The Illusion © Max Foster
Goin' Fishin’
I'm going fishing down by the old bayou,
where the bass, catfish and gar are.
Hoping that I will be able to see you,
to finally snare you near or far.
Saw you once when I was in my teens,
the night was falling, birds were calling,
to roost for the night in sweet dreams.
Gators were booming, tree frogs chirping,
doves were cooing their mournful call.
And yet, there was a stillness working,
as the heat turned to mist among it all.
An ethereal landscape of cypress knees,
ghostly, dreamy images hanging in trees.
but one was a maiden about my age,
my lonely young life turned a new page.
As real as the crawdads in my cage,
I watched her undress and take a swim.
Try as I could, I couldn't engage,
paralyzed watching her like a whim.
I wanted to swim with her ever since,
she hasn't appeared all these years,
but been goin' fishin' for her hence,
like some long-lost lover in tears.
All I'm catching is crawdads and grief,
down through the years of yearning.
When the mist comes there is no relief,
I've wasted my life I'm slowly learning.
This evening when the mist arrives,
I will join her in the murky waters of rhyme.
Where I know she hides out and thrives,
I will dive in to catch her one last time.
Copyright 2022 © Ronald W. Hull
9/8/22
You can read and print this poem my website here.
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Regis (Reg) 🍁🍂🙏😎🎵
Rebecca
I hope you like it. Greetings from Spain poet friend. We keep in touch. Hugs from ClaudioSerraBrun
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YENDO A PESCAR
By Ronald W. Hull
Voy a pescar junto al viejo pantano
donde están las lubinas, los bagres y los peces gar.
Con la esperanza de poder verte
para finalmente alcanzarte de cerca o de lejos.
Te vi una vez cuando era adolescente,
la noche caía, los pájaros cantaban,
para posarse por la noche en dulces sueños.
Los caimanes resonaban, las ranas de los árboles croaban,
las palomas arrullaban su melancólica canción.
Y sin embargo, había una quietud palpitante
mientras el calor convertía en niebla todo aquello.
Un paisaje etéreo de raíces de ciprés,
imágenes de sueño, etéreas, colgadas en los árboles.
pero una de ellas era una doncella joven
mi solitaria y joven vida pasó una nueva página.
Tan real como los cangrejos de mi jaula,
la vi desnudarse y darse un baño.
Por más que lo intenté, no pude acercarme,
paralizado observándola como un ensueño.
Desde entonces quise nadar con ella,
ella no ha vuelto en todos estos años,
pero he ido a pescarla desde entonces,
como un viejo amante perdido entre lágrimas.
Todo lo que pesco son langostas y tristeza,
a través de los años de añoranza.
Cuando llega la niebla no hay alivio,
He desperdiciado mi vida, pero descubriendo poco a poco.
Esta tarde cuando la niebla llegue
me uniré a ella en las turbias aguas de la rima.
Donde sé que se esconde y florece,
me sumergiré para atraparla por última vez.
______________
Copyright 2022 © Ronald W. Hull
9/8/22
Usted puede leer e imprimir este poema mi sitio web aquí.
Sitio de Ron
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PS
Reminds me of my : Girl on the kitty-corner Stool.
Only I did meet this girl and loved this girl only to be forced apart six months later, that changed my life forever. But now seventy-two years later there is not a day that "Susan" does not enter my mind.
If we could hold onto our dreams, but, I suppose, that would make us dead.
Such is life
PS: Still trying ng to get my Woodstock Ten posted.
Mark