Adrian's poems 3

What have I done wrong? Adrian has just handed me three pages of A4 full of poetry to add to his poetry corner and my mother has just handed me a bag full of quinces, that she very kindly picked off the tree, and asked me to cook them up, apparently they liked the 'quince mush pie' from the other day (see previous post). I'm not going through all that again - maybe quince crumble this time with some stewed quinces on the side to go in the freezer along with the stewed plums, stewed apples and stewed peaches.

I Remember

I watch the seagulls way up high
On the wind they gently fly
Down below, is that a fish they spy
Probably just a chip from a passerby

The harbour sign says don't feed the birds
I know one of them is in the herds
Of people walking, milling around the shops
It must be summertime, out come the flip flops

Walk on past the Golden Hind
A scale model of the real kind
Of boat that sailed long ago
It's so small, how could they all live below
Inside it's tiny, really small
But outside the masts were pretty tall

I've seen it before and walk on by
My rod in hand hoping to try
To land the big one, take home and fry
I walk to the breakwater, tide is high
The sun beating down from the sky

It's a hot one today, I'll need my cap
Fished here so often, don't need a map
I think I know every inch of Brixham
The men with their nets trying to fix 'em

We'd sit there with our lardy cake
The flask of coffee my mum would make
But something's really wrong this day
On my own, someome special's far away

But they're never coming back
When fishing we'd always have a crack
It's just like he's still with me you know
Hey son, more lardy cake, can't say no
To my Dad, I miss him so


Fishing

Sometimes I'd go fishing hoping to catch
A nice flat cod or even a batch
Of lovely things to take back home
All dressed in red, I'm like the garden gnome
But I'd still go whether rain or snow
Winter fishing is so cold you know

The bait was expensive, but I'd have to pay
To give me a chance of cod that day
To see my rod go nod, nod, nod
Could it be, could it be cod
The rod bent over in I struck
A pull on the other end said I'm in luck
Once on land a sigh of relief
But I always had the belief
That I would land that winter cod
With my favourite lucky rod

Once I'm home all warm and dry
In my bag, expectant eyes would pry
To see if I had caught that day
'It was worth the cold' my wife would say

I still remember when
My dad first took me fishing then
It's sometime in the summertime
I'd got a new rod and it's mine
He showed me how to bait a hook
Cast the rod, sit back and look
At the end of that rod, float or line
Sitting, wishing for a sign

Those fish sat looking at my bait
But those early days I could not wait
To reel it in and see if I
Had caught my first fish, but bait still dry
'Oh well, maybe next time' my dad would say
Remember son there's always another day

There's more to come, but I'm having a break....