Best Trawl Poems
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.
Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.
Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.
Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.
We leave our separate solitudes
The shells in which we coil
To search for seeds of hope
In the seabed's saturated soil
Trawl the crowded seas
Of the white page
The glassy bubbles of thought
Flutter and escape and rage
The golden moment that redeems
The months of splintered time
Deep sea diving
For the inner heart rhyme
"User name" and "password"
That's all you need to know.
Type them in , press "enter"
Then you’re fine to go.
Sounds quite simple really,
Till your memory starts to wane,
You trawl the deepest caverns
Of your tired and aging brain.
You thump the keyboard harder
As your temper starts to fray,
And curse the screen before you
With its "road block" in the way.
No pet, place or loved one’s name
Will give you access rights,
When you cannot remember
Those all important bytes.
Defeated, crazed you finally press
"Forgot your password?" key
But can't answer all the questions
To get you through security
To release your rescue e-mail
From this digital dictator,
Requires you reacquaint yourself
With your "administrator" ?
So how do you escape
From this technical morasse?
Caught with no ropes or crampons
In this digital crevasse ?
Well this is my solution
When you face the software snub,
Pull out the plug, put on your coat
And "log off" down the Pub !
I remember the day when comments were the main
They're all very instrumental to the Soup's mainframe
Some comments are influential that created other writes
And many were like tuition that kept us crisp and bright
But there now appears a drought growing larger every day
We need to increase our comments as they help us write our says
Maybe it's time for change, for the Soup to alter it's route
Many foundations have recently left, will others follow suit
The columns showing us the views, tells us nothing at all
How many have clicked on a poem thinking that's a bit of a trawl
So another poem was open and not a word was read
So basically the views are worthless, because comments are our thread
We can learn from our comments but we will never learn from the views
It's our democratic choice for all, of what we do and choose
Nothing stays the same for ever as it appears to be
It's still the worlds best poetry site, that's down to you and me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-13.php
The next time you sleep don't enter your deep
And allow the creeper, into your mind he'll creep
Your inner shadows will darken as he seeks
Shredding your thoughts, internally you'll weep
He'll trawl through your secrets, no longer they'll be
Your posterity has been raped, now the creeper sees
Ones dark will get even deeper, into the abyss of your mind
This seeker of the sleep, just what will he find
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-8.php
As you sit down for your tea, take a moment to think of me
I am the one who leaves the quay, to bring home harvest from the sea
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
The quota’s nearly done for me, too many a catch thrown back to sea
The jobs-worth from the ministry, care’s nothing for my misery
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
The sea cares nothing for my fate, the ebbing tide will never wait
There’s not enough to fill a crate, as I battle Neptune to fill your plate
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
When deep-sea fish no longer spawn, when my rusty old trawler has been withdrawn
When fishermen are no longer born and the old Sowester’s no longer worn
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
I trawl the waves from dusk ‘til dawn; there’ll be no fish cakes when I am gone!
Poetrysoup
It happened quite accidentally
As if by chance, this anomaly
I did not know how it could be
That here is where I’d post my poetry
A poem I had written today
Remembering World War One Day
I’d written what I’d had to say
Not too long winded as is my normal way
It seems so strange as I recall
How I did through google trawl
Fishing for a place I’d call
A library for my poems all
And there it was among them all
Poetrysoup as I recall
“What a strange name” I thought out loud
As its name just seem to stand put proud
I opened the site and what surprise
Myriad Poets and poems before my eyes
Like a child I clicked from “room to room”
And voraciously did verse consume
People read our verse and comment some
Each and every word all welcome
What a friendly affable lot
This worldwide kitchen in one pot
At last, a place to call my own
Along with others for their poems’ home
This meeting place; this PoetrySoup
Makes me feel so cock-a-hoop
BETTER HALF
for Roger and Tessa
I feel his presence as if he stood before me
My thoughts are tea-leaves only he can read
A brain scan shows I want him to adore me
While my heart shows for him my wanton need.
I trawl through the day, he could never bore me
I think of him even when I bleed
Heart of my heart, friend to never score me
Necklace of desire, bead after bead -
He knows my ways, how to love and shore me;
His speech shows me where and how to lead;
He never hurts, his will would never core me,
Or leave me hungry where I want to feed:
At times we see ourselves, strange and rude -
Clasp each other, beautiful and nude.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
This quaint haven away from Seeing Eye
No sound of the loom now at nature’s call
Here on this coarse park bench in deepest fall
Gloomy clouds above threatening blue sky.
Song of the Blackbird rings out yet so shy
Speckled Thrush nags his mate in tuneful squall
Lush green lawn an ocean of food to trawl
Twisting squirming succulents soon to die.
I now will have to end this little verse
Clown on a motor mower not at peace
Feathered friends scatter to a higher place
I look to heaven now in silent curse
Back to the weaving shed and all that grease
Lunch break in tatters silence without trace.
© Harry J Horsman 2010
It was Christmas way back in eighty two
Head in hands not knowing what to do
All I see is a door
Never been here before
Do I take the next step and walk through
As I sit here and trawl through my life
From five years old, full of strife
The light I see clear
Could my end be so near
Past images begin to run rife
Suddenly, a hand on my shoulder
Words of wisdom being told as we solder
Tell me James of your past
Sharing burdens, be them cast
You have many reasons to grow older
Just think of the birds in the trees
And the leaves that dance in the breeze
All the songs you enjoy
Now your a man from a boy
And grasp your tomorrows and seize
From that moment I have never looked back
I now absorb my past and it's flack
My thanks is to Frank
Whom that night stood by my flank
When he died, my thanks never lacked
PROWLING THROUGH A WHORE HOUSE
Alone,
in heat, I prowled
my whore house, scanned
the faces of the ever-willing ones
awaiting for my picking.
“Heck, no!
I’ve had them all,”
I said. “Have even come for some
of them again and yet again
for want of something new.”
Off to another
whore house then to prowl,
and trawl, then found a plump one,
thin one, and another in between,
paid price for take-home beauties,
“Hah! Monogamy go hang!” I said.
An orgy
dreamed and hungered for,
the licking, ravishing, caressing
through a dark night, senses-lit
and straight up till late morning,
heavy-lidded, sheets in disarray,
weary, after all assumed positions
still not wanting to let go
first wanton beauty in my arms.
Ah!
Two more books to go!
Let’s throw a big spectacular bash.
And party with a smash and some flair.
Then we can grow a sexy moustache.
And party on our face with some hair.
Maybe we should just have a ball.
And party with black tie and a coat.
Then we can all just go out on a trawl.
And party with the waves on a boat.
How about we all hold a crazy riot.
And party with a shout and a scream.
Then we can all just be really quiet.
And party by ourselves in our dream.
Revive forth own verve
By stating your swerve
Extolled
Height of straight, deserve
You thrive and observe
Withhold
From the maelstrom, serve
This wicked world's nerve
Remold
Show the strength you hold
Your wings just unfold
God cheers
Fawning dazzling cold
Peace and faith are gold
Calm fears
We are soft-built mold
Bleak tales will be told
Shed tears
Thwart faults from past years
When gray face appears
Conserve
Trawl wise warn from seers
Gold rings in your ears.
Subserve
Life, precious gift dears
From bright life, mind peers
Preserve
Written: March 16, 2023
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I trawl through happy memories
Aided through old song
And for a fleeting moment
In gladness I belong
Humming in the moonlight
Absent mind floats on
Bringing back to my delight
Golden moments gone
©david byrne july ‘12
2000 miles is a long ways, and 50 plus years is a very long time.
It spells the time and space that have separated me and my two friends.
Back then, whether it was hay, ammonia, cowboys, sling shots, or rubber tires,
somewhere in the mix were my two friends. Presently, there is a loving memory of Dennis and Johnnie. They were absolutely my best childhood friends and everyday playmates. Dennis was called "My terrible looking friend" because he never kept clean. Johnnie was the toughest of the three of us.
The above mentioned items of danger and fun are forever tied to their memory. Whether running from an ammonia tank gone bananas or rolling rubber tires; whether playing cowboys, rolling and jumping in the hay barn, or yelling loudly in a tall rusty structure, we three did it together like three vegetable peas in a hull.
On my next memory page, I see a metal fence under which Dennis tried to trawl in his attempt to escape the wrath of my two brothers, who came to my defense for something that Dennis had done to me. He never made it, and my brothers started to beat on him as they beckoned me to join them in the fighting feast. I demanded that they let him go, and until now, I'm getting a picture of Dennis' face being so relieved from my brothers' beating. I didn't hear him, and don't remember talking about it, but Dennis must have said, "What A Friend". He certainly was mine.
031121PSCtest, I Remember, Malabika Ray Choudhury; 2P