The Dedicated Fishermen
The lads, Sid, Fred, Frank and Len,
Are four dedicated fishermen,
Telling stories of their latest bite,
They'd sometimes talk right through the night,
About the 'big one' that got away,
Which was to everybody's great dismay.
These gentlemen, would then debate,
About different hooks and various bait.
They'd talk of hours spent on sandbanks,
How the lastest catch, had been or course, Frank's,
Searching for cod, sea bass and salmon,
Whilst eating sandwiches filled with gammon,
And drinking cups of tomato soup,
They'd sit there with a 'shoulder' stoop,
And contemplating about the weather,
Their spirits would feel as light as a feather.
The day could be long, but there was always the sun,
And peace and quiet, when 'all's said and done',
Along with a container of cockles and shrimps, they
Would definitely catch some fish by the end of the day.
So Fred, Len, Frank and Sid, sat on
And quietly mused till the light was gone,
Then trudged off to the pub, cos their throats had dried.
But they'll be fishing again with the next high tide!
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Anything You Can Do
ANNIE: Anything you can do I can do better
......I can do anything better than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can be I can be greater
......Sooner or later I'm greater than you
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am, yes I am
FRANK: I can shoot a partridge with a single cartridge
ANNIE: I can get a sparrow with a bow and arrow
FRANK: I can live on bread and cheese
ANNIE: And only on that?
FRANK: Yes
ANNIE: So can a rat
FRANK: Any note you can reach I can go higher
ANNIE: I can sing anything higher than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
ANNIE: Anything you can buy I can buy cheaper
......I can buy anything cheaper than you
FRANK: Fifty cents
ANNIE: Forty cents
FRANK: Thirty cents
ANNIE: Twenty cents
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can say I can say softer
ANNIE: I can say anything softer than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: I can drink my liquor faster than a flicker
ANNIE: I can do it quicker and get even sicker
FRANK: I can open any safe
ANNIE: Without being caught?
FRANK: Sure
ANNIE: That's what I thought (you crook)
FRANK: Any note you can hold I can hold longer
ANNIE: I can hold any note longer than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't - yes, you can
ANNIE: Anything you can wear I can wear better
......In what you wear I'd look better than you
FRANK: In my coat
ANNIE: In your vest
FRANK: In my shoes
ANNIE: In your hat
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can say I can say faster
ANNIE: I can say anything faster than you
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: I can jump a hurdle
ANNIE: I can wear a girdle
FRANK: I can knit a sweater
ANNIE: I can fill it better
FRANK: I can do most anything
ANNIE: Can you bake a pie?
FRANK: No
ANNIE: Neither can I
FRANK: Anything you can sing I can sing sweeter
ANNIE: I can sing anything sweeter than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Oh, yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't, can't, can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, can, can, can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tale Of Meenkumar
Long long ago
Man used to live on the bank of the ocean
There were many lakes and rivers surrounding the ocean
The banks of the rivers and lakes were full of trees
Many forests were there
Those were deep forests
In the forests there were many wild animals
Man lived on the bank of the ocean
Because of the danger of the wild animals
Except farmers, fishermen, craftspeople abode there
Fishermen knew fishes were the saviors of their life
So they didn't catch fish every time
They didn't catch fish unless it was necessary
They didn't kill the fry and not even the pregnant fish
There was the Meen kingdom in the oceans
What is Meen?
It is a kind of fish
They used to rule the kingdom of the oceans
One day, one Meen prince came out of the palace because of forgetfulness of mind
He was roaming and came at a place full of mosses and rocks
There were many big and small fishes
One big Salmon fish was delighted to see the beauty of the Meen prince
He felt greed to eat him
Meen prince escaped when he saw the salmon swimming towards him
Meen prince hid himself under the rocks
Salmon knew that Meen cannot stay for a long time there
When he would come, he would catch him and eat
It would be a wonderful dinner for him
Meen prince passed the night by hiding under the rocky place
Early in the morning, fishermen came to catch fish
Meen prince saw a child fisherman
He requested him to save his life
Finally the fishermen encircled the Salmon fish and caught it
Meen thanked the child fisherman and luckily returned to the palace
This was the tale of Meenkumar....
poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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As it is Written
As it is Written
As we look back in our past and wondering why are things not happening like we planned.
Only if we would read what is said in it, than we would totally understand.
I was hurting and I was wondering, if any one heard me as I cried,
As the book says that He will never leave our side.
There are so many times that the frustrations go through our mind.
This is when we need to remember as it is said, 'This is the time to be kind.'
When we have Satan trying to talk to us in our head,
We need to tell him as you said, 'Go dropp dead Fred.'
Even though that was a joke, but as it is written with His love I will never go broke.
Because his Love is the greatest treasure of then all.
By Frank Pulver Aug 24,2012
poem by Frank Pulver
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050510J trying not to work
i happened to talk to a gentleman
retired from government last month
he is taking his time without a plan
fishing the wharf at morning sunshine
got his fishing hooks all tangled up
he told me, last he just threw in a box
on his first cast he yelled 'come on bite'
in my mind how could they without bait
snug 'em that won't be very pretty sight
i guess he saw me with a grin; respond
'oh! yes, i never put bait on first launch'
'i noticed, you must be clearing the rust'
poem by Manonton Dalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Fun
it's fun
in fact it's more fun
being here
i am thinking
a lot
about people that
i've met
that i barely know
there are only
glimpses
outlines of their lives
in such
a short conversation
it makes me feel
so elated
comforting me that
i am not alone
in this...
say,
sorrow joy
sweet-sour memories
like fish and sauce
on a platter
this fun thing
it's more fun really
on these islands
i am taking more
hours of my life
on the plane
hopping from one island
to another
threshing out stories
of real people
that i met
and talk with
in such a short
witting hours
i do not care
anymore
if what they are
telling are true
does not really matter
sort of
short stories themselves
that they are
weaving
like spiders
in the far corners
of the cities
it's more fun
to be frank with you
merely listening
somehow
the words that travel in my ears
make my senses full
i am not alone
all of them
are telling me
this world is a place
of stories
sounds and colors
it is real
they are all telling me
how come
that i did not really know that?
must i be dumb?
or was i just sleeping for all those years
or simply pretending
to know a lot
from books and pages of the newspapers
?
i am seeing a big river
i put myself inside a wooden boat
take the paddle
and start my way
in the water
i stop a while
to touch the ripples
and then
we are going
into something that we have
never know
under the moon
my shadow speaks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fred The Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Date
She waved down a passing cab,
And said, Hi Frank can I grab
A quick lift home, cos I'm a little late tonight,
Oh sure, he said, and smiled,
As if she were a child,
I'll set you down outside your door, if that's alright!
That would indeed be great,
She answered, I've got a date,
And I'll have to change and also snatch a bite,
I hope he will wait for me,
I told him that I'd hurry,
Musn't keep him standing long, on our first night.
Where are you going to meet,
I probably know the street,
I won't let you down, if time is getting tight,
No, don't you worry Frank,
But you, I would like to thank,
And if he doesn't show up, I'll ring you, if I might.
No problem, just you phone,
And don't walk home alone,
I'll be right there, I'd hate you to have a fright,
But there was no need for Frank,
To leave his taxi rank,
She found that her date turned out to be just right.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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My First Fishing Trip
Went with dad to Port Isabel to learn to fish,
‘Cause to catch a fish I told him that I did wish.
So to Purdy’s Court fishing pier,
We went with all our fishing-gear.
Yes, that fishing trip with dad I’ll always cherish!
There we were, him giving me casting instruction,
Then he baited my hook with a live crustacean,
I cast out high in the sky.
To catch a big fish to fry,
But instead, caught a sea gull - as consolation!
poem by Bobby Beddoe
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Persistently Pursuing Piscine Protein
Once again whilst fishing at the beach,
The fish they all stayed out of reach,
I think they knew that I was there,
And so my fish bag it stayed bare.
Nothing in there for me to eat,
The scaly ones had me beat,
But such is the nature of this fisherman,
I'll be trying again as soon as I can,
And next time I'll catch fish a' plenty,
Not going home with my fish bag empty.
This optimism keeps shining bright,
No matter how often on a cold wet night,
I venture out and fail to catch,
I know next time will be game, set, and match.
To me the stupidly determined one,
Who keeps on fishing when all hope is gone!
Tom Higgins 19/11/2012
poem by Tom Higgins
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Fred the Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always saw the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Alyssa Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fishing
Lust is the bait given by the God
To get the fish which are children.
We don’t catch fish with the bait
And instead eat the bait and forget fishing.
17.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunting or Fishing?
Hunting or fishing – which is better?
That is what I am thinking about!
In business many hunt for customers;
Some men prefer casting net to catch fish!
Even for poets the position is the same
In poetry websites to catch readers!
Some lay wise traps to catch readers!
I use fishing rod with a needle and bait
To catch readers who can understand!
Whether the rank is high or low it is
Immaterial but the true comment is!
Hunting readers to comment and rank
Or fishing readers to comment and rank
Are not really going to enhance one’s status;
For, voluntary comments are indeed valuable!
Poets are jealous to appreciate others’ merit
But some poets raise the status of others!
So, letters to such poets increase sans end!
This is the status of poetry websites now!
So, it is left to you to hunt or fish or lay trap
As you wish to catch readers for rank, etc.!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Frank the Jester
There's joy in legislative halls
When Frank's in opposition;
But gloom upon the Chamber falls
When Frank holds high position.
His merry japes no longer flit
About the House to mellow it,
For cares of office dull his wit
And mar his life's great mission.
Frank's mission - and a high one, too,
Amongst the chiefest rating
Is to infuse come joy anew
Into the dull debating.
When speakers drone and lose their grip,
And every member has the pip,
Up rises Frank with merry quip
And humor scintillating.
But as a Minister, alack,
His ready wit grows clouded.
For higher roles he takes the sack;
For in a House enshrouded
By weariness, when members sup
Of dreariness the prosy cup,
And word goes round that Frank is up,
The benches soon are crowded.
I feel I earn a nation's thanks
If I, with due humility,
Suggest for such a wit as Frank's
A new and fit nobility.
If I'd my way, I'd have him sent
Our happier moods to represent
As 'Minister for Merriment
Without Responsibiiity.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Our biggest fish
When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke,
I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like;
And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught
When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught!
And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display
When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away!
Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines,
And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs;
But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame,
I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same--
I never lost a little fish--yes, I am free to say
It always was the biggest fish I caught that got away.
And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass
From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass;
I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite
And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night,
To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay
How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away.
And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're
caught--
When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut,
When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat
And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat!
Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say
That it always is the biggest fish you catch that gets away!
'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes
The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize;
We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life--
Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife;
And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray,
We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away.
I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be
Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea;
For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game--
May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same;
Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say
That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.
poem by Eugene Field
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Winthrop
When we get back to winthrop
A few miles from the airport
On a plastic chair
On a deck where my friends live
I watch the taking off airplanes
I watch the ocean waves crashing
With all of this movement somethings got to give
Down at the high tide
Passed down through the family
The fishermen gather to complain about the catch
They talk about time
They talk about tides
The pull of the moon and the coffee deep night black
And I listen to them
And I listen to you
And for everyone there is something never coming back
But for all that weve been through
For all that weve promised
Your wayward direction seems insensible
Words fall off like breathless fish
All flopping and scattered
And hearts picked over deemed dispensible
Down at the high tide
Were there for our last meal
The broken loaves are still enough for all
And we talk about time
And we talk about tides
Under the moon with the deep night coffee black
I hear the dim roar of the last flight out
And for someone there is someone never coming back
We talk about time
We talk about tides
Under the moon and the deep night coffee black
I hear the dim roar of the last flight out
And for someone there is someone never coming back
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me and Paddy Martin
At Yoker High, I caught the train and went to Craigendoran,
I loved to fish there off the beach but it was always pouring
We used to get there at low tide, to search for rags and lugs,
But cos we hadn’t checked the tides, we’d end up looking mugs.
Rods in hand, no bait to fish and soaked right to the skin,
It was up the chippy for a heat and get some food within.
We were hopeless at this game and never caught a salmon
So we’d head home, cold and wet and end up having gammon.
poem by Paul Colvin
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When I remember the fish
When I remember the fish,
The river longed me to go,
Wriggling and meandering, slippery in this
Imaginary waters of my world,
I become a fish.
When eye sea them eat the fish;
They cast their nets for a random catch, they
Drop their hooks for a strangling pull, then,
I become a fish no more.
When them fail to catch the fish;
As the fish wriggles an escape,
Then eye long to be like one as eye
Wonder whether or not am a fish.
©1998
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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This Time of Year a Twelvemonth Past
This time of year a twelvemonth past,
When Fred and I would meet,
We needs must jangle, till at last
We fought and I was beat.
So then the summer fields about,
Till rainy days began,
Rose Harland on her Sundays out
Walked with the better man.
The better man she walks with still,
Though now 'tis not with Fred:
A lad that lives and has his will
Is worth a dozen dead.
Fred keeps the house all kinds of weather,
And clay's the house he keeps;
When Rose and I walk out together
Stock-still lies Fred and sleeps.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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The Poet Laurie Ate
Laurie was my dog
And he loved to bite
He wasn't very clever
And not at all bright.
He didn't like my friend
A mad poet called Fred
One day Laurie bit him
On the back of his head.
Fred wasn't at all pleased
And bit my dog back
So Laurie retaliated
And went on the attack.
They wrestled on the floor
And Fred got bit a lot
So to get my dog off him
I hit the mutt with a flowerpot.
But Laurie was very tough
And the pot bounced off his head
Then poor old Fred stopped moving
In fact he was now Dead.
I didn't know what to do
The poet didn't deserve to die
Looking down at Laurie
I asked this crazy dog Why?
But he just didn't care
And kept chewing at Fred
This loony dog was eating him
The he swallowed dead Fred's head.
Poor Fred was now all gone
But this must have been his fate
To lose his life to a psycho dog
The poet Laurie ate.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Fishing For Something
Fishing for something, On a lake out west,
But; the only thing biting, Mossies are a pest;
I really came to catch a dozen or so trout,
But had to stop, There's a storm come about.
Fishing for something off their pier,
Up at ballarat. On wendouree weir;
Hope to catch some trevally for tea,
But all I caught was an old shoe, silly me.
Fishing for something, I'll need a net,
Try to catch lobster, if I don't I'll be upset,
So I let out the net, and to my surprise today,
5 lobsters, and 1 cheeky dolphin trying to play.
Fishing for something, a minister will do,
As he preaches to the people, the message so true;
About. Love, and kindness, and helping each other,
And telling them too, to help witness to a brother.
Fishing for something, is what we can do,
Help so many, find a way, and not be in a stew;
Don't judge others, and don't start to fight,
But be caring and sharing, lead them to the light.
poem by Margaret Haig
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