Short Trawler Poems

Short Trawler Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Trawler by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Trawler by length and keyword.


Summer

Summer writes its name
on the sea,
on the beach,
on the gull's wings
on the trawler
on the pebbles...

they shout summer, summer, summer
Then, it takes its rubber
and cleans everything it's written
Summer comes and goes
when we wink our eyes

Fide ERKEN
© Fide Erken  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member The Moon and I

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.
© Uwe Stroh  Create an image from this poem.

Why Did It Become Like This

How did it come to this?
Sitting on a terrace counting how many
Ships are anchored in the bay.
I know most of the ships especially
The coastal runners, the big trawler has left an ugly ship
With a crew of the last chance saloon
No self-respecting seafarer would join a ship
That empties the ocean of life.
How did it come to this?
I am watching ships come and go in the bay of Cascais.
My plans for the future have been overtaken
By the veracity of the day

Hook, Line And Sinker

Broad in the beam not much of a looker this crusty rust-bucket of nuts screws and bolts is a crabby old hooker as luck would have it dolled up trolling for supper at any port in a storm she still gives good service tho' down on her uppers now showing her years deep in the scuppers yet still on the game fishing by night for a living not to sully or bruise her good name tho' one might unduly call her a 'Cruiser' this goodly vessel is truly a trawler
Form: Rhyme

The Skeleton Coast

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
© Viv Wigley  Create an image from this poem.
sea


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