Vox Populi
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Michael Simms: The Cove
My grandfather used to take me
to a cove on a lake
in deep East Texas
where he taught me
to bait the hook with a worm
cast the line as far as I could
and wait in the shade
without casting
a shadow on the water
I did catch fish
usually small perch
we’d throw back.
My favorite part
was the quiet waiting
in birdsong
while small waves traced
the muddy shore.
A muskrat or moccasin
might swim by
barely noticing
our calm presence
I loved those mornings
of timeless simplicity.
I learned patience
is not something you work for
but something you wait for
deep below the surface
where water weeds
move in slow darkness
and fish glide by
with a will of their own
~~~
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. His most recent novel is The Blessed Isle (Madville, 2025), and his most recent collection of poems is Jubal Rising (Ragged Sky, 2025).
Poem copyright 2023 Michael Simms. From Strange Meadowlark by Michael Simms (Ragged Sky 2023).
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I’m late arriving to this poem Michael but it is no less lovely for that. I really can’t add anything that hasn’t already been said, except that this leaves me with a luxurious sense of peacefulness that I will treasure. Thank you.
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Thanks so much, Jan. There is no such thing, in my opinion, as arriving late for a poem. A good poem is as permanent as the changing weather.
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So very true Michael, always grateful to find one like this.
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Thanks, Michael. I love this, especially:
“… patienceis not something you work forbut something you wait fordeep below the surfacewhere water weedsmove…”
The words, “Where water weeds move”, said aloud, thrill me for some reason. Other commenters have focused on other parts of this piece.
I’d like to suggest something: Can Vox Populi folks gather on Zoom to read their poems aloud so that others may HEAR them? Poetry should be absorbed orally, not just as written word. It could be that poets with tech skills can gather us easily. If not, I’d be happy to get a list of emails and invite folks to a poets’ rapp. All I’d need is the emails, the titles, duration of readings, date, and time ET. There could be 20 minutes of readings, followed by Q&A discussion, then another 20 minutes of readings, Q&A-II, then maybe for those who can stay on, another 15 minutes of “reception”–casual conversation. Would you, Michael be willing to “host” it? Or another of our regular poetry contributors?
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What a lovely idea, Desne. If you want to organize the event, then I’m glad to host it.
And thank you for the generous response to my poem!
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I love this deeply quiet poem, Michael. And:
“I learned patience
is not something you work for
but something you wait for”
Sigh.
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Thank you, Lisa. I appreciate you and your work as a poet and teacher.
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By slow unfolding, this one works its magic. Thanks for it, Michael.
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Thanks, Lex!
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oh this dipping into the memory of the past–I felt as if i were right there with you. I, too, loved those mornings–the ones i experienced that were so similar and these ones you describe
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Thank you so much, Rosemerry!
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lovely
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Thank you!
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Oh, Yes.
I have exited this poem and just returned from so many times spent at the edge of the water with my older brother showing me how to look in to the deeps below the surface. This really opens the windows wide. As wide as an English bathtub.
Thank you so much for this poem.
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Thanks, Owen!
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What a lovely nature poem! Like these phrases:
“timeless simplicity’ and “patience is something you wait for”
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Thank you, John!
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“the quiet waiting/ in birdsong…”
I’ll take some of that, please! TO GO! 🙃
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It’s yours, Louise!
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michael, so lovely and calming. thank you. echoes of norman maclean’s wonderful a river runs through it, which haunts me.
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Oh, thank you, Abby. I love A River Runs Through It. Such beautiful writing!
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Beautiful poem. It would make for a better world if everyone could have such a peaceful experience–at least in memory.
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Indeed. Thank you, Donna!
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❤️☮️
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A beautiful poem, Michael, that brings me back to peaceful moments – no “muscrat or mocassin” where I grew up, but I know those “those mornings / of timeless simplicity.” My grandfather taught me the silences of the forest: to listen, and a friend the magic of early mornings on the water, with the occasional ‘plop’ by a fish breaking through the surface of the almost still water. Gorgeous.
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Thank you, Rose Mary!
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I am once more in a canoe in British Columbia “where water weeds
move in slow darkness” and remembering there were good times in a bad era of my life. Now I will meditate. Thank you!
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Thanks, Barb!
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Such a peaceful poem that brings me back to my own fishing moments. I love “small waves traced / the muddy shore.” Yes: “traced”!
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Thanks, William!
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How good it is to read that poem again — I remember loving the quiet intensity of “The Cove” in Strange Meadowlark — how the small lake in that poem gave way to a poem ,”Wave,” about the ocean and the slow discovery of what it is to love being alive and belonging, then to one of my favorite poems from the book,”Trust,” your love poem to 35 years of Love with Eva-Marie. Those 3 poems right in the very heart of the book. I remember so well loving that you placed those 3 poems in the book’s very center.
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Thank you, Laure-Anne. So glad you noticed the order of the poems, very important to me, and I think, to most poets.
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nice!
Professor of English, Director of the Environmental Studies Minor
University of Mississippi
Please check out my website: annfisherwirth.com
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Thanks, Ann!
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I love all the poems in STRANGE MEADOWLARK.
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Thank you, Stephanie. Our friendship has meant so much to me.
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Michael,
Dad’s favorite activity to share in my formative years was fishing in quiet backbays with birdsong from the shoreline, maybe the cry of a loon to create drama, or the landing of a bass, our shared excitement. Your poem evokes all of that, including the patience in its unfolding. My father’s deeper use for those fishing trips was sharing his pond of advice, with me captive in the little boat, from which he cast his wisdom. This often competed with the oriole calls. In the end we’d row like hell, to beat the mosquitoes in.
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A lovely paragraph. Thank you, Jim.
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I love the way you learned patience from your grandfather. And I lived in those mornings with the birds and the water and the fish swimming silently under you.
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Thank you, Lola!
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I love the image of water weeds moving in slow darkness. I read this poem and felt like I was with you. Beautiful poem.
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Thanks, Valerie. Your friendship means so much to me.
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Though your poem, Michael, is earthy and tactile in its particulars, and those mornings wonderfully evoked, I was also reminded of Simone Weil’s and Eliot’s advice in the Four Quartets of the importance of waiting, of learning to wait rather than forcing the world to our own will.
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Thanks, Bob. In my old age, I’m learning the lessons of patience.
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My grandson, now 8, was born into a culture geared for instant gratification, where action (especially kinetic action for boys) is celebrated more than patience. At this point in time, I can’t imagine him fishing contemplatively with me. Nurturing our patience is a task for me, when with him: how to teach the joys of being set adrift.
Thanks for mentioning Simone Weil, and the Four Quartets.
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Such a lovely poem. I will be thinking of it throughout the day.
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Thank you, Christine.
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We’ve arrived at this moment of deep nostalgia , somehow feeling we’ve driven here by simply coming home from a four-day, three night Cattlemen’s Convention in Marco Island at a huge resort. Our path home took us through such places as you’ve written, all on little roads, driving at times through rains we could see in the distance, crossing over creeks, lurid depths as we went, as if we dreamt our way home—returning to a ransacked yard, the porch furniture soaked, now draped on chairs to dry out.
your poem brings me home to Summer.
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What a beautiful response, Sean. Your poems and comments in VP are always deep and meaningful. Thank you.
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This is just amazing and beautiful, Michael!
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James, thank you. As you know, many of my poems are very dark, so I’m glad when a more light-filled one comes my way.
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Lovely poem!
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Thanks, Barbara!
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Thanks for giving us this refuge of calm and deep water patience.
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Thank you, Luray!
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