Best Fishermen Poems
What fish must think of us fishermen
Do they wonder why we annoy them so
with wriggling worms on silver hooks
invading their waters, we weird-looking schnooks
Casting far out in hopes of catching bass
or just dropping a line with bobbing popcorn
Fanatics take up the hunt by four in the morn
no matter the forecast, sunshine or storm
(Retourne is a French poetry form wherein repetition is used. It consists
of four quatrains (four-line stanzas), with each line having eight syllables. The trick
is though that the first stanza's second line must also be the second stanza's first
line, the first stanza's third line is the third stanza's first, and the first stanza's
fourth line is the fourth stanza's first)
A mermaid met three fisherman
She was pleased to offer a wish
The wish differed considerably
Not happy for wishes granted.
She was pleased to offer a wish
To the first fisherman in line
He asked to double his I.Q
Started quoting Keats with surprise.
Wish differed considerably
Of the second fisherman when
He asked to triple his I.Q.
Started predicting tsunami.
Not happy for the wishes granted
The third fisherman thought deeply
Asked to quadruple his I.Q.
Turned into a woman by her.
+++++++
March 28, 2014
Form: Retourne not on PS so entered as Verse Form
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third Place Win
Contest: Dabbling in poetry forms by gautami Phookan
Fishermen
By the Gaza seashore
shot in the head
why?
for wishing to feed the people
why shoot people fishing?
ah yes
you all know
Zionists revelling in starvation
genocide their fantasies
molesting all of humanity
laughing at children's tears
Now you know why
Jesus was surrounded by fishermen.
.
Have you
read where
In The Bible is written
Jesus called fisherman, come
They were all busy fishing
So many different temper a ments
Peter fast, quick to anger, and to disappoint ment
John also hot-headed called Boanerges by Jesus and
Bartholomew who had deep thoughts, trustworthy Jesus knew
So different were they, as are all believers
But loved so loved loved
With His agape love as no man can love
unconditional love that last forever
F o r e v e r
black may turn to gray but gray
may not turn to yellow,
night may turn to day, but
still these clouds hang around.
saltine driftwood and enameled seashells
fracture against the course palm.
all those biblical sea foam literate sons wandering
throgh the fog.
the unreverenced staggering pulpit's
half diligent, half hungover.
early in the morning they return to
the docks the prodigal sons of galilee.
to curse at their sober seagull halos,
maybe find a wooden plank for
a familiar face.
they are fishermen and they have
never been so holy.
beautiful as halogen lamps in the
corners of dark still rooms.
wearing their bright yellow rain coats,
they bristle gather a nets worth of
stories to tale later at the pub.
Fairy fishermen
Are fickle they fill the film
With freezing fish
In their wave-tossed boats, they are out to sea
Fishermen, the pride of our island
Seeking food or pleasure they may be
Their lone struggle may become a pain
Needing great skills in deep sea
Tearing in the teeth of gusts and rain
And tides as high as mountains
While worried wives and children wait on land.
God, I pray to protect them and their workmates
And bring them safe and sound on the island.
The brine and rot of a fishing ship
Is smelt a hundred yards from shore
The scurvy laughs of the mates aboard
A thousand yards or more.
The tall coconut trees
Resemble pillars
Erected like lamp poles
Spred like umbrellas
Stand in a row
Towering above the equatorial sea shore
Welcoming tourists
Applauding the coming back of the fishermen
Dancing in the dusk and moonlight
Amidst the disco music of the sea
Have long forgotten the strike of Tsunami
it’s christmas dad
lend me once more your hand to compare ourselves
among the living people i ever touched
only your hand was bigger
if you want to we can go to the seashore hand in hand
to leap wave after wave together
or you can take me to the puppet theater
where the orange tiger swallows pancakes
while we’re clapping along with our big hands
this year i didn’t grow home bread and
i didn’t burn candles
i simply crouched with half-opened eyes
leaning against high cushions
over a cross scratched with my nails on the bed sheets
lying in wait
fishing like you dad
sometimes hours other times days
go by without any catch
apart from your pale and slippery smile
in the last photograph
dad
why on earth didn’t you put aside the fishing rod
no cowboys in stock on this side,
but acrid fishermen provide
marine lifelines, hamlets sustain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
pre-dawn cowboys of Waves arise
early wranglers trawl for the prize
through murky waters or in plain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
catches of chub, snapper, and sword
concoct dinners we may afford.
praise the fishers, saddled with strain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
rank as sins, veiled in ocean scum
nets shoulder-slung, descendants come
off the tides, firm ground to regain
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
THE OLD FISHERMEN BY THE SEA
They meet there every morning…every day of every year.
At the end of the pier they gather…with all their fishing gear.
Sometimes they greet each other by first names
Sometimes they smile instead….
Sometimes it’s a simple gesture…
a wave or a nod of the head.
As they bait their hooks and cast their lines
they chatter endlessly
about their lives, their families and sometimes fishing…
these old fishermen by the sea.
If you ask them, will they ever miss a day of fishing
they quickly say… “We won’t.”
And they are happy if they catch a fish
but just as happy if they don’t.
For though it was fishing that brought them together
now, it seems to me,
it’s about so much more than fishing
for these old fishermen by the sea.
In the early morning, as the sun yawns and lets out her first light ray
two fishermen walk through the flooded bushes, searching for fish.
Inside cooler waters a silent lake says, " Take your time, take your time"
The sun slow at it's highest point drips with gold and continues to splay
while fish with their caudal fins and tails, kick forward into refreshing waters,
enjoying cool oxygen moments of grace, before the water gets too hot.
"Take your time, take your time" says the dawn
pink and purple, saffron yellow, with a touch of golden mellow.
Two buddies side by side, just like Abbott and Costello
catching fish and then releasing, into the undulated waves.
The sound of a female duck quacking in the distance,
followed by six mallard duckling babies, dark chocolate brown
with fuzzy yellow tails, wagging happily;
They appear to be saying, " take your time, take your time"
In the noon day sun an open tackle box and an empty thermos.
A passerby says " caught any fish yet?"
the fisherman smiles, not yet, they are just taking their time.
Unlearned and ignorant,
Mere nobodies,
Just fishermen,
Inferior mortals,
Far below
Proud priest and Pharisee and scribe.
For such to preach or teach
Within those holy temple walls
Was tantamount to blasphemy –
Just like that other man from Galilee.
No problem that
For two apostles bold,
Fresh-fired by God
To minister his mighty word
And heal a cripple forty years from birth.
Unscared by priestly threats,
They blazed the scene
With resurrection life.
Unlearned and ignorant maybe,
But far above proud priest
And Pharisee and scribe
Supreme they stood,
And spoke those holy words,
“There is no other name
By which we must be saved.”
And rulers, elders, scribes and haughty priests
Compelled to marvel
And to note
“These men had been with Jesus.”
Read about it in Acts chapter 4.
Myriads of murmuring marine maidens
Musically musing, making mariners mad;
Floating or frolicking freely and feeding
Feverish fishermen’s fleshly fantasies.
Sensually swimming silvery seductresses
Stripping slobbering sailors of their senses.
Inveigling and inspiring them to inundate the waters
In instant insanity in pursuit of Neptune’s daughters.
To some this may come as a shocker:
Mermaids lured them into Davy Jones’ locker.