The 4th day of the new year is winding down. A couple fingers of bourbon. Leif Vollebekk singing Cairo Blues. Two dogs vying for heat-run...

This past September fishingpoet quietly reached the 7 year mark. There’s nothing really noteworthy about year seven. There’s no precious...

Over the course of a summer of running trails in my favorite park in upstate NY, I had pretty much written a poem in my head. When I...

It was clear and cold. New snow had fallen overnight and the morning sun seemed to light it from beneath the blanket. I woke at 7:30 or...