Blueump
03-12-2009, 08:58 AM
We should schedule another get-together for this spring. I'm thinking Ludville again? We should also set a date and times soon.
Just to get the juices flowing...here's a re-post of last year's poem:
Dave Ash on the Pier
by Paul Chilson
The outlook wasn't brilliant on the Ludville pier that day;
The spoons were flying heavy but the fish refused to play.
Then when Blueump hooked a jack, and Carpmaster did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Dave Ash could but get a whack up here --
We'd put up even money now with Dave Ash on the pier.
But malidewd brought his pier cart, as did also Capnhook,
They each brought two poles with them, fishing skein with a red hook;
So upon those stricken fishermen grim hope gave way to fear,
For there seemed but little chance of Dave Ash coming to this pier.
But dechilson hooked a lake trout, to the wonderment of all,
And soon it settled in the net, along the concrete wall.
But now the fog was lifting, a wind change had occurred,
The ales now were clearly seen, in schools that were absurd.
Then from 50 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the weir,
For Ash, mighty Dave Ash, was walking on the pier.
There was ease in Ash’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Dave’s bearing and a smile on his face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he jokingly plugged his ear,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Dave Ash on the pier.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with spawn;
Five thousand boats surrounded them watching darkness turn to dawn.
Then while the rest kept casting Dave Ash reached into his pack,
Defiance gleamed in Ash’s eyes, when he pulled a Scooby Snack!
And then the flash-charged spoon went hurtling through the air,
And Dave Ash stood slowly reeling it in haughty grandeur there.
A sudden stop, a feel of teeth, but no response from Dave --
"That ain't my style," said the pier king. A wink is all he gave.
From the lawn chairs black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Ain‘t my style?" smirked someone who saw the miss firsthand,
And it's likely they'd have drowned him had not Dave Ash raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Dave Ash’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the casts go on;
He flipped his bail over, and once more the glow spoon flew;
And once again the slow retrieve, Dave missed it for strike two!
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Ash and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Dave Ash wouldn't let that king swim by again.
The sneer is gone from Dave’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He doubles up with cruel light his flash upon the bait.
The hearty cast, the slow retrieve, the tip begins to nod,
And now the air is shattered by the set of Ash’s rod.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are fishing despite feeling tired and sleepy,
But not on the pier in Ludville-- mighty Dave Ash caught a sheepie.
Just to get the juices flowing...here's a re-post of last year's poem:
Dave Ash on the Pier
by Paul Chilson
The outlook wasn't brilliant on the Ludville pier that day;
The spoons were flying heavy but the fish refused to play.
Then when Blueump hooked a jack, and Carpmaster did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Dave Ash could but get a whack up here --
We'd put up even money now with Dave Ash on the pier.
But malidewd brought his pier cart, as did also Capnhook,
They each brought two poles with them, fishing skein with a red hook;
So upon those stricken fishermen grim hope gave way to fear,
For there seemed but little chance of Dave Ash coming to this pier.
But dechilson hooked a lake trout, to the wonderment of all,
And soon it settled in the net, along the concrete wall.
But now the fog was lifting, a wind change had occurred,
The ales now were clearly seen, in schools that were absurd.
Then from 50 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the weir,
For Ash, mighty Dave Ash, was walking on the pier.
There was ease in Ash’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Dave’s bearing and a smile on his face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he jokingly plugged his ear,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Dave Ash on the pier.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with spawn;
Five thousand boats surrounded them watching darkness turn to dawn.
Then while the rest kept casting Dave Ash reached into his pack,
Defiance gleamed in Ash’s eyes, when he pulled a Scooby Snack!
And then the flash-charged spoon went hurtling through the air,
And Dave Ash stood slowly reeling it in haughty grandeur there.
A sudden stop, a feel of teeth, but no response from Dave --
"That ain't my style," said the pier king. A wink is all he gave.
From the lawn chairs black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Ain‘t my style?" smirked someone who saw the miss firsthand,
And it's likely they'd have drowned him had not Dave Ash raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Dave Ash’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the casts go on;
He flipped his bail over, and once more the glow spoon flew;
And once again the slow retrieve, Dave missed it for strike two!
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Ash and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Dave Ash wouldn't let that king swim by again.
The sneer is gone from Dave’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He doubles up with cruel light his flash upon the bait.
The hearty cast, the slow retrieve, the tip begins to nod,
And now the air is shattered by the set of Ash’s rod.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are fishing despite feeling tired and sleepy,
But not on the pier in Ludville-- mighty Dave Ash caught a sheepie.