Poetry From Boreegard

I am a bit behind in my posting again. I meant to put this up yesterday but just didn't have the chance. I have posted it before but I think it is great and warrants another reading. Be sure to check back tomorrow. I will be posting a bunch of things I didn't have time to put up tonight. But for now here are Boreegard's (aka Mike O'Neil) musings on the stream.


The Brook on May 23


At the evening’s last pool,
Two bats swoop in tandem and strafe the water,
As I send my line upstream, searching for trout.

The Grandparents’ Pool, where once we laved
Their old anglers ashes,
First he in his year of death,
Then she in her’s.

I think of reincarnation, and worry,
That the reincarnate might bite,
On my Dark Cahill’s barb.

One last cast, times three,
Then, up through dark childhood woods,
Stumbling home,
Troutless, breathless, content.

                         Boreegard