Writing is Like Fishing, Which is Like Love

The waves keep coming and going. Cormorants and terns. Too many to make a moment of. A heron steps like a feathered model from one pose to the next. A white boat tiny in the distance. I’m looking observant but not seeing much. Can’t smell a thing. Feel the sun sliding down my back, my head poking into dusk. I wait until dark hoping something will sneak up on me.

                      moonlight all the fish lost at sea

Published by

Bob Lucky

Bob Lucky lives in Portugal. His work has appeared and is forthcoming in various journals including Modern Haiku, tinywords, Rattle, MacQueen?s Quarterly, Presence, The Haibun Journal, and others. He's the author of Ethiopian Time (Red Bird Chapbooks), Conversation Starters in a Language No One Speaks (SurVision Books), My Theology (Cyberwit) and What I Say to You (proletariat.org).

5 thoughts on “”

  3. 'Writing is Like Fishing Which is Like Love' … Yes … the whole piece is a great analogy.

    a gust of wind
    whirs across water
    the heron's wings

    Reply

  5. So rich, the writing. "Feel the sun sliding down my back, my head poking into dusk". And then the dark and with the "moonlight all the fish lost at sea"

    Brought back memories of The Old Man and the Sea.

    Reply

Respond here