Tom Zart Tom Zart
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BESIDES LOVE MEN NEED FISHING
Besides love men need fishing,
And for both, most are wishing,
Catching trophies chosen best,
To be envied by the rest.
Fishing is a game of sport
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish?s eye,
If we plan to stir and fry,
Some use boats while others wade,
As they fish the sun or shade.
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day,
While life?s troubles fade away.
Most men feel they've everything,
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake,
We all pray our line won't break.
WHEREVER THE BIG FISH BITE
When I was young and before girls
I loved to go fish the river.
Creeks and ponds where alright to
Anywhere that would deliver.
Fingerlings four to five inches long
Are what trophies love to feast on.
Trout line or pole made no difference
Bate up and the fight was on.
Sometimes I would strike a fire
To help keep warm in the night.
Spring, summer, fall, I was eager to go
Wherever the big ones bite.
RIVER FISHING
After school my friend and I would walk through town to the river
Soon to bait our trout lines with cotton cake, crawdads and liver.
Sometimes we used baby bullheads, perch or great big frogs
Tossing out into the current next to a snag of logs.
At times we would disrobe and wade out in the stream
Attaching lines to anything hoping to hook our dream.
One day I made some doe bait and stuffed it in my sock
Attached five hooks, hundred pound line and tied it to a rock.
When I bragged to my classmates they snickered and called me fool
Till the next day they followed me to the river after school.
I made my way to the water my path was a fallen tree
Something big was on my line it was easy for us to see.
I tried to pull it in but the current was too strong
Three boys ran to assist me as we began to sing a song.
Going fishing instead of wishing for the granddaddy of them all
If we land this monster will give the sport shows a call.
It seemed like forever before our beast was ashore
Eighty-five pounds of flathead cat as big as a closet door.
We shared his steaks at a fish fry, food for heart and soul
Took his head and nailed it high for all to see on a pole.
For a time we ceased our casting instead we chased the girls
After marriage with our kids we again fished the swirls.
Too many of my friends have past and the years have raced by
Though here I sit with rod in hand a fisherman till I die.
SATAN?S HORDE
Overrun with war and uncontrolled leaders,
Our world becomes more dangerous each day.
dishonest politicians, criminals and the media
Survive by their falsehoods at play.
Bible believers preach, that the end is near
Our world as a whole is beyond reform.
God will eradicate all which is wicked
By his fire of eruption and storm.
To evil?s victory, I will never concede
May its supporters anguish in hell.
By the grace of God and the power of faith
The goodness of man will prevail.
What we accomplish is heaven?s measure
As patriots respond to the threats of man.
Protect and defend what we love till death
As the soldiers of Satan arise from the sand.
By Tom Zart
All poems by
Tom Zart
Most Published
Poet On The Web
Besides love men need fishing,
And for both, most are wishing,
Catching trophies chosen best,
To be envied by the rest.
Fishing is a game of sport
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish?s eye,
If we plan to stir and fry,
Some use boats while others wade,
As they fish the sun or shade.
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day,
While life?s troubles fade away.
Most men feel they've everything,
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake,
We all pray our line won't break.
WHEREVER THE BIG FISH BITE
When I was young and before girls
I loved to go fish the river.
Creeks and ponds where alright to
Anywhere that would deliver.
Fingerlings four to five inches long
Are what trophies love to feast on.
Trout line or pole made no difference
Bate up and the fight was on.
Sometimes I would strike a fire
To help keep warm in the night.
Spring, summer, fall, I was eager to go
Wherever the big ones bite.
RIVER FISHING
After school my friend and I would walk through town to the river
Soon to bait our trout lines with cotton cake, crawdads and liver.
Sometimes we used baby bullheads, perch or great big frogs
Tossing out into the current next to a snag of logs.
At times we would disrobe and wade out in the stream
Attaching lines to anything hoping to hook our dream.
One day I made some doe bait and stuffed it in my sock
Attached five hooks, hundred pound line and tied it to a rock.
When I bragged to my classmates they snickered and called me fool
Till the next day they followed me to the river after school.
I made my way to the water my path was a fallen tree
Something big was on my line it was easy for us to see.
I tried to pull it in but the current was too strong
Three boys ran to assist me as we began to sing a song.
Going fishing instead of wishing for the granddaddy of them all
If we land this monster will give the sport shows a call.
It seemed like forever before our beast was ashore
Eighty-five pounds of flathead cat as big as a closet door.
We shared his steaks at a fish fry, food for heart and soul
Took his head and nailed it high for all to see on a pole.
For a time we ceased our casting instead we chased the girls
After marriage with our kids we again fished the swirls.
Too many of my friends have past and the years have raced by
Though here I sit with rod in hand a fisherman till I die.
SATAN?S HORDE
Overrun with war and uncontrolled leaders,
Our world becomes more dangerous each day.
dishonest politicians, criminals and the media
Survive by their falsehoods at play.
Bible believers preach, that the end is near
Our world as a whole is beyond reform.
God will eradicate all which is wicked
By his fire of eruption and storm.
To evil?s victory, I will never concede
May its supporters anguish in hell.
By the grace of God and the power of faith
The goodness of man will prevail.
What we accomplish is heaven?s measure
As patriots respond to the threats of man.
Protect and defend what we love till death
As the soldiers of Satan arise from the sand.
By Tom Zart
All poems by
Tom Zart
Most Published
Poet On The Web