THE FISHERMAN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in the peace and quiet
where the tall Texas pines grow,
there is Dad standing alone
casting his line
time after time
not in search of fish
just a way to unwind.
as the water swirls up to his waist
with each cast
his worries disappear
washed by the water~
he reels in one last time
and though his hook is empty
he finds peace on his line
This is a story of very old
fisherman and his wife
it's not a story many told
about their tragic life
they married young ,no children had
to each they often clung
his daily job would make her sad
for lives the sea had sung
She'd waved him off each day at dawn
from window balcony
the stormy day, so some would say
would be the last he 'd see
She'd waited daily , for loves' return
but never did he come
they say she couldn't understand
her grief to much, said some
Daily from her window watch
the village saw her be
then one day she disappeared
for never did they see
The story is her grief to much
she walked down to the sea
last saw upon the beach that day
the sea together be.
To catch from a net
Is the biggest life to offer
Mouth fed, belly full.
Sunrise all the world
But sunrise over the sea
Brings unique surprise.
they gather in groups
casting their lines out at once
waiting for big one
The Lonely Fisherman
He sat on a rowing boat in the fjord
he wore a yellow
raincoat and a southwestern cap matching his coat
was like seeing a French movie, an intellectual one
I couldn’t stand by the window all-day
reading sat on the sofa reading a novel
a book too long, a mind-numbing love story.
I read several pages, then gave up and looked out of the window
the boat was there,
and his cap was floating like a life raft for
I held my breath had he drowned, then the man got
up he had fallen in his boat, perhaps slipped on a dead fish,
but other ways looked fine
He began rowing to shore and tied the boat to the small pier
walking up the track to my cabin, he carried fish in a plastic bag
I dived behind the sofa when he knocked on my door, in case he was selling fish.
polite if he was of the talkative kind
bore me with
endless fishing tales.
Back on the boat, he untied the rope turned gave me the finger.
As I gaze long, far
The Sun leans into the sea
Sets water on fire
A lone fisherman
Paddles through the angry waves
Few fish in the can
Has nought to take home
To his wife, hungry children
Hoping for food, some
The man sees not far
In the glistening waters
A floating buoy
On which a goldfish
Lay lifeless beckoning him
The tired man picks fish
Unknowing to all
Only to find a treasure
That’s kind of not small
Inside are gold coin
Life is changing, knows he will
Never fish again.
mbfarookh
Close your eyes and take my hand I will lead you
To a wonderland.
With tree's so tall and grass so green I will show you
Things you have never seen.
To walk with me would be so nice and spend your
Days in paradise
So pick up your nets and bring your rod and
Become a fisherman of God.
At the wharf I donned the Wellington boots
Of the fisher deceased, to trace my roots
And see and feel what it was like at sea
For my uncle a fishing devotee.
The clammy boots were three sizes too large.
I kidded myself that I could take charge,
And fill the boots with fishers' gait and guts
Aware the concept was deluded, nuts.
I felt the lure of expectation loom
As the trawler 'Gen' breached to break dawn's gloom
I embraced the hope of a bumper haul
Of keeper fish, not tiddlers, way too small.
I felt the surge of waves tug at the boots,
Like tentacles dragging against the roots
Which held my soles fast on the slimy deck.
The sea incessant for another wreck.
I felt fish guts, innards, blood and gore,
Slather on boots as fish were brought ashore,
And unloaded in bins brimful with ice.
At days end, bootlegging was hard but nice.
Wading water, my foot falters
This freezing feeling is seeping, stealing
Healthy heat from foolish feet
Now sliding, slipping and trip, tipping
Swimming swift so legs lift
Scared stiff in the water wishing
That fish found this folly fitting.
May 28th, 2023
Alliterisen Poetry Contest, sponsored by Joseph May
James Macpherson THE FISHERMAN
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O. / \
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Fishermen were holding their arms stretched out longer than a Ford F-50.
Braggadocio stories were exuberant, not skimpy but sometimes shifty.
Great grandson of one had been fishing without a single fish all day long.
When he pulled out a guppy the braggarts broke into a fisherman’s song.
“whether catfish or guppy, minnows even, if you cannot get a bigger fish.
Someone run up and give that guy the reward for the tiniest catch dish.”
The great-grandson knew then they were including him in their little song.
He threw the teensy guppy back, knowing he had done nothing wrong.
The Fisherman has been
To tell of His way to catch
To fill up that empty net
When they have tried every direction
Saying catching these fish are hopeless
That the boat would overflow
With a never before seen fish
Of all the abundance shown
Are to reel in that big one
That it might be found
Oh how he taught which line to use
To tie the best knot not to break
Which kind of pole for different fish
Which bait for different waters
To even put the bait on your hook
That you might have a chance
If not wanting to get those hands dirty
He told one of the weather forecast
That the wind and waters would be calm
His boat is sturdy not to sink in any weather
If the waves come they are rejected
That one might feel the fish when it bites
Oh this fisherman knows these waters
And which fish to keep and throw away
He has been available for all to see
And will take one out for free
In hope to show His ways
That one might be ready
When it's their time to fish
Simon Peter was a lonely fisherman
Craving for success
In the only vocation he knew
But delay bugged him down
Disappointment dogged his every step
Then stepped in the savior of his soul
And massive breakthrough
Followed the failed fisherman
As Jesus put an end to his past
And gave birth to his future
As a fisher of men
Jesus did not consult his past
To give him the future destined for him
Jesus did not worry about
His theological background
He rather looked at his heart
And found him ready and available
Listen when He calls
And make yourself available
For He uses broken things
By man’s estimation
And qualifies them to work in His vineyard!
A JOLLY FISHERMAN
Jolly fisherman jocund Jack
took well knitted drag-net on back
and long fishing rod to catch fish!
Strong wish for fish fry to relish.
Floating a boat he loved to trawl.
Caught small fishes:Those were to crawl.
Fishing rod pulled fish, gigantic.
Large fish ate small ones! Drastic.
No disappointment for Jack.
He put the large fish in a sack.
Jolly jocund Jack cooked big fish.
and enjoyed a palatable dish.
09/13/22
A Jolly Fisherman
Contest by Julia Ward.
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