Fishing for Myth: Poems by Heid E. Erdrich by Heid E. ErdrichBecause of my affinity for story, myth, legend, fairy tale I particularly enjoyed this collection. Because Erdrich and I share a geographical heritage I could relate to and recognize images and ideas in her poems and that is one of the pleasures of poetry. The connections.
These are the ones I liked best of all:
True Myth (p13)
Origin of Poem (p14)
Sweeping Heaven (p17)
Breaking and Entering (p18)
One Girl (p22)
The Pond (p33)
Fat in America (p35)
Sweet Short (p40)
Sex in the Desert (p41)
Short Hand (p55)
The Widows Grove (p64)
I am hope to read more of her work.
Craig Campbell - Outskirts of Heaven (Official Lyric Video)
I grew up in the state which prides itself as the land of ten thousand lakes. Many of my childhood summers included week-long stays a couple of hours north of my home with my grandparents, who owned a resort on Lake Mille Lacs, now embattled over dwindling counts of its famous walleye. My grandfather took guests out on a launch boat for fishing outings, but when my cousins and siblings and I were around, he rented a pontoon at a smaller neighboring lake that was stocked with sunnies so he could take us all out at once, without fear of one of us overzealous young fisherpersons overturning the boat. Zeal was never his greatest challenge when it came to having me on his boat; rather, the challenge was wheedling me into removing a fish from the hook, which I still say would be made easier if the fish would close its eyes and hold its breath, or at minimum, stop breathing from outside its body. In the absence of a boat, and a fish wriggling on the line, fishing poems offer a fine relaxing substitute.
God give me strength to catch a fish, So big that even I, When telling of it afterward, Have no need to lie. The line is whipped with deft finesse It sails with graceful ease Near reeds exposed, and tangled roots Just missing willowed trees. The first bite starts the tingled thrill All time is stopped in place No sound or movement, not a breath This single-focused face. A stronger tug, the pole is flicked The hook so cleanly set The game goes on with line kept tight The prize steered toward the net. The feeling of accomplishment It saturates your soul Where skill and silent patience Are the answer to the goal.
Browse through to read poems for fishing. This page has the widest range of fishing love and quotes. Read Fishing In Heaven poem.
life on earth is preparation for eternity
Funeral Poem Gone Fishing
From the river's plashy bank, Where the sedge grows green and rank, And the twisted woodbine springs, Upward speeds the morning lark To its silver cloud — and hark! On his way the woodman sings. On the dim and misty lakes Gloriously the morning breaks, And the eagle's on his cloud: — Whilst the wind, with sighing, wooes To its arms the chaste cold ooze, And the rustling reeds pipe loud. Where the embracing ivy holds Close the hoar elm in its folds, In the meadow's fenny land, And the winding river sweeps Through its shallows and still deeps, — Silent with my rod I stand. But when sultry suns are high Underneath the oak I lie As it shades the water's edge, And I mark my line, away In the wheeling eddy, play, Tangling with the river sedge. When the eye of evening looks On green woods and winding brooks, And the wind sighs o'er the lea, — Woods and streams, — I leave you then, While the shadow in the glen Lengthens by the greenwood tree.