Best Trawlers Poems
LOTUS FOR SLOPING KNEES
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the contentment of disheveled twigs
sitting on shoulders of humming trees,
the sunlight wafting shades on meshed nets---
it is before early morning, pale always ever,
pagan and pliant as the swoon
of winged winds. after all, while village trawlers
tug the day’s haul of buttery clams,
salmon and weeds,
the river washes its feet unobserved.
even when the hills fondle the peaks
of embossed leaves, there is no time
for human leisure on the streams, not yet. not till
compass’ hours stray too long, tedious, unabated
for folk fishermen to haul the orb ropes
and slug aquatic baits in exile, washed
from sea wine that cradles trout’s liberty…
many a time, when incandescent beam
envelopes all things gentle and sunlight drifts
on lotus flowing, rowing; as clouds hover odorless
upon sloping male knees: fishermen become
the fishes darting free, finally tranquil…
content as disheveled twigs lying
on shoulders of humming trees.
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© all rights reserved
Categories:
trawlers, peace, work,
Form:
Free verse
trawlers steam out from dutch harbour
patroling the frozen waves
serching for gold under the sea
to feed my family
in the wheelhouse the stars shine in
skyes dark and air so thin
no mater where this vessel takes me
my heart is yerning out for you
heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me
guide me home to you
icey winds shiver my spine
as we bring out catch abord
empty net and broken dreams
as the waves come crashing down
storms break loose with a crash of thunder
rolling across the bering sea
up and down around then under
but still i dream of you
heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me
guide me home to you
i see you face as the boat goes down
sea whispering my name
beconing me to the river
where we first found love
heaven on the water
im still here my love
watching you and our daughters
from the stars above
heaven on the water
calling out your name
calling out your name
heaven on the water
calling out your name
Categories:
trawlers, love, me, home, sea,
Form:
Ballad
The little thrill as the wave’s ripple in
Making the hairs stand up, on the surface of my skin.
The kiss of the sun with its warm breath so light
As it soothes my skin with warmth and delight.
The sand rolls around where my hands touch it soft.
The water rolls back and forth carrying pebbles aloft.
Setting shells down with rolling grains of sand
Making minute rivers run from the fingers of my hand.
The blue of the sky so pale and so pretty
On the horizon I can see the outline of the city.
Birds bob on by walking in the sand,
Not caring that I’m there lying on their land.
Curiously watching me, little eyes darting here and there
Watching for what, I don’t know or care.
A tiny emerald green beetle scuttles on past
Taking no notice of me, but from the birds, rushes on fast.
The sun is setting; it’s time to go back
The tide has come in but it needs to get back
The coastguard come out and asks so polite
Please can you move, the tide needs to leave tonight.
You have laid there so long, blocking the way
Can you please go back - so the water can flow away?
The ships need to sail and the trawlers come in
But you are blocking the way as you are not that thin.
Categories:
trawlers, funny, water, sun, water,
Form:
Light Verse
Where the earth,
either scorched or drowned,
meets the fire of war
or the floods of indifference,
where the sky,
once pristine, now flight-scarred,
meets the trawlers and the oil rigs
on the dying sea,
and the righteousness
that you wore as an amulet
became a millstone
that you could not bear.
Where the industrial heartlands,
robust and cruel,
run feverishly to or from the inner cities,
painful, seething and morose,
where the last suburban outliers,
fading and sanctimonious,
meet the first agricultural small-holdings,
desperate, stoic and resilient,
and you happened upon wealth
too bountiful to be shared,
but mostly succumbed
to the will of the mightier few.
There waits The Serpent,
there waits the heel of The Chosen One,
there waits the reckoning
that no malevolence can escape,
buried so deep within you
that they can never be seen or found.
28th December 2018
Categories:
trawlers, truth,
Form:
Free verse
I stand atop a mountain tall,
look down upon the land,
the forests clinging to the slopes,
green valleys long and grand.
Rivers carve torrents right through them,
can still hear them up here,
cabins scattered amongst the woods,
one such belongs to me.
Some wonder why I walk up peaks,
why I deal with that strain,
the only view that is better
would be from an airplane.
I am jammed in a window seat,
thirty thousand feet high,
the Great Lakes stretching below me,
almost as blue as sky.
There’s boats I see amongst the wave,
but they're actually ships,
trawlers and freighters loaded down,
doggedly make their trip.
The gray of cities on the shore,
suburbs encircle it,
the only view that could beat this
would be up in orbit.
I look out the capsule window,
five hundred miles high,
amazed by fringe of black and blue
where the great void meets sky.
The clouds a frosting, wispy white,
obscuring land and earth,
on the night side a web of lights,
the cities' yellow blur.
Beyond me a spangled starfield
stretches on endlessly,
to see greater you would have to
leave the dang galaxy.
I stare down on the spiral arms
of the grand Milky Way,
Bound loose around a brilliant core
where countless bright stars blaze.
Reaches of stars drifting about
in graceful, curving arcs,
billions of stars and their planets,
defy the endless dark.
The nova and the nebula,
so beautiful it hurts,
to see better you would have to
know the whole universe.
I gaze down on the great clusters,
light dots looks like a star,
but each is a whole galaxy,
Lord, how many there are!
Swinging around in massive groups,
too big to comprehend,
I can’t try to make sense of this,
it’s just too big for men.
My mind says that there’s nothing more,
I’ve reached the end, must quit;
but part of me thinks something else
must be bigger than this.
…and won’t that be cool to see.
Categories:
trawlers, appreciation, beauty, earth, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
My dearest Cordelia: I scribe this letter now to you from domestic port, the embrace of our farewell still entrenched deeply in my mind. The morn is now upon the tranquil bay and the fishing trawlers have left their docks and marinas to seek bounty of Neptune’s great waters. I can see their outlines before the brilliance of the young days sun some distance away. Its light reflects a white sheen off the oceans body with the appearance of alabaster mosaic pieces on liquid sapphire. The bustle of the coastal city is already in full steam and the crowds of people move through the streets and algid morning air like the current of a river, every man and woman a drop with its own destination.
All of these things commonly taken for granted or a brief inconvenience in the banalities of everyday life; all of these things I feel I will grow to appreciate exponentially in the coming months. It has been decided that our nation will go to war, this I am certain is not anew parcel of information to you as the papers, zeitgeist and the common declamation of all mouths has all been of patriotism and glory for our nation. But I remain silent amongst all this noise and distraction because the thoughts I host are not of glory or heroism but of you; and one question. How chilling is time to old men the pilot the helms of this world’s great nations that it could make the disposal of a generation of young men’s lives or the prevention of the efficacy of our love a simple edict on a paper?
But fear not Cordelia not for me or our love for even though I am soon to be cast into the battle between the two chimeras of this world’s mightiest nations. There is nothing that will stop me from reaching our nations shores once again and with you building the bower in which the family we have dreamed of will grow and blossom. When I have won the war with this perilous world and all its unfair edicts Cordelia I will have your hand.
Yours forever John
Categories:
trawlers, love, passion, romance, war,
Form:
Beneath my tendrils,
Hidden by waves of despair
Lie Souls lost in storms nightmare
No cross, or family visitors,
Except crabs and eels
And curious seals
Picking away at the last semblance
That made them once human
The seas sermon, their last chaplain
A sunken boat, company for the last captain
The sea has many secrets
And I know her spirit well
For I am the last witness
To ships that sink
To gulls that die
To hear the whales that cry
To see the births,
Far away from man’s eye
I cast my shawl
Up mountains hidden
By current and canyon
I watch with my many eyes
The dolphins panic caught in trawlers net
Whose whistle, the final lament
Asphyxiation the cruel torment
The finless shark, the once proud ruler of this realm
Writhes in clouds of blood, while enemies swoop
Victim to another’s, gourmet soup
All is secret, for the sea hides many things
Her coral cities and sea horse prairies
But locked away in Davies locker
Oil and gas,
The treasure and the waste
She is the mother of all,
And the reaper of her domain
And I am left to wonder
For her embrace is mine to share
For I am the jelly fish, and I am a witness
To all who have wronged
This place where I belong
And now I see the virgin iceberg
A last paradise where man is not welcome
Leave my mother be, and leave her children’s kingdom
Let the cold be her knight,
Let the bears rule the night
And let nature be the light.
For I am just a jellyfish
Wandering my home, the sea,
You go to yours and let mine be.
For the sea will always be a part
Of you, and me.
And that is how, to respect my home, the sea
Footnote: Thejellyfish has over twenty eyes, more than any other creature on the planet
Categories:
trawlers, nature, sea, sea, mother,
Form:
Free verse
How lovely lies this gentle season's face,
upon the fields and plains that fore were cold.
her sway turns winter scenes to days of gold.
Renewing life for trees and kind with grace,
Now she adorns tall mountain peaks with lace
oft melting snow that glisten streams of old
This breeze that rustles sylvan glades untold
returns to home the geese of former place
The ocean's fury quiet close to shore,
responds in like to sweet Elysian dreams
The sailor keeps appointment times once more,
and trawlers ply their trade again as yore
Springtime with great imbuing force it seems
can tame the wildest ocean scene of roar
3-24-18
Categories:
trawlers, spring,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
I inhabited a small house near the shore
where the fishes of men hauled their nets,
in dawn’s waters under boats
of wood sheltered by thinning masts.
Time was when they were like kin of god
Trying to feed the hunger of men;
with bodies burnt by a merciless sun
as hands, blowin' free,
allayed 2,000 souls or more.
Riding through for many hours, to catch food
They now pray for bounty when nights break,
While we strum guitars, " The king will come",
That would supply our children’s bowls.
Our trawlers arrive and throw the sword
Weary from roughened winds, leaf, and streams
Yet,I watch them smiling under a darkened cloud,
Looking like apostles of our tiny harbor.
Brian's Select A
Categories:
trawlers, fishing, men,
Form:
Verse
A happy new year needs a new resolution
To sort out my lifestyle - to find a solution
I'll stop fishing each day - from dawn until dusk
I should be proactive - not follow blind luck
I'll train a new workforce to catch more and more fish
A new angle on angling towards my new wish
I'll start a fish stall at the town's fishing market
And set my own quota to meet my fish target
I'll swap my old rod for an old fishing boat
For more and more fishing to keep us afloat
Then take a fair loan from a fair weather friend
A fleet of fish trawlers - expand and extend
I'll promote my fish brand with fish fingers and toes
Fish knees and fish eyebrows, fish legs and elbows
And market a franchise to build a store chain
Of shops inside shop malls to make a large gain
And when I am richer I'll hold a big auction
To sell my big business to make a big fortune
I'll buy a big mansion next to a big lake
And go back to fishing - my passion - my ache
Entry to "new year's resolution" contest - written "subconsciously" as required (honest!)
Written 1st January 2017 - not coincidentally!
Categories:
trawlers, funny, humor, humorous, perspective,
Form:
Verse
Gone with the wind.....
When I walk along on the ocean shore
my old memories swirling in my mind
Recollect my days when I was with you
We held our hands and walked together
while your head rest on my shoulder
While cool sea breeze touches on us
While the splashing waves wash our feet
While the rushing water roll over the rocks
While the fishermen with sail boat fishing in the sea
While the ships and trawlers sail in the deep sea
While the sea gulls wheeled and shrieked in the sky
While the hawks hover on the wind
While the sun slowly disappear in the sky
On those days everything made me beautiful
because you were near to me
But today I see everything remains same as it is
except your love and soul that's gone with the wind.
Your sudden death brought me shock and tears
Today, you made me alone and I miss you so much
Let me pray for your soul to rest in peace.
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved @ 2016 Ravi Sathasivam
Categories:
trawlers, lost love,
Form:
Light Verse
I catch myself roaming around our cottage by the bay this July--- the glare of sun toasting shells along the coast. My mind wanders on until nets are hauled by fishermen of our town, arms bronzed by summer’s tug and rowboats swelling with a day- long’s catch. On through dusk, moonlight gradually rises as elders welcome exhausted yet joyful trawlers with a serenade.
fragrance of heat wafts
on mariners’ parched bodies
reflecting noon’s toil
With delight, I await grandfather’s arrival along the dock. Knowing he loves the sea, we linger on the bank while I help him carry a weighed basket of trout, the prize of his quest . Quite nimble at sixty- eight, Gramp begins to tell me a litany of fables gathered from his water-world journeys—the sails through rainstorms and the different glories of dawnscape… orange in the moisture of bamboo shoots. I start to laugh quietly at his repeated tales knowing his memory slightly fails him now.
After mellow exchanges, my gaze lifts above, tracing eventide’s call by the path of new stars on the foreground. I revel at how we would stroll back home with laughter in our eyes, my own knees bending with his wobbled gait…the music of folks streaming.
as nightfall hushes--
guitar tunes ripple like waves
cooling blaze of night
Haibun Contest for Mick Talbot
7/3/2018
Categories:
trawlers, fishing, grandfather, summer,
Form:
Haibun
Standing here feeling the constancy of the trade winds blowing my hair around
I marvel at the bright whiteness of the birds flying in their madly screaming love of
life
Again I try to focus on one. It’s a futile task for even my young eyes
How they can go through these intricate maneuvers without colliding is amazing
The tarmac is white with their waste and once more I thank them for their
consideration
Soon I too will be aloft flying in the false darkness of a super Constellation radar
patrol plane
Watching Russian “trawlers” and the “whales” that sometimes accompany them
We’ve used them as navigational aids on the way back from the Aluetians to this
white sand dot called Midway
Their constant patrolling has helped many a time when the day clouds in and
Nav can’t get a sunline. The same two eyes that can’t keep up with
a gull have found us the way home.
Scope doping, manning a line of defense, flying thru all weather conditions,
a wall of planes, ten eyes each ,doing sentry duty in relative comfort
Days of boredom seconds of terror It improves my poolgame plays hell with my
poker skills (folding sucks) and makes 3 2 beer taste okay while we play soft ball
awaiting the next flight Three more then it’s back to Honolulu
What will it be like remembering these perfect beaches and awesome sunsets
when I’m old and forty Will this Elvis rock still be around?
I wonder if England has any country singers
Nah! Who’d under stand them?
Categories:
trawlers, history, flying,
Form:
Free verse
My boat
A small boat moving through choppy water.
Prompt from "Grief" by Raymond Carver
Some sail in yachts
Some relax on cruise ships
Some transport fruit on cargo ships
Some are fishing in trawlers
Some refugees seek asylum
Some toil with nuclear reactors
Some wear military uniforms
Some honeymoon in new lands.
A few are in Boaty Mcboatface.
My little rowing boat has sprung a leak.
We are not all in the same boat
But we are on same sea.
30 June 2022
Sponsor Julia Ward
Contest Name SAILING
Categories:
trawlers, boat, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Fishwives
In junkets to
the golden shore
Beside the cobalt
sea of lore
Was told of dwellings
and rapscallions
Of ramshackled wood
and galleons.
Where ancient mariners
and the breeze
Sailed upon
the unknown seas,
Where wives and fish,
in nets, were caught,
And the spoils of labour
sold and bought,
And 'neath the starry skies
would sing
Of trawlers and
the nets they'd fling,
Starboard bow
and guillemot peck
The flapping herring
upon oily deck.
Where wives and fish,
of griddle and broth
Spit and cuss
in their beery froth,
And carving ships
in dry whalebone
The men, of gods
and serpents, moan.
By dark, by habit,
by candle lit
Gather in separate
huddles, sit,
Weary lines upon
a salty thread
Weave and knot
their minds to bed.
To dream of junkets
to a golden shore
Where told of dwellings
that are no more,
Where supper served
in a driftwood dish
Would taste as sweet
as wives and fish.
Categories:
trawlers, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme