Hark! on the winds come gleeful tidings,
Lo! he was lost, but is found again.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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An Epilogue to a Prologue

A nest of intricate design
A piece of art unmatched in decor
Amid the verdurous darkness
Of needle like leaves
The gay habitat of a swallow and her brood.

How suddenly it erupts into a clatter of sounds,
As the mother bird comes diving in
With a wee bit of a wriggling worm
Discreetly borne in her tiny beak.

Thrusting it into the gaping mouths
She departs and comes again
And again comes with something
A whirring insect or a twisting thing.
Nothing can appease her ravenous horde
And on she goes ferreting about.

At night fall she alights abrupt
From what infinite heights, God alone knows

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poem by Valsa George
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The Sea is a Salty Road

Come with me to Calico Beach
Where Peppy Creek runs down to the sea,
Where squawking flocking seagulls screech
And powerful pompous pelicans preach:

For the sea is a salty road, oh yes!
The sea is a salty road.

There's a tangerine sun over Calico Beach
Where walloping waves strike snaggletoothed cliffs,
Where gadabout gulls get about all day
And tangled spangled seaweed drifts,

And the sea is a salty road, oh yes!
The sea is a salty road.

We shall roost on a rock that the tides cannot reach
While a prominent porpoise delivers a speech
About chasing the tuna and hunting the squid
Whose inky secretions keep her well hid.

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poem by Norm Milstein
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Dead Leaves

DAWN

As though a gipsy maiden with dim look,
Sat crooning by the roadside of the year,
So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here
To read dark fortunes for us from the book
Of fate; thou flingest in the crinkled brook
The trembling maple's gold, and frosty-clear
Thy mocking laughter thrills the atmosphere,
And drifting on its current calls the rook
To other lands. As one who wades, alone,
Deep in the dusk, and hears the minor talk
Of distant melody, and finds the tone,
In some wierd way compelling him to stalk
The paths of childhood over,--so I moan,
And like a troubled sleeper, groping, walk.

DUSK

The frightened herds of clouds across the sky

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Strippers

If there is one thing that every man must love,
Would be to dance the dance of keebler elves,
The horizontal mambo with you and her and maybe three,
Maybe if paid enough you’ll be a friend to me,
I dressed my best and tied my little power tie,
And simply splashed on that cologne with smile,
Oh sweet Candy I swear that I will be,
The best you’ve ever had in time you’ll come to see,
When I’m done you’ve begun to sleep so peacefully,
Now this is all that I could hope, you dance erotically,
You seduce and play these games and tease me desperately,
I swear to you if I was thirty-two instead of sixty-three,
Your world I’d rock with just one knock upon your bedroom door,
Just to make sure I think I’ll cure this aching heart of yours,
With this pill I will be dill and fill your oven full,
With this loaf of old limp bread,
Like new and full shall it ever be,
Pop one and two, I should be good for hours full and long,
Your screaming moans are all that I could ever want,
Now in the hall I stand and face your door,

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poem by Joseph Skytta
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Krystallnacht 1938

I fear the sound of booted feet.
They inspire painful memories
though fragmented and incomplete
I can recall so vividly

The sound of breaking glass and boots.
I was too young to understand
the screaming jeers and gleeful hoots.
As storm troopers took full command

and attacked Jewish properties.
Without restraint from anyone
protestors beaten to their knees.
All semblance of the law had gone.

November nineteen thirty eight
The Nazis had proscribed the Jews
the ninth a night of spite and hate.
Who lost all that they had to lose..

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Externalism

The Greatest Writer of to-day
(With Maupassant I almost set him)
Said to me in a weary way,
The last occasion that I met him:
"Old chap, this world is more and more
Becoming bourgeois, blasé, blousy:
Thank God I've lived so long before
It got so definitely lousy."

Said I: "Old chap, I don't agree.
Why should one so dispraise the present?
For gainful guys like you and me,
It still can be extremely pleasant.
Have we not Women, Wine and Song -
A gleeful trio to my thinking;
So blithely we can get along
With laughing, loving, eating, drinking."

Said he: "Dear Boy, it may be so,
But I'm fed up with war and worry;

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poem by Robert William Service
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Blind Faith

On the TV, the medium for their charity,
Not a hair out of place, smug face.
Through them they say 'God loves beams, ' follow him to fulfill our dreams.
The lord loves us all, let's us prepare for the final call.
Your place will be guaranteed; from decadence and the Devil you'll be freed.

Reaching out from the screen, concealing their scheme.
Help build the temples and plan, against the forces of Satan.
Preaching the Lords glory, which needs your faith and money.
Give all you can afford, for Jesus and the lord.
There's one thing for sure, our love and money will banish Lucifer.
Send a little money or more,
Remember ‘Beelzebub' will do his worse against the young, old, rich or poor'
Forward your cheques, ‘your place will be booked', you'll have no regrets'!

Yes generously donate, before it's ‘too late'
Repent your sins, he says with gleeful grins!
Recall the good book, only the good ones will be took...
When judgment day comes around, and Jesus once again descends down.
The prelude to salvation, before eternal damnation.

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poem by Guy Lipmore
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The Burial in the Snow

How well do I remember
Of a burial in the snow,
On a winter's evening
Some fifteen years ago;
The ground was covered over
With the beautiful crystal snow,
And it glistened in the moonlight,
Like diamonds all aglow.

It was a pleasant evening,
That merry Christmas eve;
And I never can forget, how
The frost hung on the tree.
The moon was shining clearly,
And the sleigh-bells rang so sweet;
Ah, it was splendid sleighing,
The snow was two feet deep.

My grandparents were living
Some two miles then away,

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poem by Julia A Moore
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