Poetry as Self-Help – Hands in his pockets


He’d come that day

To get away

From an angry wife

And family fray.

A fisherman,

He’d brought his rod

And cast the line

As he prayed to God.

“Please make it stop,”

He said aloud

The hook sunk deep

in reflection’s cloud.

No catch that day

T’was not his plan

Just a day away

For a simple man.


I’d stopped along

The well-worn path

To capture scene

With photograph.

I took the shot

And stepped away

He never knew

I was there that day.

And so we met

Though he doesn’t know

In a photograph

That affects me, so.

His story told

Through my camera’s lens

In this photograph

I’ll remember him.

~Photo and poem by me!


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