Gutless

2 Comments

Gutless

It's hard to see the point in it!

(Perhaps it's me)

A dismal afternoon of rain,

A flask of tea.

Beside this murky river now

They sit and wait,

So statuesque and silent

Clutching tins of bait.

All week in offices they sweat

With just one wish -

For Saturday come along

So they can fish.

And now beneath the willows' fringe

They bait their hooks,

Comparing rods and reels and lines

With envious looks.

The lines that shoot from whizzing reels

Fall with a plip

And drift upon the surface

Where they bob and dip.

Till, with a jerk, a wriggling jewel

Is winched ashore

To have its bloody brains bashed out

Upon the floor.

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1LostGypsy commented on Gutless

01-04-2009

I love how descriptive this one is, and it's surprise ending seemed to take me from enchanted to startled.

Poetry is what is lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

MarcusLane’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
I Fear the Way You Love Me 1
Re-delivered 1
Scars 3
Gutless 2
Hunter's Moon 0
Sanctuary Wood 1
Haiku in the Small Hours 0
On shakespeare Cliff, Dover 3
In a Flanders War Cemetery 1
Locking Up 1
Lost 2