Wounded.

Black bullet hole wound
blooms red November petals.
Blood and remembrance.

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Breaching the surface
largemouth jumps up to see if...
It can hold its breath.

The pregnant fishes
lounge upon the riverbed
waiting to give birth.

Dancing smallmouth bass
pirouettes around boat
looking for handouts.

Learning never ends!
For even the fish will stay...
Forever in school.

Protective coating:
Slimy perspective to us;
Life saving to them.

 
Author...

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Hasta la pasta?
Annoying filament knots
of spaghetti spools.

The squeals of delight
flow from all fishing children
with uncontained joy.

Sounds of spinning spools
always brings me much comfort,
for I'm not at work.

Floating down the stream?
Not a dream, after dropping...
A bag of bobbers.

In early morning
anxious fish are awaiting
the autumn school bells.

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Lures, flies and spinners
provide variety for
multiple techniques.

Casting carefree lines
the sportsmen and women look...
For fishy hook-ups.

Moonlight over pines -
Adds a touch of elegance
to nighttime fishing.

Daytime sea trollers
combine leisure travel
and hands-free fishing.

The ignorant fish -
Unaware of keepers of...
Life's aquarium.

 
Author Note:

L...

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Cool flowing waters
cater me with plenty of...
Aquatic playmates.

Smallmouth and largemouth -
Either kind acceptable,
if they are landed.

Get them in the boat!
Fishing stories without proof
are just plain-faced lies.

Imitating bugs?
Fishing is an art form of...
Posing as insects.

The splashing fishes
are vying for attention
during school's recess.

...

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A bird soared freely

Above the sunflower fields

Until the gun fired

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Five years and nine months

Can you tell what it is yet?

It's not long enough

So whilst on 'A' Wing

Bend down to pick up your soap

Whilst in the shower

No 'Two Little Boys'

Just 'Jake the Peg's middle leg

Summary justice

A didgery-doo

Try your Kangaroo court sport

It's coming to you

Then why no remorse?

Banged up at portrait's pleasure

L...

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Practice missed perfect.
Fat lady forgot to sing.
Doctor caught the flu.

Writers are rebels.
They forever cross the line.
T'hell with haikus.

This is poetry.
Not exactly an exam.
Simply a word fest.

Seven syllables
Neatly sandwiched between five?
Great, my pen can rest.

© Candice Reineke 2013

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I'm not a hero

Want a simple quiet life

No hero lives here

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I don't have a job

But if I did I would quit

And write poetry

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Passchendaele (Autumn 1917)

Blind, wide open, eyes.
Dripping poppy petal tears.
Crimson rivers flow.

Fields transformed to mud.
Deep cut trenches scar the earth.
Wounds that will not heal.

Gas clouds drift from hell.
Death exhaled in fetid breath.
Lost boys fall like flies.

Ghosts haunt no mans land
searching for their bitter souls
in butchered bodies.

Finding empty shells,
...

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The

Sounds

Of

The

Sea

Stand

On

The

Cliff

Listening

Lovely

And

Peaceful

This is my haiku.

Stretched out of cousre

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Haiku

Well, tomorrow is
The only day in a year
Without mistakes.

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