Fly-fishing Poem

The first four lines where written by maybe the greatest poet of all time: Anon.  I added the rest.  God, Anon. had so many styles.  My favorite poet along with Rihaku and Ezra Pound.


for Greg Marston and Ben Taylor and Stan Walker


An eagle soars in a cloudless sky,

The lake shores echo the loon’s wild cry,

The deer drink deep and their white flags flash,

And the squaretails rise on the Allagash.


With caddis tied during winter’s cold,

As waders reach the icy water’s hold,

To bring to net the river’s pride,

No word spoken, stray thoughts aside.

Across the rocks the rapids madly swirl,

So gently offer, let the line unfurl,

Now rollcast over, slack abate,

That sudden strike of solid weight,

Remembered tug in swift reaction,

Bent bamboo tip stems the action,

But wait, the prey’s not ready yet,

So joust some more before the net.


The pan is cleaned and scrubbed with sand,

In the fire’s shadowed grassy strand,

An age-old tale, an age-old prize,

On the Allagash, where the squaretails rise.