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Welcome to the literature of Pops Walker

In addition to his music, Pops has been writing stories, essays and poems for some fifteen years. At first, much like his music, he shared his musings only with friends. But he was encouraged to publish his works by a number of folks from all walks of life. In 2010, he finally got off his duff and did so. He published his first collection of stories and essays entitled “Messages Without Melodies, Volume I”, and it was sweetly received by a variety of readers. It contains thirteen pieces, some of them funny, some of them pensive and all of them brutally honest.

Now comes Volume II of the same title. But rather than publishing this one in print (at least for now), he’s opted to publish it as an E-Book. His literary friends and authors, who spoke highly of Volume I, are speaking even higher praises for Volume II. The book contains eighteen pieces and is sometimes deeply emotional, sometimes humorous, and sometimes a bit on the bawdy side. Several of the pieces are rooted in the Shenandoah River, but all of them are again, brutally honest.

You can purchase either book by contacting Pops. Volume I is a paperback. Volume II is an E-Book only.

Care to read a couple of the shorter works? Okey-dokey.

The True Fisherman

Copyright 2012, by Pops Walker

I’m alone, and yet not so – busy, yet contemplative – oblivious to all else, yet entirely aware of the moment, aware of the River. Yes, the River is ripe with paradox as she washes over my feet and legs, slowly but surely making her way north. Standing in the South Fork of the Shenandoah, I cast and wait…cast and smile…cast and wait… cast and consider…

As it flows past me, I know that the water now below me will be unreachable in a mere matter of seconds, and before day’s end, the South Fork’s journey will take her past Front Royal, where she’ll join her sister, the North Fork. Ere long, they’ll feed the Potomac. And then, it’s only a matter of time until the same water I’m fishing now will wander into the Chesapeake Bay, and soon after, dance and merge with the Atlantic. It’ll take a considerably longer time until the weather patterns bring the vapors and clouds back into the Shenandoah Valley, where it will rain, replenishing the springs and mountain run-offs that feed the South Fork. There is no telling exactly when the circle will be complete, for it is ongoing, but the circle is there, certain, and eternal.

These are the kinds of things the true fisherman considers and dwells upon while standing in the current, casting, waiting and smiling. The true fisherman is not always in search of the biting fish, not always. And sometimes he is not searching at all, but merely reflecting, and perhaps observing the wonders washing over him and wafting about him. And there are moments when he is doing nothing other than breathing in the experience of the River’s perfection.

He might ask himself, “Which heron will I see today, the blue, the gray, or the smaller green heron? Perhaps all three? Will the bald eagle show? Or will the ospreys fish along with me? How will the light dance on the riffles today? What color will it be? Gold? Silver?”

And then he might answer his own questions with a simple, “Does it really matter?” He knows it doesn’t, and he’s thankful for anything the River shares with him.

The true fisherman isn’t looking to take from the River. He’s looking to become part of her. And I know that with patience, practice, awareness and artistry, I’ve got a good chance doing just that.

 

Redneck Tai Chi

Copyright, 2012 by Pops Walker

Tai Chi is a thang’ that comes from the East
Redneck Tai Chi - from the South
Ain’t into the former, but I’ll speak of the latter
Here ‘tis - straight from the horse’s mouth
I’m a goofy old boy - and a fisherman
My humor is often dry
I prefer ultra light spinning tackle
But on occasion, I’ll cast a fly
Born and raised in the country, Thank God
My first rig a simple cane pole
I’d tie a bug onto six pound line
And walk to my honey hole
Spot fishin’ was my tactic
Tiptoein’ down the banks of the creek
Until I spotted my quarry
Then nearer, nearer I’d sneak
Crouchin’ within the foliage
I’d go down on bended knees
And ease that bug into the water
Just as prettily as you might please
Now as often as not I’d get lucky
And not long would I have to wait
Until a curious bass was hungry enough
To suck down my tendered bait
And then it was ON, the game was afoot
Not bad for a child of nine
You just try landin’ a five pound hawg
With a cane pole and six pound line
Now older and wiser, and with a fly rod
I’m fishin’ on the Shenandoah
And like me, this river is ancient
Shucks, it coulda’ been fished by Noah
Don’t know about that, but I know about this
On the river there ain’t no corruption
Only peace and beauty, beauty and peace
So much so, a bite is an interruption
Wadin’ and castin’ in waters everlastin’
That’s where you’ll likely find me
A happy old fart, practicin’ the Art
The Art of Redneck Tai Chi

Care to read any more of Pops’s stories? Contact him at bhodieandme@aol.com, and he’ll get them to you.