Angling rhymes

[flightliner]

Anybody know one?
The one I know is -
He riseth early in the morning, and sets forth with great hope, but cometh the evening he returneth smelling of strong drink and the truth is not within him.

 

[Kevin Perkins]

How a out this one....?

The angler sits upon the bank
While many people pass
And some will wonder why it is
He spends all day sat on his ar5e

‘How boring’ is what most will say
‘What a waste of someone’s holiday’
The angler, sitting, pays no heed
To answer comments, he feels no need

He is deep in thought, all plans and schemes
Today might see the catch of dreams
Bait and tackle, need constant checking
Passers by, still rubber necking

‘Caught any, mate?’ once more the cry
A shaken head the sad reply
They crowd around him anyway
With tales of ones that ‘Got away’

Black Labrador comes bounding up
‘Don’t mind him he’s just a pup’
The frantic owner’s plaintive call
As snout dives into groundbait bowl

A motorboat, not paying attention
Steams right on by, too close to mention
Weekend captain at the rudder
Lift rod up high, see keepnet shudder

Twitchers come and stand behind
Framed on skyline, never mind
They ‘Tut. tut’ when he does cast out
‘You shouldn’t fish with birds about’

Families come, the kids throw sticks
If they can’t find wood, they lob in bricks
Parents urge ‘Watch what yer doin’
‘Don’t fall in, togs will be ruined’

The tip pulls round, a bite, at last!
But no, a family of swans glide past
Hissing, biting, flapping beast
No thanks shown for being released

Lycra’d cyclist, pedalling fast
Rod butt splinters over grass
The anglers’ hand becomes a fist
Glares down the bank through reddened mist

He slowly pulls the elastic back
Release the cup, a muffled ‘thwack’
Rock hard ground bait flies from pouch
A short way off, a cry of ‘Ouch!’

Bike and rider, now both a mess
Injured party seeks redress
Mobile phone is pulled from tights
Calls for help, demands his rights

In the distance, sirens wail
Milling crowd says ‘You’re for jail’
‘There was no cause for crazed attack’
Squad car arrives; he’s put in the back

The rule of law is handed down
‘We can’t have your type running round’
‘The public has right to expect’
That law and order won’t be wrecked’

‘This first time, you’ll be released
And be bound over, to keep the peace’
Released from the dock, the judge he thanks
But where is this peace – not on the banks!

 

[Kevin Perkins]

And here's another...

I am not a Barbel angler
They are not a fish I’ve caught
But as they are so popular
Best have a go, I thought

I’ve seen some tackle in the shops
Including special rods
They are the ones you have to have
Just sitting on their pods

Because the currents can be strong
‘Floodwater’ rods you need
For casting out big lumps of lead
And fishing in the weed

Braided lines and camou leads
So the barbel cannot see
Your tackle in the water
That is clear as Army tea

The are some barbel anglers
Who are beardy-weirdy types
Split cane and moleskin trousers
Drink tea and suck on pipes

But most are much more modern
Their gear all bright and shiny
The biggest, hardest, everything
Is that ‘cos their tackle’s tiny?

No, barbel anglers are real men
Of that there is no doubt
Should you dare to question it
They’ll be round to sort you out

They have their own police force
That’s a comfort, you might think
But defy strict regulations
And they’ll tip you in the drink

To be a weekly winner
In that angling ‘Hall of Fame’
You need an eighteen-pounder
To fill the picture frame

The only way to get this
Is behind that padlocked gate
The one that says ‘No Fishing –
This is a private Syndicate’

Put your name upon the waiting list
Of an exclusive barbel swim
If you know a funny handshake
There’s more chance you’ll get in

When you do get on the water
Then halibut’s the bait
Old Boris likes free samples
So heave in a hundredweight

Although the river’s flooded
No rain has caused the spate
It’s the twenty anglers upstream
Who’ve started to pre-bait

Then maybe if you catch a fish
Best hope it’s not a ‘double’
‘Cos if you tell just where it was
You’ll really be in trouble

A red nose and big trousers
Will make you feel a clown
Let slip your capture’s venue
And the circus comes to town

Should I die a barbel virgin
And meet St Peter at the Gate
Will he say ‘No, I don’t think so –
You ain’t caught a barbel mate.....!

 

[flightliner]

How a out this one....?

The angler sits upon the bank
While many people pass
And some will wonder why it is
He spends all day sat on his ar5e

‘How boring’ is what most will say
‘What a waste of someone’s holiday’
The angler, sitting, pays no heed
To answer comments, he feels no need

He is deep in thought, all plans and schemes
Today might see the catch of dreams
Bait and tackle, need constant checking
Passers by, still rubber necking

‘Caught any, mate?’ once more the cry
A shaken head the sad reply
They crowd around him anyway
With tales of ones that ‘Got away’

Black Labrador comes bounding up
‘Don’t mind him he’s just a pup’
The frantic owner’s plaintive call
As snout dives into groundbait bowl

A motorboat, not paying attention
Steams right on by, too close to mention
Weekend captain at the rudder
Lift rod up high, see keepnet shudder

Twitchers come and stand behind
Framed on skyline, never mind
They ‘Tut. tut’ when he does cast out
‘You shouldn’t fish with birds about’

Families come, the kids throw sticks
If they can’t find wood, they lob in bricks
Parents urge ‘Watch what yer doin’
‘Don’t fall in, togs will be ruined’

The tip pulls round, a bite, at last!
But no, a family of swans glide past
Hissing, biting, flapping beast
No thanks shown for being released

Lycra’d cyclist, pedalling fast
Rod butt splinters over grass
The anglers’ hand becomes a fist
Glares down the bank through reddened mist

He slowly pulls the elastic back
Release the cup, a muffled ‘thwack’
Rock hard ground bait flies from pouch
A short way off, a cry of ‘Ouch!’

Bike and rider, now both a mess
Injured party seeks redress
Mobile phone is pulled from tights
Calls for help, demands his rights

In the distance, sirens wail
Milling crowd says ‘You’re for jail’
‘There was no cause for crazed attack’
Squad car arrives; he’s put in the back

The rule of law is handed down
‘We can’t have your type running round’
‘The public has right to expect’
That law and order won’t be wrecked’

‘This first time, you’ll be released
And be bound over, to keep the peace’
Released from the dock, the judge he thanks
But where is this peace – not on the banks!

Well done Kevin, you must have put a few hours work in to compose that! 4

 

[Kevin Perkins]

Well done Kevin, you must have put a few hours work in to compose that! 4

Hi
Honestly can't remember how long those ditties took to cobble together (Dug them out of the archives)
They almost certainly don't 'scan' properly, but were only meant to be slightly entertaining....

Ps
The 'barbel' poem holds true, however, still haven't caught one...

 

[Kevin Perkins]

And then of course there was the 'Ode to Marsbar' in praise of our former Editor - with mention of some not seen here for a while....

Let slip the reins, enjoy yourself
There’s fishing to be tackled
Now step back from the keyboard
To which you have been shackled

For the motley crew on FM
You were their father figure
A steady hand upon the helm
As your wallet just got bigger

Your leaving seems to coincide
With the purchase of a van
You can flog stuff from the garage
To increase your pension plan

You’ll keep the trophy cabinet
That groans with cups and prizes
Nearly all for things you organised
So there weren’t any real surprises

Friends old and new are offering
There’ll be many new adventures
Ed’s first in line to take you out
Soon as he’s Polygripped his dentures.

PJ’s trip will be something else
He’ll take you back in time
With centrepins and bamboo rods
Plus fours and horsehair line

Barney has said he’ll take you out
He’s promised you a blast
I suppose that you just have to hope
That’s not coming from his ar5e….

Wol and Cakey’s all-night session
You’re welcome to whenever
Remember when they take you out
They like to bivvy up – together

Young Spiller sends an invite
To come down and fish ‘his’ river
Best not to catch a two pounder
Or his bottom lip will quiver

Schoolboy Wintle’s Xmas gift
‘The Observerver Book of Fishes’
Has meant the poor lad’s roped you in
To write a book on every species

But one thing you can rely on
When you’re out upon the banks
Is that hundreds of FM’ers
Owe you a thousand thanks

 

[seth49]

The anglers prayer.

Oh Lord
suffer me to catch a fish
So big that even I
In telling of the size of it
Shall have no need lie.