angling angler, angled—
You ask me what’s your angle,
as if the line between us were straight,
as if its cast were clean.
But I’ve seen how you stand at the bank,
how your wrist turns before the throw,
how the lure brightens only when someone watches.
There is no geometry here—
only that slow pull of intention
moving through water which never settles.
If I rise, it is not for the shine.
If I follow, it is not for the hook.
It is because something in the drift
answers something in same drift of you.
Call it angle if you must.
I call it the quiet moment
before the surface breaks.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 12th, 2026 06:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 40
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
There is deep psychology in this metaphor where images become processes and in the transformation a personality is born. The fish never mentioned observes from below deep waters obscure to the fishermen above. The fellow fisher watches the manipulation not just in wrist but tongue and the shine of the mind as thoughts reflect sun beams reflecting angles. Another fave my friend.
Your read is so valuable Soren, thanks so much 🙏🏻🕊️
Always my pleasure to read brilliant poetry
fine write, rich in metaphor
Many thanks, dear friend 🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome, much enjoyed
My friend, I know that feeling of recognizing the danger in someone’s approach while still sensing a genuine connection beneath it…sometimes awareness does not lessen the attraction. This spoke deeply, arqios! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
A kind of fatal attraction. The danger for both is real even if of incongruent scales. Thanks mate 🙏🏻🕊️🤩
Good write B. Well, you've used all the 'A's. None left. lol.
Oh, so they do run out of letters! 👍🏻🕊️
That surface will break Rik and the truth shall be seen .
Andy
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