Best Trawler Poems
Wales to me is her Celtic tribal history,
Wales to me is walks upon her shores.
Wales to me is her druids, saints, and mystery,
the soil I tread, the salt that leaves my pores.
We drove an hour from Brecon down to Cardiff,
a plane to catch, a new job to begin.
She dropped me off but lingered for a long, long kiss,
I miss her now; my love, my lady Gwyn.
In my window seat, I glimpse a fishing trawler,
as Bristol Channel meets the Celtic Sea.
My heart grows lonesome as the boat grows smaller,
I long for Wales and all she means to me.
I miss her valleys, I miss her plains and lush, warm hills,
I miss her beauty that would make me stop and stare.
I miss her gardens, her leeks and lovely daffodils,
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there.
I'll be thinking of her Welsh cakes and her laverbread,
I'll be thinking of our trips to Aberystwyth.
I'll be thinking of the beer we love, the tasty Cwtch red ale,
I'll be thinking of the one I'd drink it with.
I'd love to throw some darts and sing within her pubs,
I'd love to watch her rivers, lakes and coast.
I'd love to watch some matches of her rugby union clubs -
But the one I love is the one I'm missing most.
I miss her valleys, I miss her plains and lush, warm hills,
I miss her beauty that would make me stop and stare.
I miss her gardens, her leeks and lovely daffodils
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there,
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there.
Written 16 June 2020
Morning fog was parting for the day's performance,
and an audience of just me sat cross legged,
waiting for ghosts.
They appeared slowly, one by one.
Old whalers, freighters and, fifty yards out,
slate grey bones scarred with burnt sienna,
a young trawler.
A Cormorant dried its wings on the wheelhouse,
primary feathers spread, glistening ebony,
tattered like a tramp's raincoat.
The surf whispered warnings.
February 4th 2016
For contest 'The Sea shore' sponsor- Craig Cornish
In January 2007 the fishing trawler, 'Pere Charles'was lost off Dunmore East. Co Waterford,
Ireland, with the loss of five fishermen. I knew four of them, two very well.
Pere Charles
Soft water all quiet
Bubbles of air take last breath
Five souls bid goodbye
Flowing Music
White water tinkling
Exudes musical moments
Hear a perfect peace
Soft Power
Soft flowing water
Creates valley and canyon
Kisses ocean, free
As I lie near the covers all cosy and tight
I smile when I think Santa’s coming tonight
Most of the Prezzies are under the tree
But Mum say’s Santa’s coming especially for me
I wrote him a letter which I put in the mail
Asking him to bring me a boat I could sail
Down by the lake with my best friend Ted
And maybe with Susie, Tim, Alice and Ned
I added some kisses and promised I’d be good
Not to make a fuss and to do as I should
In my boat we’d be Pirates and sail the Spanish Main
Or men in a trawler, fighting storm and hurricane
Or explorers in the Antarctica seeing what was up
Or maybe the crew on the America’s Cup
Or we’d join the Navy, pretend my boat a sub
We might even form a secret sailing club
W hen we got to shore we’d drink slurpiees by the tub
Discuss our adventures and eats lots of grub
I put in a request for Susi’s new hair
She hates it when the kids at school always stare
Alice a doll and Ned a fancy guitar
My sister a boyfriend and Dad a new car
Susie say’s cause he Jewish, Santa can’t give to Tim
I reckon she’s bonkers, Santa can’t forget about him
He needs new braces and a new teddy bear
As he gave his to Peter when he lost all his hair
I know Timmy’s Jewish, but so was God’s son
And they say the Lord Jesus he loves everyone
I asked Santa to help my Parents, not worry about me
For the Lord, my friends not to take to heaven with thee
For Peace in the world, joy and content
To stop all the fighting and unemployment
To give Mummy roses and a great big hug
For the Doctors and nurses let me do a jitterbug
So as I lay near the covers all cosy and tight
I’m glad Santa’s really coming tonight (continued)
She waits, and Oh so patiently!
every day she looks, ("Oh, might I gloat?")
for sight of that one trawler, 'The Forever,'
cresting waves, he, wildly cursing,
all the while he's still afloat,
and every day she moans, "Oh, may he never..."
Nails bitten to the quick,
worrying her apron string
or some small piece of fabric;
she's constantly in hope the weather's kind,
carelessly cleaning candlesticks, she fiddles
with her wedding ring to occupy her mind.
The ocean seethed, and then it settled,
roared once more, its fury unrestrain'd.
The sea and Mary sharing mixed emotions,
would he wave, or would he wander?
chain'd in brute defiance, shamed if all his catch
were empty hull and broken promises.
A prideful man was he, and never satisfied
'til he had stretched his nets to overflowing.
As much tied to Neptune's rhythms as her rhyme,
and sometimes even more so,
he'd struggle 'gainst all odds before he'd quit,
but it was time;
time to raise the sails, admit he's bested,
and plot a course for Mary, fair and frail,
but cruel weather proved his blind undoing,
his compass broke, he couldn't see for hail,
his boat a mass of many splinter'd pieces,
he tried to make it home, to no avail.
Mary saw the wreck upended on the shoreline,
and saw the name 'Forever' on its side,
"wait," she cried, "I will not live without you,
forever in your arms I must abide!"
She cast herself from off the highest landing
and was borne off with the ebbing of the tide.
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!
In the sea of tears
A trawler full of fishes –
The pirates attack!
In hushed whispers, Mariners told stories,
Of a octopus like cephalopod creature;
With a tentacled beak and jet thrust power,
A creature as long as a school bus.
Scientists dismissed all this as just myth,
But they did admit that there may be;
Giant creatures roaming the dark, deep oceans,
However in 2007 one was netted.
The New Zealand trawler San Aspiring,
Fishing in the Ross Sea of Antarctica;
Netted something, 34 feet long, 1000 pounds,
A giant monster, it was a colossal squid.
But more amazing was that this female,
Was considered a comparative midget;
Colossal Squids can grown to 46 feet long,
They are the largest creatures on Earth.
Having the biggest eyes of any other animal,
The size of basketballs with huge pupils;
Also, it is said that they are highly aggressive,
Even attacking predators like Sperm Whales.
Gouges and battle scars on whales, unexplained,
The gigantic female, in a lab somewhere, frozen.
______________________
August 21, 2015
Verse
For the contest, Giant Animals
Honorable Mention
The moon and I
are alone on this night
in the dim yellow light
the mist mixes
strudels like
dead insects
bits of rotting bait
ciggy butts
fish guts
Bottle tops swim
glisten as they swirl
in the pounding waves
across my sunken trawler
The moon and I
are still alone
at first light
no land
no rescue boat
in sight.
womankind has been around for a while
hypno-teasing men with her wicked smile
been known by many names starting with Eve
Boadicea, Cleopatra and Genevieve
she can fly-by-night, be out with the bats
purring and prowling with sly slinky cats
never a tame girl, sometimes receptive
with hidden secrets, deep and deceptive
see her in twilight, creature in the dark
flames flickered when she was Joan of Arc
think she has been here for just a few years?
think again, them hills they flow with her tears
woman has been teacher for aeons of time
wrote most of " Homer ", taught Plato to rhyme
as Archimedes' hand-maid, she had a laugh
when he shouted " Eureka, get me out of the bath! "
around when Adam gave out those spare ribs
her name is on parchment writ with rare nibs
her time here with us, a mere interlude
battles over centuries, a bitter feud
with men from the past and future I'm told
man on her arm, just her latest cuckold
well-rounded dame or seriously slim
cheerful demeanour or chief sister grim
close-quarter woman talking loud and fast
words over-taking like a blast from the past
so hard to keep up, so hard to break in
leave you behind in the wake of her din!
what's this I hear, is she now slowing down
pausing for men, is she wearing a frown?
perhaps she's starting to shuffle the deck
departure dreaming on a very long trek
maybe no point in moving on once more
the greater challenge is here at the door
as men they shout " I am invincible
I've the biggest Archimedes Principle! "
late at night she now walks the floorboards
seeking a new role, a song with new chords
" where and when will I go, who will I be
will I stay in this land or else oversea ? "
men of the future and men of the past
treasure this woman as head of the cast
whenever, wherever, whoever you are
she will always twinkle, shine like a star
bring her some chocolate, bring her some wine
make sure she stays and has a good time
but watch at midnight in case she's outside
all alone by the road hitching a ride
silver moonbeam and finest curb crawler
then down to the port and onto a trawler
far out to sea where she thinks of those days
when Gods fought Neptune for sight of her gaze
The seagull
In the winter light she limps through
Frozen snow on the frozen ground
In the deepest night the starlight
Guides her back to the colder town
Baby, baby bunting
Mummy’s gone a ****ing
Gone to fetch a wheelie bin
To bin her baby bunting in.
I don’t want my wife to find me talking to you as if I care
Can I take you somewhere warmer?
I know somewhere I’ll take you there
How the clouds hold the snow.
Up above our heads a seagull
Flies across the storm.
Snowflakes slit his skin like razors
Next to me that bastard’s warmer.
Out on the moor where the sheep are buried
By the barn door lay the babe I carried
And the icicles are forming
And the bicycles are frozen
Down the street there goes the chosen
Up his bum there goes the bosun
And the misery and torment
Are the only things for what you’re meant
Can you pay me back what I lent
I don’t wanna get my head bent.
The trawler trails the gulls
into the harbours arms again
The seamen spill into the alleys
Waiting for the great adventure.
The SPLENDOR OF SYLT (Satis Shroff)
SYLT AT DAWN (Satis Shroff)
You hear the waves
As they splash onto the shore.
You haven't opened your eyes,
But you discern the cries of sea gulls,
As you slowly let the sunlight
Into your eyes.
Ah, the reassuring rays caress your face,
As you proceed to the balcony,
Stretch yourself
And let out cha-cha-cha,
Pa-pa-pa sounds between your teeth,
That you've learned
While singing in your choir.
A seagull with a fish in its beak
Flutters by.
All white and airborne,
Twinkling on a blue sky.
Out in the horizon,
A turquoise blue trawler chugs by.
* * *
I love to walk barefoot
along the shore
the imprint of my footprints
follows me like a shadow
I know they’ll vanish
as each wave breaks
rushing over the shingle
tickling my toes
I stop
and turn to face the sea
hoping to espy a seal
suddenly a little wave appears
and a black head pops up
bobbing up and down
in the ocean
Alas,
this magical moment
is marred
by squawking seagulls
circling overhead
as they follow a trawler
heading home
with catch of the day
I wave to the fishermen
and continue on my walk
''W'' New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
11/24/21
what
A multitude of dishes is just not a sanctuary of fishes. Ok? Did you hear the trinkling of the water omitting from the tap? Gaps are small and small is smell and smell is stagnantly sipping stoic spit. Judge not a golden orb of a heifer. Especially not when placed with great dignity on a platter. An apple achieving across-the-board according to acrobatic acronyms is very wise especially when dressed in a sun hat and a pair of shorts. But sailing pears can pair with the wind and this would surely exact much chaotic waving weaves for the tiny little wading jelly fish whose waters are at risk of great corrosion. Explode that then! I think not. Battle no burger bombing belly. Big bull. Bionic bacon brawl. And a trawler filled to the brim with ice cream is weaving it's way underground watched by the kilometre wide whale. Xenophobia of a hexagon should shut all the windows and not speak to kettles. And the fortification of a French Fri. Is neither akin to a brain washing line, a string skirt, a lute or a playlist of random energies. During a download one must eat copius amounts of sage, onion and lettuce casseroles with a nice pleasant dessert of melon served on a bed of floaty cream. Just watch that it does not float out of the window or it could be confused as an unidentified frying object. Flying you say? No that is merely a ground level rising to meet an upper arm akin to a wardrobe tackling the clothes in a wrestling match. Dumb no dim dinner and during dogma derive decisions. Ok then. Good. Ample is fantastic. But hundreds and thousands dancing on a little one centimetre cake is just not wise, clever nor pleasurable really so always wear a pair of spectacles to a game of rugby and play with arms and legs holding a seven foot spoon who is smiling at the antics. How quite articulate of the appearing ant then. Earthworm glow-worm flying worm speaking worm. And a large fathomable waltzing waters snake. Hahaha now pick up a dish and dance around the ten acre kitchen. Hahahaha ladle leaving. Xxxx serving a dollup of tea with sugar and lemon. Xxxxx combustibles z that was the p Y q reporting from the road on the road around the road and on nineteen lanes eighty three beaches ten forests and a ten centimetre pond. 89.0 radio p. Z z z z z applet z
Abacus yacht boats pleasy
Banana boats are queazy
Catamaran boats squeezy
Dinghy boats all out easy
Eagle Craft boats too cheesy
Fishing boats yet so breezy
Game boats crazy uneasy
Houseboats creepy sneezy
Inflatable boats fizzy
Jet boats so smokeeasy
Kayak boats much so creasy
Lifeboats namely are busy
Motor boats mainly teasy
Narrowboats are but woozy
Origami boats leasy
Pontoon boats namely weasy
Q-Ship boats likewise greasy
Rider boats rather wheezy
Sedan bridge boats are flimsy
Trawler boats just as queasy
U-boats notably dizzy
Vessel boats sure are squeasy
Wakeboard boats easy-peasy
Xebec boats rather frenzy
Yacht boats are indeed sleazy
Zille fish boats funny fuzzy