Bland On Bland – The BookThe theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “ Every Day “.

JVG has given us a lot of latitude this week ( and I will bet you it was inadvertent). T

he topic was to be “every day” or was it “everyday”. As you can see lots of possibilities.

Ed Bates, provided an awesome backing this week Have a listen to how it went below…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

Every Day

Every day Marge Christhope rose before the sun
Packed sandwiches, a thermos, put her hair up in a bun

A canvas stool, two rods and assorted fishing gear
She’d wheel them in a shopping jeep down to Mordy Pier

Enjoy a cheese and gherkin sandwich while slicing up the bait
Cast into the murky chop, set the reel and wait

Engage in unpretentious banter preferred by die-hard fisherfolk
Share a pack of Monte Carlos, a hot tea and a joke

Perched next to her, Sam Rizzo, had fished this spot for years
He had a million stories, nearly all wound up in tears

He must have bagged at least a tonne of fish you would have thought
Yet the tale he told most often concerned a fish he hadn’t caught

A monster, so he claimed: t’was the winter of eighty two
So powerful was the beastie it snapped his rod clean through

Max and Yvonne Saunders witnessed Sammy’s almost catch
Noting Sam was after Garfish, his rod thinner than a match

Marge heard that tale so many times she couldn’t help but snigger
Each telling of the story the fish grew ever bigger

Since that day fifty thousand tides had come and gone
For the sea is always moving, only Sam could not move on

Every cast brought memories of that moment years before
He prayed the fish would come back to take his hook once more

Now, an old dog would trot down to the pier’s end every day
Sit there like a statue staring out across the bay

They would toss it the odd biscuit and any pilchards they could spare
It had them quite intrigued as to why the dog was there

Given fishing, by its nature, involves a fair amount of waiting
It offers time and opportunity for things like speculating

Anglers are well known for their skill at telling tales
It takes imagination to stretch minnows into whales

A story told enough times you begin to see as fact
Since dogs aren’t known for talking they can’t confirm or retract

The anglers were convinced that the owner must have drowned
Washed away unseen and the body never found

His selfless, loyal companion, refused to leave the watery grave
Hoping that its master would be brought home on a wave

Though it sounded good in theory, it held no truth at all
In reality the dog, was merely looking for its ball

It had lost it three years prior, and didn’t take loss well
Believing, one day, the ball would drift back on the swell

Who can know what drove the old dog; stubbornness or pride?
Returning every day, till the very day it died

As for Sammy and his monster fish and decades of regret
Would the truth have brought him closure or mocked him, even yet?

Seems back in eighty two there’d been a blanket fog all week
Sam had hooked a passing boat as it chugged up Mordi Creek

So there was no fish and no-one drowned, though theories still persist
Large chunks of our lives revolve round things that don’t exist

Like old dogs and anglers, most of us will have our day
Life’s too short to fret about the one that got away

© Copyright 2017 Ian Bland

Also have a listen to the songs on my new album “Everything or Nothing

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