Memories of Martin Creek

[Poppy]

Memories of Martin Creek

We would access it at
the highway bridge. Pull
the truck over and strip to
shorts to wade it wet.
The cool water held the naturals
behind small boulders, undercuts
and under the green lily pads.
It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be one with the fish.
Stealthily one had to be, moving
slowly to the shadowed banks.
Casting line to likely places made
especially for sneaky pete’s.
The stream so clear, you saw
the prey, then the take. Happily
we would try again and be
rewarded with the same.

I said memories,

these are of old.
Now the place is not like it was.
Its silty, likely toxic, turbid, and
trashy. I feel like the old Indian
on the hill with the tear. See
what man has done.

[ampoule]

I never ever wanted to make that old Indian cry so I NEVER littered. Now I see people throw what could amount to small trash bags out their windows while driving. I wish I had a litter siren. I would get them.

Thank you for sharing your beautiful memory.

[motherhubbard]

Pop, I think that is your best one yet

[CdnReader]

The turnabout between stanzas took me completely by surprise, Poppy. Very well done indeed.

[Pendragon]

I feel like the old Indian
on the hill with the tear. See
what man has done.

Powerful ending to a very nice poem. Definately NOT drivel, Poppy!

Very large tract of this county cannot be used in my lifetime, and I don't know when it can be used again. It was a National EPA cleanup area, where the Olin Corp. in Saltville had its waste ponds and things. Mercury poisoning, among other things. Miles of river-front property and thousands of jobs lost when the company went down for refual to comply with government inspections. Sad, beautiful land, but as you say "See what man has done."

Pen

[Virgil]

I really love the first stanza:

We would access it at
the highway bridge. Pull
the truck over and strip to
shorts to wade it wet.
The cool water held the naturals
behind small boulders, undercuts
and under the green lily pads.
It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be one with the fish.
Stealthily one had to be, moving
slowly to the shadowed banks.
Casting line to likely places made
especially for sneaky pete’s.
The stream so clear, you saw
the prey, then the take. Happily
we would try again and be
rewarded with the same.

Very intense and very tangible. Slight criticism here "to be one with the fish," a good line (don't get me wrong) but I see the phrasing "to be one" with lots of things so often that it's if not cliche certainly not original. I do especially love the sentence leading up to it:

It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be one with the fish.

Something about the rhythm of that sounds so good. If you can adjust the last bit about being "one" I think it would be excellent.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I see the phrasing "to be one" with lots of things so often that it's if not cliche certainly not original.

Before I get on to how deeply I love Poopy's poem (he's adopted that variation so I'll presume to use it unless he objects) but as a general rule I don't condemn cliches as much as some do. The measure for me is whether the poet presents it as if it were meant to carry the weight of something original, or she uses it as a comfy part of everyday speech. I'd love to write a poem one day in which I speak of it "raining cats and dogs..."

Now, as for Poopy's latest: I relished the strong active verbs throughout and the provision of so many particulars, things one could not doubt that he had touched or seen or smelled.

Bravo, Poopy, may you poop on forever!

[Poppy]

Thanks everybody for the nice words.

Virgil, I had trouble with it too. I played around with that line and did find it so cliche that it almost kept me from posting it. While driving to the store a few ago, I thought that this might work


It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be alone with the fish.

Prince, your probably right that my intent was to use it as such, something that the neighbor next door might use or at least understand. Thank you for your insight.

Poopy!

Memories of Martin Creek

We would access it at
the highway bridge. Pull
the truck over and strip to
shorts to wade it wet.
The cool water held the naturals
behind small boulders, undercuts
and under the green lily pads.
It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be alone with the fish.
Stealthily one had to be, moving
slowly to the shadowed banks.
Casting line to likely places made
especially for sneaky pete’s.
The stream so clear, you saw
the prey, then the take. Happily
we would try again and be
rewarded with the same.

I said memories,

these are of old.
Now the place is not like it was.
Its silty, likely toxic, turbid, and
trashy. I feel like the old Indian
on the hill with the tear. See
what man has done.

[Virgil]

It was fly water at its best, a little
foothills stream, not wide,
not long, not crowded, just
right to be alone with the fish.

Yes, i like this better.