poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “rainbow trout”

catch and release with daughter

it didn’t take her long to independently
cast her own line
and before you knew it
we were frequenting cold water streams
hundreds of miles from home

there must be a good spot here
I can feel it she told me
her eyes darting constantly
as we meandered against the flow
pausing when spotting rainbow trout
well within sight
motionless & suspended above the bed
in groups from three to seven

these will never bite she said
but we’re bound to find a cool pool up ahead
and so reeled back in
advancing further toward the inevitable

october two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

catch and release

the weather turned midday
as a warmish sun gave way
to coldish clouds and variable winds

nearly knee deep in blackish
rainbow trout suddenly start
striking at mini-jigs

hand and eye react instinctively
despite scattered thoughts
racing past
slippery rocks in river bed

patience is like an acquired taste
(you tell yourself)
best served in solitary confines

the cool waters gradually
drop in temperature
yet you continue to wade
further away
dead set on an eddying pool
silently calling your name

november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

catch and release

standing in the cloudless water
filled with rocks and sediment
and good vibrations
i cast my line
at a buffeted white boulder
shadowing a four foot pool

i pull and pause the jig with imprecise
rhythm along the creek bed
darting to the left
and to the right
jerking and sliding at my command
like a puppeteer playing the part

i bring home the jig and recast
at the same target as before
one eye focused
on the motion
the other at the rainbow trout
dormant and disinterested

over time my mind wanders
as the jig continues the routine
teasing its nemesis
with its tastiness
destined to vanish into the dark
and revive me from my trance

september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Little Mill

We used to get in the car and drive Northeast
to Bellevue in Jackson County,
to a place where prehistoric Woodland Indians once roamed;
where Blackhawk himself used to call home.

Nearing the outskirts of town we wended along
the side of a hill on a gravel road,
the valley below offering pastures and wild fields
in between the meandering Little Mill.

We always ventured all the way into town first
to the Mississippi River,
where Dad would fill up with gas and buy donuts,
live bait, and a pack of cigarettes.

It was then we would run across the busy street
to the green steel fence rail,
look out over the Mighty Mississippi, count the sails
dotted up and down the river.

There was plenty of fish to catch in the river
Dad always pontificated,
but Little Mill offered what the Mississippi could not:
Rainbow Trout and isolation.

may two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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