Long Trawling Poems
Long Trawling Poems. Below are the most popular long Trawling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trawling poems by poem length and keyword.
The sandy beach
thins into a wash of rounded pebbles
where the tide licks,
before that a muddy ribbon
trickles briny trinkets surged up
from the oceans bottom.
Here be the bones of tiny seahorse dragons,
and bloated macroscopic marine algae,
their seaweed green strands inflated
until the sun bakes
their pale upturned pods into pyrite beads.
Fractured mollusk shells splinter the broken claws
of minuscule crustaceans -
all the natural flotsam of debris trawling waves.
A sculptured driftwood expressed into mythic forms
anchors its art where the wind combs.
Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface
to be pocketed once more.
Obscure metallic treasures knuckle
and poke-mark the shoreside
with their unanswered questions.
I have no questions, walking the dawn light
I am a shipwreck, my mind roaming
along the shores edge.
My heart a seagulls cry, a wilderness call
that keeps me fishing for new depths
of a fathomless self.
out on the hungover gray moor
having morning coffee with the old man of the sea
we say nothing in this silvered wooden shack
lots of coats to put on, it's all very humdrum
the boat cuts through small yapping wavelets
possibly never to return, but of course we will
the mind vaults vast arenas in this place
we pass the westernmost cape on the continent
we lower the killing nets
waiting, trawling, smoking, it's a cold day
at this moment, the universe is so small, enclosed
like one cloudberry, in a much bigger bunch
all exotic fish we find like
two species of endangered turtles
even a few angry sharks
most of it unidentifiable by-catch
at the end of the day, what a haul of slime
all these words stinking in the shrinking twilight
regurgitated without end, coins without face
cliche, our deity, ready for blood sacrifice
Dams, mining, extraction and fracking!
Logging, trawling, oops this urban expansion!
Plastic, toxic sludge and fertilisers,
Industrial revolution, Mass production!
Rising pollution and depleting fossil fuel.
Expanding population, you greedy humans!
Squeezing nature and melting glaciers
Chocking gases creating Climate conundrum.
Speeding extinction, your helpless restrictions.
Destructing ozone layers, eroding my very foundations!
The earth in pain whispers to me:
Why are you causing this depredation?
Look at my dereliction!
Please stop this destruction.
WHISPER TO ME Ii CONTEST
Sponsored by: Regina Riddle
Date: 14th June; 2020
My mind a thick fog, a thick fog so deep,
it threatens to submerge my thoughts.
I know not why, or how, or even who,
for the fog makes me it's puppet.
It stutters and now I.
It forgets and so do I.
Who are you beside me, i really mean no harm.
It's so very lonely, in my arbid mind.
My hands no longer dainty,
but thick clumsy stubs,
that struggle with the buttons on my shirt,
oh and my cardigan,
and the laces of my shoes.
You shouldn't help, but I know you will.
I feel so confined,
in this body of mine.
My back is hunched, I'm five foot three,
but shuffle along at four foot nine.
A zimmer trawling along in front,
my eyes glaring at my two left feet,
that once could rumba or Charleston,
a swinger of the early days.
It's not so kind to be so bent,
when one wishes to look upto the sky.
My memories wither, as embers of a dying fire.
I wish the fuel of medicine could have,
burnt brightly for a few more years.
I'm told I will soon be a great grandmother,
but if you ask, I don't know who to.
Maybe Samantha or Sharon or Sylvia or Ann?
For peets sake my memories scatter,
Like a baby, I pitter patter.
I wish for the sunlight on my nose,
the fresh ocean water on my toes.
I long to see the shooting stars,
relax in the Icelandic spas.
But most of all I want to smuggle,
with my loved ones, on a winter's eve.
Tell them sweet stories, sing and dance,
hear their laughter and not their cries.
For though living, it is my bitter sweet goodbye.
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.
I saw the scar down his calf
long smooth and white
standing out against his tan
in the bright summer light;
whisky surgery he told me,
seeing my curios glance
and I got him talking
while I had the chance.
We both settled down with a beer
and he told me how it had been
just so casually describing, to me,
an horrific dangerous scene.
Fishing in a storm off Iceland
trawling for the cod
risking their lives
under a fickle sea god.
Then the steel warp parted
catching just him alone,
whipping back to gash his leg
right down to the bone.
The whisky forced down him
until he really didn’t care,
the skipper producing a needle
to sew him up then and there.
And the crew carried on fishing
with no time to waste
every second’s fishing necessary
in the profit’s chase.
He said it really didn’t hurt
with the whisky in his gob
and he reckoned the skipper
had done quite a neat job.
Very soon after that
he decided to come ashore,
said the lure of the sea
didn’t pull so much anymore,
and with a wife and child
didn’t want to push his luck.
As an ex deckie he fairly easily
obtained his docker’s book.
A very quiet person,
very pleasant and shy
but I go to know him well
as the years rolled by.
Never again mentioned his leg
which I only saw by chance,
that long smooth white scar
having just caught my glance.
Where the tide licks a sandy beach
a running ripple
thins to wash a ring of rounded pebbles -
there, a muddy ribbon
trickles through brine rinsed trinkets
surged up as a slosh of time
from the oceans depth.
Here be the bones of seahorse dragons,
and the beached and bloated
pods of marine algae,
Fractured mollusk shells splinter,
carapace and claws swell
in a mutual dross,
a trawled-up flotsam
tossed upon
low spin drifting waves.
A sculptured driftwood
expressed into mythic forms
anchors its art where the wind combs.
Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface
to be pocketed once more.
Obscure metallic treasures knuckle
and poke-mark the shoreside
with their unanswered questions.
I walk an ankle-deep dawn light
shipwrecked on my own shores edge.
A seagull's homeless cry
keeps me fishing for new depths.
Unified beneath the dome of star studded sky,
man lies starring at stars fixed or falling.
We wonder who has tossed these gems aside.
Most singular He who has let these fly
toward unknown destinations calling,
unified beneath the dome of star studded sky.
From California's forest gazers cry
with ahh's and ohh's as they lie sprawling,
we wonder who has tossed these gems aside.
Shooting star have bewitched fair Holland's sky
and danced to drums in Africa brawling,
unified beneath the dome of star studded sky
From mighty Perseus they oft seem to fly
like fishermen we sit, glow lights trawling,
we wonder who has tossed these gems aside.
That the heaven rains for all, none can deny
a gift of bold beauty mankind's calling.
Unified beneath the dome of star studded sky
we wonder who has tossed these gems aside.
Computer catfish anglers
Are out phising every second, day and night
Trawling the world wide web with baited hook
For innocent victims to catch
Internet sites such as Facebook and Twitter
Supply them with constant schools of fish
How easily they reel in trusting people with their deception
Can you be one hundred percent certain
A person behind the computer screen is for real?
Trolls don’t live under the bridge like in fairy tales
Fake profiles, false pictures and fraudulent names
Intended to disguise who they really are
Sadly some victims of their abuse resort to suicide
Hope these evil ‘catfish’ get caught and end up in court
Catfish Contest
Sponsored by Catie Lindsey
5/30/18
These creatures creep from the wetted deep
As the waters cascade as they climb the beach
Crawling, trawling over night cast sands
At their destination, what do they command
These creatures that crawl, under moonless nights
A scratching of grain, as they are hidden from sight
What is their want, what is their gain
To leave their deep, into anothers domain
They scuttle in hoards, covering our lands
Is this a chemistry, or cleverly planned
These liitle cast creatures, of a different metal
In technology evolution, is this their settle
Time will tell, can we all live together
Or are they here, for in humans they will sever
Will we be here in a couple of years
Or are these crawling creatures, The Langoliers
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