Long Fisherman Poems
Long Fisherman Poems. Below are the most popular long Fisherman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fisherman poems by poem length and keyword.
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes
His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed
Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind
When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home
You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut
Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing
You loved the universe
Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.
Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.
No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.
Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.
Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.
Thank you, for helping building a better world!
The taste of bile treads my thoughts,
Unwillingly my feet must now follow,
Source of inspiration guide,
Restore the signal fires now long lost,
Set beyond the temporal,
A path impassable by mortals,
The stairs of separation,
I must recount lest others falter,
Every sin a means, an end,
To each soul lead only by itself,
Counterfeiting perfection,
The usurpers, scoffers are now debased,
Anger above unrestrained,
Bereft of a target consumes self,
The famed fountains of knowledge,
Once fresh, soon descend to stagnant seas,
But only the sealed can see,
That for which they wait so patiently,
Bodies removed of the grave,
At attention stand upon their stones,
There encrypted, engraved,
Each history of self-enslavement,
Inheriting this decay,
A way in fissures fraught with danger,
Through the ravenous creatures,
Enthralled by the gravity of dust,
The ground to lie forever,
Fallow for jubilees once ignored,
Rising embers, never souls,
Seeking moisture, extinguishing both,
Lemmings to the precipice,
So did they rush only to accuse,
Perjuring with every word,
As fleeing reptiles forsake their tales,
Our course like a viper’s coils,
Round the kingdoms of brewing venom,
To behold the sepulcher,
We would visit the ten forsaken,
Follow the funeral march,
To find the center of the circle,
Like a town built on water,
Pitched footings yet ever eroding,
Their footsteps marking cadence,
Unending chimes of doom impending,
Self and place once separate,
Consummate here in actions devoid,
Those who were lowered by pride,
Moldering as risen ash returned,
Searching for what they know not,
To be entangled by serpents’ lies,
Fevered visions of the damned,
Lusting for the flesh of the living,
Soon to join the first fallen,
Trapped by their own perceived gravity,
The mass of death attracting,
The corruption of its own kindred,
Swaying the freedom of wills,
Tempting the words of the messenger,
We follow the Fisherman,
Whose breach left Hell lurching in its wake,
From the cavernous shadows,
We now turned toward the beckoning light,
Having fathomed the darkness,
To find its depth wanton and wanting,
Grieved, we left them to the night,
Dead ears hear neither thief, gate, nor keys,
Empty perceptions fall short,
He that protects, Justice is His name
Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage
The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered
Swimming around the ocean deep
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper
At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty
In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat
A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high
Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through
Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret
No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy
Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin
Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife
(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg. Then circled and
grabbed her left leg. The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off. She was only attended by a nurse who
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do. She was 20 hours away
from the nearest doctor. She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg. The story about the shark caught in
a fisherman's net was really not true. The grandmother here was a true story.)
I accept what i need offer up what's left
Let ridicule fall on ears that are deft
Just as a fisherman catches fish on his hook
I write out my poems and put together books
The reason I do it is clear as can be
I feel it's what the Lord ask of me
For 41 years I had no idea I was a poet
But if I couldn't cook it I could damn sure grow it
My life consumed by Marijuana and speed
Trusting in them to provide what I need
They replaced my job and even my love
They were everything that I held above
They picked me up whenever i felt low
If I got to high they helped me to slow
No, I didn't write poems or watch the T.V.
Never touched a computer said, "Thats not for me"
Traded in the girls because the next on was cuter
Woke up with a shot went to bed with a hooter
I would run day and night until I would drop
Running more from myself than from any cop
I chemically induced away all my dreams
See rivers take mothers after being formed by streams
These days my head feels like it's in a vice
I'll tell you right now my pains nothing nice
Weekly shots I take for the Hepatitis C
Epidural Steroid blocks in the spine for me
Every doctor I see I greet with a smile
Not feeling to good but I will after while
They say my attitude is one that is great
I see the beauty of love with no time for the hate
I have no reason for anger or time to be mad
No reason for all that this is my bad
This isn't that bad hell I've suffered more
At least I can turn my knob and walk out the door
Reality is real but it's also a dream
Things that are clear may not be as they seem
The Lord is my master to whom which I serve
For he's already given me more than I deserve
Children who love me and a beautiful wife
All the blessings a man needs in life
So Doctor tell me how can I not smile
At least I'm not alone walking this mile
I have you guys and the Lord walking with me
And thats about as beautiful as beautiful can be
I dedicate this poem to all of my doctors
Dr. Garrison - Primary
Dr. Merliss - Neurologist
Dr. Aldwari - Infectious Disease Specialist
Dr. Johnson- Pain Management Specialist
Dr. Beck - Physical Therapist
I feel very blessed to have such a fine
team working so hard on my recovery.
I also wish to thank everyone for all the
Prayers I have received. I love you guys.
Le Problème avec des Blancs – Translation of Jim Everett’s « The White Man Problem » by T. Wignesan
(Jim Everett, Mawbana Pleregannana, b. 1942 on Flinders Island, Tasmania, has had a chequered career and like almost all the aboriginal poets and writers in English of the first post-WWII generation, hardly made it over the primary school curricula. He’s a poet, playwright and essayist (short articles). Among the jobs he tried his hand at : telegram boy, factory hand, fisherman, merchant seaman, rigger, truck driver, public servant, aboriginal community worker and political activist. He was the national secretary of the National Aboriginal and Islander Writers Oral Literature and Dramatists Association.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 15, 2016
Des aborigènes ayant lutté ne cessent de perdre.
L’homme blanc est venu pour répandre son fléau,
Ils ont apporté leurs droits que nous n’avons pas choisis.
Nous ne pouvons pas contrôler cette chose qui nous étouffe,
Malgré cet obstacle nous devons nous faire avancer
Et nous devons aussi rester fidèle à nos croyances dans leurs
évolution,
Dans l’espoir que l’attitude des blancs va se diminuer.
Des hommes blancs ne s’intéressent pas à comprendre nos
traditions,
Ils pensent que leur technologie est la meilleure solution pour
l’homme.
Et ils persistent à nous faire renoncer à nos coutumes ancestrales
Et leur ‘civilisation’ continue à nous nous faire soumettre.
Ils ne voient pas à quel point ils ont tort,
Etant aveuglés par la gloire et le pouvoir.
Leur pouvoir les empêche à distinguer le vrai but de la vie,
Ainsi créant le problème des hommes blancs qui nous rende
amers.
Les problèmes des blancs s’avèrent être l’avarice et le viol,
Et leurs dix commandements qu’ils désobéissent à volonté.
Pour quelle raison ont-ils des telles lois s’ils ne peuvent pas les
suivre,
C’est toujours le cas des tous les blancs.
La réponse devrait se trouver dans le fait de leur pouvoir,
Exploitant d’autres pauvres blancs sans défense parmi eux.
L’histoire de l’homme blanc se résume à : chacun pour soi-même,
Que le problème de l’homme blanc n’est guère confiné à la
couleur de sa peau.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
Whilst listening out for the pitching and
cresting frequency of the turbines and
blades from the wind farm upon
Frankenstein's castle on the hill
Mistress of the pale rose deftly ballet
dancing the breeze from the inside out
of a green mile prison bar
I want I wish I cast my net like a fisherman
in famine times from the whence the sun
comes up and later drops
As this years crops have failed the once
plentiful fertile soil is now gathering up dust
underfoot from the elders dancing and
pleading to God to save the day and
for the rain to come
So gather all yee faithful
Put on and dress up in your Sunday best
Spray yourself in floral scent
And let the world outside relent
And only for a minute if you can
Find and depress the off button
And switch off your computer please
And let it sleep as well
For it's you i have come to visit and see
And take a journey of discovery and
revisit back to the future past to a
foreign time not so long ago
To a land where people used to take
the time to stop and talk and enquire
of one another something as simple as
How are you and all of yours doing
Are you in fact ok
Is everything alright
We have all the time in the world
You now have my complete attention
Give this dog a bone
I don't bite
I promise I will only patiently listen to you
dictate and tell your story in which or
whatsoever manner of your choice
And together we can write the poem
of your life in word's this far
Because if not now than when is
this world in more need of real
life super heroes
Who do not feel the need to hide behind
mask's or wear a suit or cape in order
to do good
They battle weary face a sword with
the only armour disposed know unto
them to wield
A heart infused with truth , purity
and innocence a pen and 1 left and
1 right long sleeve
To write this stain in permanent
coagulating blood
Enjoy your victory whilst it lasts
For you not only do you know what
you have done
Nor not the consequences of what
is to come that can never be undone
That fate alone for you awaits
Because all I know about life is that
it's fleeting all of us are merely visitors
passing through
Whilst death on the other hand
Isn't
she had put a band on her wrist
in case she got lost on the journey
‘missing me but don’t return to sender’
no name or address just a simple message
a foresworn identity label of lost track
her abandoned reality checked out
dumped but not stranded she vacated
the shell of a wreck that left her misplaced
had surrendered to storms high and dry
she would have to relinquish misgivings
abjure past convictions and trespass
into the wilderness of broken repair
disavow compass needle and star chart
drift from transgressions into unknowable
recovery of courage in a wide open sea
with no emergency flares she capitulated to
forces beyond her control and shredded
the life buoy of sunken dreams and despair
flood gates were open as she shed one last tear
a carcass bobbing in wild water and white rapids
drift wood cutting deep inside her final remains
she was scared as everyone had left her side
‘too much chaos and dysfunction’ they said
‘she’ll destroy you while spiraling down’
a fool’s ship in quarantine flying a yellow flag
of black death and purulent contamination
a hobgoblin’s delight but perilous and vile
she felt disowned and homeless cast aside
rejected and discarded with no one to blame
other than her own miserable deception
after years of rip tides and dangerous currents
she crashed on breakwater emotions and pain
overcame the sea wall and held on to the shore
a disused fisherman’ cottage offered her shelter
the fireplace warmed her bones and contempt
thawed her mind and rekindled a weary soul
a glance in the mirror of hope showed her mercy
and revealed what an epic path she had taken
blissful abandon and a band on scarred joint
14th June 2020
A Walk in the Park
A walk in the park
I do every morn.
Tween six and seven -
time to feel reborn.
The squirrels run hither
the geese overhead.
Fresh running water -
a beautiful flower bed.
And then I see the fox,
but not before he sees me.
He's gone like the wind -
almost to fast to see.
The blackbirds are cawing -
the cardinals sing too.
And the red-tailed hawk
sits high against the blue.
I stride up on high
and view the lake just below.
A splash and a ripple
and a wave to and fro.
A fisherman or two
who came before me.
Just watching their bobs
hoping to catch two or three.
Then I walk 'neath the trees
both big and small.
Their leaves blowing in the wind -
so much fun to walk tall.
Down the path to the car -
my last chance for the day.
But I'll do it again on the morrow
in the quest to find my way.
So simple and pure
it gives so much pleasure.
Does a walk in the park -
one of life's true treasures.
I was remembering my father,
just the other day.
It’s been a lotta years,
since Daddy passed away.
My name is not important.
My fathers name was Jim.
He never called me by my name!
I was always Butch to him!
Fishing was his passion!
It was what he loved to do!
It’s where he’d be on weekends
and I would be there with him too!
Dad had a real old rowboat,
which had seen its better day!
It had a couple of minor leaks,
but we used it anyway!
He got the rowboat from his father,
when his father passed away!
So, he named the rowboat “Pappy”,
what more is there to say!
We always took some snacks along.
They were part of our fishing “gear”!
For me, there was a couple of soft drinks,
for Dad - a six pack of beer!
Winona Lake was where we fished,
which wasn’t very far.
We always had to walk there,
cause Daddy didn’t own a car!
Winona offered an assortment of fish,
like Bass and Trout and Crappie.
It made no difference what he caught,
Dad was always happy!
Our fishing gear was a basic pole,
a reel, a hook, and worms for bait.
No fancy casting rods or expensive lures!
But our fishing trips were always great!
Dad loved to tell me stories,
much to my delight!
I never tired of hearing them,
while waiting for the fish to bite.
We didn’t always fish from “Pappy”
as I had said before!
On hot and humid days, the trees gave shade,
so we did our fishing from the shore!
Dad had the patience of a saint,
as that old saying goes,
which is a very handy virtue,
especially when fishing, I suppose!
Patience is a strength I also have
which helps me cope with stress!
Where does this patience come from?
From my father, I would guess,
My father, to me, was an Icon!
My teacher and my best friend!
He taught me how to deal with life.
Advice, on which, I still depend!
Yes, how much I learned from his advice,
it’s hard for me to say!
But, because of his love and wisdom,
he made me who I am today!
So God bless and keep you Daddy.
I pray the angels will tell you this!
My fond memories of you help a bit,
but it’s really you I miss!
RIP Dad - love, Butch
Ralph Taylor
12/21/19