The inspiration behind this poem is an appropriately named fishing pole I won at a White Elephant game a few years back. It still sits in the corner of my apartment, unopened.
Regardless, it delves into the connotations we automatically attach to appearances and shallow descriptions.
An ugly name given to you
without respect to your purpose,
but often something ugly
is the most useful.
The most pungent slivers
of fish guts and chum
can attract the wildest
billfish of marlins.
The weathered curmudgeon,
grimacing on the docks
may hold the wisdom
of a master fisherman.
A hundred thousand
catches by salty hands,
the winds of the seven seas
carved into a leathery
face, a death deeper than the
ocean beneath a steadfast glance.
An ugly fishing stick can be
the most beautiful gift
if you are stranded
on a raft at sea.
Soul on Fire 