hunting fishing and my truck poems

June 9, 2011
Fishing Poem

So there I was in my boat
Not a care in the world when I’m here
Casting my reel
And jigging it back,
Across the placid water top
With the peaceful calm air
A break in the water begins
The fight is on
And so was the fish
The fight went on for hours
And the fish was loosing this battle
As I got the net out and lifted the rod tip
I saw a monster of a fish surface
As my net man went to net him
The fish had more fight in him
And with a crack of the pole
The pole was broken
As well was the line
But that’s fishing


Hunting Poem

I take the gun off the gun rack
I pick the thirty thirty
Grab my hunting pack
And get into my muck boots
Go from stealthy me
To clunky bulky winter clothes
Stumble around my stand to find it
But then climb in it
I sit in waitin on a deer
And as I start to drift off
I wake to the feeling of falling
But catch myself
The sound of gunshots get my attention
I grab my rifle and get ready to shoot
I see these brown dots cross my path
As I get her in my crosshairs
I see the marker pole for the neighbors land
Another blink and they were gone


My Truck Poem

My truck is my wheels
It is dented and rusty but trusty
Although the wheel wobbles
The truck still runs
And the pipes stay popping
It gets me from a to b
Although it is not always pretty
It takes me to my date
And makes sure they aren’t home too late
I got the truck from grandpa
And he like to make jokes
It is filled with lights
And it shifts through all gears
it helps me haul my boat
And it also helps carry my hunting equipment
It takes me through deep ruts
And it pulls my friends out when they are stuck
Gosh darn I love my truck





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