Many of my most memorable moments are of mornings spent at a remote beach alone with a fishing rod. These are some thoughts on tropical mornings and on life and death struggles.
A morning sea like fractured glass,
silver in the first moments
of a rising sun
lapping softly at the crusts
of a sandy beach, deserted by all
but one
A fisherman, a weathered face
eyes straining to see the thin clear line
stretching taut across a breakerless surf
whistling as the soft breeze passes
vanishing into a world below
Beneath the surface, a beach less abandoned
teaming with silent life
radiant with tropical color
All, like the fisherman,
searching for nothing more
than the morning’s sustenance
A bamboo rod, tall and defiant
arches now to a familiar challenge
while the tattered reel screams and
grudgingly releases its precious
holdings to...
A creature struggling to live
but doomed to perish
in a world it does not know exists
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(c) 1999 Fred Hobbs Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
Fred is one of my favorite people in the world. I feel blessed to have known him and thank God he exists. It would only stand to reason that I also appreciate his poetry, which, naturally, is as quietly beautiful as he is.
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