Short Trawling Poems

Trawling graveyards might not sound like fun,
she’ll never stop ‘til her mission is done.
With her trusty wooden stake,
life from the dead she can take -
hunting night creatures ‘til she feels the sun....

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I was trawling the internet yesterday and came
across the Love Poem Generator
I thought, disgusted, you can’t generate a love poem
it’s like having sex and calling it generating a baby
you’re taking all the passion out of it....

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There is no space between the 
horizon and the ocean
Birds follow boats in a lazy 
circular motion 
It is a lazy hazy Saturday 
afternoon
Topped by a peeping 
premature quarter moon  

Idle fishermen sit and curse 
their fate
The striper run is getting 
precariously late
Boats chug back and forth in 
search of signs
Willing fish to hook up with 
trawling lines...

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Effortlessly out of a seabed of notions
words rise.
Many are eaten by sharks,
or the ever-nibbling krill
of second thoughts.

You learn to make
the holes of the net smaller
no more trawling,
just the quick swoop and catch
will land them still wriggling.

Now recline on the shore of self,
relax,
put your legs in the air, count your toes,
until a line hooks you
to an effortless poem....

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The gulls are low, not skimming,
but surfing spray
just above
the rise and fall of crests.

Beaks scythe and catch
tracking troughs.
They seek the in-between fish
thrown
between tumbling parapets
of ocean.

Trawling gullets
scoop,
gulp the spew.

Swigging necks
do not glance back
but plow circles of light
upon the water,

then they dive upwards
into
the wings of the wind....

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„Per me si va nella città dolente…”
Dante Alighieri

You haven’t forgotten
you won’t forget…
In ices is swelling
the river again and trawling
roots and weeds,
and foam.
It leaves the shores bent,
mirrors,
swamps and frost.
But on the day
it kindles a glow.
With movements
spiral of
the hands,
I’m folding the air
after the beasts –
to that one threshold
(what does it say
no, I don’t know.

And the death ones leave....

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when a little bird starts to fly,
when a baby stands on its own,
when an old seed pierces the earth,
when sun shines on a rainy day,
when a poor fish escapes trawling,
A ray of hope emerges,
that reconciles dispute between heart and mind
that heals the wounds inside my heart
that waters the plants wilting inside me
that brings back the spring to my barren land
that helps me nudge the success
and so it begins...

 Not for the contest...

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