I used to go fishing,
I caught many fish,
Many different types.
But then I went trout fishing,
Fishing the lakes with flies.
I caught many trout
And some I could take away,
Take away and cook.
But the strangest thing happened,
Happened when you killed a trout
To take home to eat.
When it was landed you hit it,
Hit it with a small cosh,
That cosh was called a priest.
It to me nowadays it seems strange
That you would kill on of god’s creatures,
Kill god’s creatures with a priest.
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 22nd, 2025 00:51
- Comment from author about the poem: Nowadays I could not kill anything.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 33
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Aziza S
Offline)
Comments9
That is very strange to call that! When I was little and beach fishing we had to do the same but I couldn't do it and was just hurting the fish more. My older brother had to come and give it a wack and that's when I knew I'd never be built to take lives.
Great write
Fine words DAn, thank you. I am not built to take lives as well.
Andy
Up there is one of the most interesting autobiographical pieces you've written, Andy. Documents change in you. Provides a piece of information verifiable online of which I had no knowledge, but at the same time demonstrates how language can be full of odd connotations. Plus with respect to your end comment, as a vegetarian, with the exception of mosquitoes and cockroaches, I'm with you all the way.
Very much appreciated Dave, Thank you for your thoughtful comment.
Andy
I might kill a wasp now and again, but not much else.
Thank you Orchi, I trap wasps and let them go into nature.
Andy
I will kill flies - they only live 3 weeks anyway, I read.
lol a religious corruption 🌹
True Teddy, thank you.
Andy
Ah Andy the irony of life never ceases to amaze me. A fun read and one that provokes memories of fishing for trout with my father.
Noit never ceases does it soren, glad I brough back memories.
Andy
Your poem drifts with the calm simplicity of fishing memories before jolting into the irony of killing “one of god’s creatures” with a tool called a “priest.” This contrast between sacred language and an act of death creates a quiet moral unease, highlighting how cultural traditions can mask contradictions that only become visible when viewed through the lens of time and reflection.
Such true words Rik, thank you.
Andy
Good write, Andy. A fine twist.
Thank you Jerry.
Andy
Oh, this is a great poem with irony being brilliantly showcased, faved!
Most kind Aziza, thank you.
Andy
How we grow…
We certainly do Demar.
Andy
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