Bill's Poetry Page
Here are some of
my efforts at using rhyme to tell a story or express a feeling.
Click a rhyme below. Click "BACK" on your browser or Go To Top to return here.
Morning Star How Many Lives
Love's Grand Plan New
ways to say "I love you"
Fighting 52 Bonefish Serenade Macabi Lodge Abaco Angling South Andros
Our Morning Star
[One morning as I watched the morning star, Venus, fade and the sun rise up to take its place, I realized the sun is our special morning star, without which we wouldn't even exist.]
sun is just another morning star
Like many others shining from afar
It sets my mind askew to contemplate
What other beings live within this starry spate
faithful servant with its warming rays
To slay the night and light our precious days
A beacon in the blackest void of space
It cheers us and sustains our meager race
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How Many Lives
How many lives do you
think we get?
We have but one brief chance to live.
Don't let yourself age and nurse regret
While losing your time through a sieve.
Don't pile up a
single future day
On the heap of days long past.
Don't squander precious time away.
Believe me it is your last.
Whether you now are
young or old
Donít drown in your cares and woes
Treat every day like precious gold
This lesson's apropos
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LOVE'S GRAND PLAN
[When my daughter had been married for several years and had not yet produced a grandchild for us, I wrote this little plea for her to do her part in love's grand plan. She now has two fine boys and, with our other grandchildren, we now have 10!]
night in March of '65 your mom's eyes flashed that way
That made my love just spring alive. It does still to this day.
Though now it's just a hug or kiss and sometimes slightly more.
In early years we wouldn't miss a chance to let love soar.
it in such a way that fits the Lord's grand plan.
So that new life can spring from clay that's how your life began.
Conceived in love you came to us a gift from God on high.
And ever since our lives you thus enrich and magnify.
little girl with puffy sleeves to teenage miss in skirts.
Those years flew by like autumn leaves so swift it sometimes hurts.
Now that you're married to a man we know that you adore.
Your love for him may aid God's plan like ours did once before.
matter whether girl or boy you'll love it as we you.
For children bring us love and joy and sometimes heartache too.
But all in all it's worth the dare for without children can
You not contribute your fair share to love's immortal plan.
with love, Dad
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New ways to say "I love you"
[This was a little Valentine poem to my wife in 1995]
love you" sounds so trite these days
There must be other, better ways
"Ti amo" and "J't'aime" won't do
"Ich liebe Dich" is hackneyed too
I would like to be unique
And say it with a new technique
Comparing how I feel towards you
With other things that I love too
clouds that hurry 'cross the sky
Or trout that rise up to a fly
A soft and cuddly pussycat
A tailing bonefish on a flat
shooting star but briefly seen
A Christmas tree that's tall and green
Or children playing hide and seek
A gentle kiss upon my cheek
perfect drive that's straight and long
When all your friends are looking on
A golf ball falling in the cup
To put you now just one stroke up
heady smell of baking bread
A warm and comfy feather bed
The velvet taste of fine old wine
And gourmet food on which to dine
music of a rushing brook
Or curling up with a good book
Fresh coffee steaming in a mug
A belly laugh, a good warm hug
tender sounds of Gershwin tunes
The whimsy art of sandy dunes
A balmy Caribbean isle
A baby's first uncertain smile
feel of cooling summer breeze
Or sparkling frost on frozen trees
An infant's happy gurgling sound
A long-lost treasure newly found
stately buck or graceful doe
A crocus peeking through the snow
A noble oak or hemlock tree
Like you, these things are dear to me
with love, Valentine's Day - 1995
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[I couldn't find
an appropriate birthday card for my wife's 51'st birthday. So I wrote this
little ditty on a blank card that had some cute bunnies on it. This I call
cutting edge poetry.]
wonder why I took the time
here I sit and ponder words
one and fifty years to count
worry if your figure sags,
see if I can save some face
guess that what I want to say
with unwaning love, Your Husband
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The Bonefish Serenade
[This rambling tale was my very first effort at telling a story in rhyme. It was written in early 1991 after my first bonefishing trip, to Belize, with an old Army buddy of mine.]
heard these tales of southern seas, a flyrod challenge in Belize.
So with our rods and reels and hats we set off south to Turneffe Flats.
We journeyed there, my friend and I, to bask in sun and sea and sky.
To wade the flats up to our hips and taste salt spray upon our lips.
stalked the ghostly bonefish pods and shot at them with graceful rods.
Our brightly colored lines would swish out gracefully to seek the fish.
With wind there always, reef to beach, the bones seem always out of reach.
The only way to score at all is with a well-placed double haul.
strip the line with short swift tugs and feel a satisfying nudge.
Take up the slack and point the tip, don't yank too hard, you'll rip his lip.
Now raise the rod and tend the line. Don't pinch too hard or get entwined.
You've got to get him on the reel to hear that much-awaited peal.
rod raised high and steeply bent, your reel becomes his instrument.
No sweeter tune has ere been played than this the bonefish serenade.
His song is that of freedom gone and gallant efforts to live on.
A desperate struggle to survive, he'll fight 'till death to stay alive.
doesn't know you mean no harm. His every fiber screams alarm.
If only you could tell this fish that you, like he, have just one wish.
To live in freedom just like he, and shed your cares and feel you're free.
To make the most of your brief stay on God's green earth you dearly pray.
finally he comes to hand, no more of him will you demand.
Just relish his quicksilver flanks and give him much deserved thanks.
Release him now to ocean blue, for he has done his part for you.
To live your tiny slice of time and help you put it all to rhyme.
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Macabi Lodge - Los Roques Venezuela
[My fishing buddy and I are always looking for a new place to go bonefishing. In 1993 we journeyed to a small fishing village on the island of Los Roques, about 100 miles off the coast of Venezuela. We met some interesting people from around the U.S. and had lots of laughs along with good fishing and great food. This rambling rhyme is a remembrance .]
way up North the anglers came
heard of giant bonefish there
Fred and Dave and Duncan too
Boston, Mass came feisty Rick
from St. Lou did Gary come
two old rogues from way back when
last, not least, from Idaho
member of this motley crew
so each morn' the bell would ring
Alex, Walter or Josť
loaded boats with food and beer
in their Tarpon Wear
checked their crazy charlie flies
Polaroids and long-billed hats
search for any flash of tails
first it's just a ghostly trace
stealthily the anglers creep
slip around the upwind side
wind is blowing like a squall
know the angler's golden rule
finally you make the cast
kneel down low and grip the rod
feel the line get awfully tight
line gets taut, your rod bends deep
finally he's on the reel
pal, too, shouts encouragement
when at last you land your prize
not all days go just as planned
sharks and 'cudas' lurking 'round
all in all the day is great
with a final backward look
evening sitting on the sand
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Abaco Angling[In 1994, my buddy and I traveled to Abaco Island in the Bahamas in pursuit of the mighty bonefish. The accommodations were great and the bonefishing wasn't all that bad either. However, the lady who owned and ran the place (with an iron hand), was not really in tune with the needs and desires of the anglers and she usually got the lunches mixed up. I guess you had to be there to appreciate the humor in this rhyme.]
cold winter's day I decided to stop
At the International Angler shop
I was looking for fun and a warm place to go
When I heard of an island called Abaco
claimed that the Marls were all virgin ground
Where the sun always shines and dumb bonefish abound
So without too much further thought or ado
I packed up my rods and booked myself through
share in the fun an old pal of mine came
From St. Louis to share in this flyrodding game
Oh what a great venture for me and my chum
To fish the Bahamas and drink local rum
the Abaco Bonefishing Club by the sea
We were greeted by Gina with cups of Bush Tea
Our hostess was Nettie, an entrepreneur
At verbalization no mere amateur
lodge and the hotel were nearly first class
The doors had no latches, the windows no glass
No-see-ums could enter through cracks in the floor
The roaches so big came right in through the door
all of these things are of little import
When you're on a vacation it adds to the sport
The fun is enhanced when the other guests too
Can share in the fun and the humor with you
morning while eating our bacon and eggs
The insects would feast on our ankles and legs
The gang would then squeeze in to Nettie's old van
And wait while the staff all agreed on a plan
all was in order eventually
The van and the truck rattled down to the sea
With visions of bonefishing filling my head
Down the long brutal road all the fishermen sped
boats were all ready with motors and poles
To help us negotiate shallows and shoals
At high tide we sped off with nary a hitch
From the beach to the flats via Nettie's big ditch
Jimmy our guide was the best of the lot
The bonefish he found us were hefty and hot
We'd cast to the fish on the left and the right
And double our hookups to his great delight
all of our offerings the Gotcha worked best
We learned to strip-strip and then let it rest
The fish were aggressive and not at all shy
They would turn on their heels to chase after the fly
so the days went with occasional lulls
When we'd gaze at the egrets and stare at the gulls
At lunchtime we'd rest in a nice placid lee
And try to decipher Jim's brand of Cockney
ride back to port was exciting indeed
With no time to spare Jimmy poured on the speed
The punishing waves jarred our kidneys and hearts
Not to mention our rods and more sensitive parts
channel that Nettie had dug through the mud
Was fine in the morning with tide near the flood
But low tide gave not enough water to float
So we all have to get out and push in the boat
had to stop fishing just when it was prime
To get to the beach the appropriate time
But then when you got there to your great regret
The guy with the van hadn't gotten there yet
evening the anglers would sit at the bar
Conducting a bonefishing seminar
While some of them grumbled some other would mutter
"I asked for baloney and got peanut butter"
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So Gary, from St.
Louis, came. Bonefishing was his favorite game.
And Bill from Pittsburgh, his old pal said "That would surely lift morale".
They said this really sounds like fun. It's time we got a little sun.
The rum is surely good and cheap. We'll fish and swim and eat and sleep.
Two others guests
came to the lodge. A guy from Dallas known as Rog
And Carolina sent old Bill who counted fish to measure skill.
With Terrence, Don and 'Heavy' guiding and Laura evenings well presiding
The anglers got their every wish, good food, free drinks and lots of fish
On Grassy, Deep
and Little Creek the angling really was unique.
A thousand fish in frenzied flight and not a one would stop to bite.
One day when Bill and Gary kayaked 'twas clear to all the skills they lacked.
They paddled well, both to and fro but never knew which way they'd go.
Now Roger always
fished in shorts, like all cool Caribbean sports.
A self-made man, laid back and loose, he wore a red homemade burnoose.
Old Bill was nearly in his heaven. His daily mean was nine point seven.
To rise above mere mortal men, he strove to get that magic "ten".
Around the lodge
and in the boats, old Bill would tell his anecdotes.
A different yarn 'round every bend, it seemed his tales would never end.
Old Heavy with his line in hand, would wade and search across the sand.
And if a Barrie swam on past, make no mistake, it was his last.
The bait would fly
out fast and far. The fish would strike a mighty jar.
Then Heavy dragged him on the beach to smash his skull and break his teeth.
With sea and sand and fish galore and always new creeks to explore
We whiled away those happy days pursuing our dear bonefish craze.
The evenings there
were always great, with Don and Laura, his first mate.
We'd sit and talk and settle nerves while munching gobs of great hors d'oeuvres.
We came again the following year without old Bill to chew our ear.
'Twas even better than before, great fun and bonefish by the score.
But that was back
in ninety six, our last year there to get our kicks.
We didn't know 'twould be our last, to fade away into the past.
But even though we can't return, we don't just sob and long and yearn
Life's far too short to hear our cries. Too many bonefish await our flies.
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