A Coral flower dwells at the Zenith
I am a poor fisherman
And the eyes of my net are too big
Even a Whale could easily jumps
And my tumbledown boat isn't seaworthy
Just rests on the polluted beach.
It's totally an off season for fishing
And the rough waves are surfing.
I lit the half burned candle
in my shaky hut.
And I pray the cruel wind
Give me a sound sleep.
The fishmongers are jealous of you
Being a beautiful Virgin
And they gossip a lot in the marketplace.
A friend of mine who mends the nets
And the friendly Sea Gulls too
Told me that you're pink of color.
I call you Pinky!
Though it's a risky journey
If you could drift with the waves
Towards my neglected solitary Harbor
I can wait in standing my whole life for you
Like a lonesome Lighthouse!
*To my Life-school Art Teacher, the poetess Sandra Fowler in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Rongmon the Fisherman by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika (Translated from Assamese)
That morning
Rongmon the Fisherman
Went fishing
On his wobbly little boat
'Please don't go fishing!
Please don't go fishing!
Look, there comes the storm
O Rongmon, listen,
The river is swarming
With crocodiles
Thirsting for blood'
But towards the evening
In middle of the river
He disappeared 'thout a trace
Beating her bosom
Look'in at heaven
(Rohdoi) gave out a heart piercing wail
‘Go, you waves, take flight
I'll find my way through the night
My Rongmon must be brought home'
Lying on the beach
Brought by the waves
Atlast, She found her Man...
(Translated by S.A.Shah, Bokultol)
poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
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At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
while the rain pours down
like water out of God’s hosepipe
with engines roaring in the ears
and clouds of smoke hang over the boats
with every fisherman for a moment being caught
in a own world while fog whirl about the boats
that rocks up and down to the harbour mouth.
The waves crash, the sea foams and bubbles
and “my girlfriend has a good lover, ”
is sung by one while the trawler sets its course
on the look out for barracouta, cod and sea trout.
“Look at the shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, ”
a fisherman shouts against the wind that pulls and pulls on the boat.
“Salmon man, salmon” roars the tiller man back and walls of water
roll past and the boat turns to get fishing gear ready.
“My girlfriend has a good lover and he’s a gelded goat, ”
the tune goes on and something clatters down
drawing the attention of the fishermen and the water shines
and when the boat is full they tell jokes that they guffaw at.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Prince Edward Island
In Prince Edward Island
I am in a fishing boat
Working
With the rest of the
Other fisherman
On board
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Fisherman's Boat
I am tied to a pole
In me came and sat a fisherman with a big mole
He had a fishing rod and a net
With a bucket and bait so wet
He untied me and rowed me
Into the deep sea
And with rod, net and bait
He caught fish till late
He went home with a big fish
To prepare and eat a tasty dish
Tomorrow again he’ll come wearing his overcoat
To untie me, his little fishing boat.
poem by Niharika Singh
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Boardinghouse by the riverside
He has lost his youthful idealism.
The old bachelor sips his mug of coffee,
She stirred well the spinster Landlady.
I have no idea any further,
But he's a boarder with the rest two,
A barber and a bankrupt fisherman.
Bachelor depends on his pension
And he dreams all the time,
If he marries this stingy lady
by an accident he could buy
The fisherman's selling boat
and live happily by fishing?
[We are always the same age inside.-Stein]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Paper boat
Hunger has risen up to the sky.
Is your boat seaworthy?
I am scared my son will it be capsized on the way?
Your loving father's boat is a massive one.
I cannot listen to these scaremongers gossiping.
They are very superstitious of your father
And state that he lives in a remote island with a family.
Is it possible my son to bring your nuisance father back safely in your paper boat?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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On An April Evening In The Fall
With folded wings the fishing gannets plunge into the sea
And the nuggety old man with fishing rod was waiting patiently
For a fish to bite as the incoming waves splashed quite close to his feet
And each new wave it came surging in as each old wave did retreat.
Have you been catching many fish today? of the fisherman I inquired
Not been doing too well today mate the old fellow replied
I've yet to catch a fish today, sometimes in the rising tide
From cover they don't venture out between the rocks they hide.
I'll stay another hour he said at least until twilight
The wife would like a good sized fish to cook for tea tonight
Still I don't like my chances much it's a quarter after four
I'll stay till a quarter after five and not one second more
The silver gulls cry on the beach the angry ocean roar
The gannets fishing on the bay, the old man from the shore
And people walking on the beach before their evening tea
On a sunny evening in April in the Fall by the Pacific sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Your Fishing Pole
There is something about you, something in your soul
something that seems to surround your fishing pole….
You moved to the coast, now that’s no lie
And we had a hard time with that little goodbye
But no need for heartache, no need to console
You had your boat and your fishing pole.
You know everyday you go out to fish
it’s like a genie granting every little wish
every time that bobber goes out of control
we know you are happy with your fishing pole.
Now on birthdays it’s special out on the water
I hear if you’re there, they’ll jump for the slaughter
You’ll be piling them in like your lucks on a roll
Reeling them in with your fishing pole
So today of all days take heed and relax
Pack up a cooler with drinks and some snacks
put on your shoes and go take a stroll
Down to your boat with your fishing pole.
poem by Kathleen J. Shields
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The Famous Tay Whale
'TWAS in the month of December, and in the year l883,
That a monster whale came to Dundee,
Resolved for a few days to sport and play,
And devour the small fishes in the silvery Tay.
So the monster whale did sport and play
Among the innocent little fishes in the beautiful Tay,
Until he was seen by some men one day,
And they resolved to catch him without delay.
When it came to be known a whale was seen in the Tay,
Some men began to talk and to say,
We must try and catch this monster of a whale,
So come on, brave boys, and never say fail.
Then the people together in crowds did run,
Resolved to capture the whale and to have some fun!
So small boats were launched on the silvery Tay,
While the monster of the deep did sport and play.
Oh! it was a most fearful and beautiful sight,
To see it lashing the water with its tail all its might,
And making the water ascend like a shower of hail,
With one lash of its ugly and mighty tail.
Then the water did descend on the men in the boats,
Which wet their trousers and also their coats;
But it only made them the more determined to catch the whale,
But the whale shook at them his tail.
Then the whale began to puff and to blow,
While the men and the boats after him did go,
Armed well with harpoons for the fray,
Which they fired at him without dismay.
And they laughed and grinned just like wild baboons,
While they fired at him their sharp harpoons:
But when struck with,the harpoons he dived below,
Which filled his pursuers' hearts with woe.
Because they guessed they had lost a prize,
Which caused the tears to well up in their eyes;
And in that their anticipations were only right,
Because he sped on to Stonehaven with all his might:
And was first seen by the crew of a Gourdon fishing boat
Which they thought was a big coble upturned afloat;
But when they drew near they saw it was a whale,
So they resolved to tow it ashore without fail.
So they got a rope from each boat tied round his tail,
And landed their burden at Stonehaven without fail;
And when the people saw it their voices they did raise,
Declaring that the brave fishermen deserved great praise.
And my opinion is that God sent the whale in time of need,
No matter what other people may think or what is their creed;
I know fishermen in general are often very poor,
And God in His goodness sent it drive poverty from their door.
So Mr John Wood has bought it for two hundred and twenty-six pound,
And has brought it to Dundee all safe and all sound;
Which measures 40 feet in length from the snout to the tail,
So I advise the people far and near to see it without fail.
Then hurrah! for the mighty monster whale,
Which has got 17 feet 4 inches from tip to tip of a tail!
Which can be seen for a sixpence or a shilling,
That is to say, if the people all are willing.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Lana Jane
Every boy loved her- Lana Jane,
And who could blame them? She was fair,
Of perfect form and beauty rare,
But none could have her, Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
And he no man to barter.
For he would take poor Lana Jane
To sea, and she would stay the boat
When harbored; thus, a dreadful moat
Would bar the way to Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
But he refused to barter.
In fourteen years, sweet Lana Jane,
Was never seen upon the shore
Among the boys who wanted more
Than life to see their Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
Whose father ne'er would barter.
The legend grew of Lana Jane,
While scores of ports, legions of ships
Claimed: “She’s aboard! ” through whispered lips,
“The rarest beauty, Lana Jane,
“The fisherman’s only daughter.
“She's yours to see. Let's barter! ”
Honey, I Took The Fishing Boat
I took the boat out fishing,
and didn’t tell you that I went
Then before I knew it
all my fishing time was spent
Some angels pulled me over
and said that I must dock
I wasn’t even startled
so I must have been in shock
They wouldn’t let me make a phone call
just said they’d let you know
Then they said, “ Lay down the fishing poles”
and to heaven we did go
They dressed me in a flowing robe
I guess I’m in the choir
I sing a decent alto
but I can’t go much higher
Well, looks like I’m here to stay,
so you must follow aft
Don’t worry that I took the boat
I did leave you the raft
poem by Rosie McFadden
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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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the Fisherman
THE FISHERMAN
All his life in his sun-burnt boat he is out there
on the sea,
To eke out an honest living with his catches at
sea!
The sea is his second home, where his soul
breathes free!
The sea remain placid, the sea remain calm,
Rocking his boat gently like a mother patting
her son!
But when the sea raves and foams in the mouth,
The fisherman calmly surveys the distant storm
clouds!
He silently sets sail towards the safe shore;
Though at times he boldly tries to ignore!
And should his boat overturn and capsize below,
His mother will keep him afloat - as he swims
to the shore!
-Raj Nandy
27 Mar 09
Then Why Not I?
if the sparrow builds a nest
without the use of hands...
then why not I?
if the whale answers calls
from across the ocean...
then why not I?
if the tree stands through
storm after storm, season after season...
then why not I
if the butterfly lives eternity
in one precious moment...
then why not! ?
if the wind comes and goes
without home or destination...
then why not I?
if the mountain waits in stillness,
never asking what it's waiting for....
the why not I?
if the bridge knows only feet,
and the boat waits for oars...
then why not I
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Fisherman
The sunset hues
colour the sky red
at evening tide
predicting fair weather
for the day ahead.
No storm clouds
to follow me
as I set my sails
on my great fishing boat
for my journey out to sea
with sun and fair winds
to follow me.
A fisherman is my life
with the sail and sea my home.
Free to do what I do best
fish the bounty of the sea.
At dusk, I rest
and wait for the morning fair.
A fisherman is my life,
something I’ll always be
until the day comes along
to visit Davy Jones locker,
but until then I’ll roam free
wherever the fair wind takes me.
No landlover me
as the sea is my home
and where I always want to be,
watching whales and dolphins play
and the gulls for company.
17 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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A Fishermans Will
A Fisherman's Will
I have eaten catfish in more ways than one
Fish that is blackened is not over done
Bass done over a grill with butter basting
Fish balls fried are really tasty
I have had days I caught more fish than I could contain
Then there were days I didn't get a bite and it rained
Memories of Dads and trips where we bonded
Caught some that could have been mounted
Romance and fishing don't go together well
Poles and pools on days hotter than hell
I've never make a good fisher of men
But I have found fishing gives me a grin
So when I die I ask you please
Put my body in a river or sea
Let the fish then eat off me,
So I may return the favor, please!
This is my request in my:
Fisherman's Will
Jim 1989
poem by James Casey
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Angeline
Angeline
had arrived in
Nova Scotia
Today
By boat
And the boat that
She traveled in from
Toronto
Was a fishing boat
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Burial At Sea
Into the purple sea, feet first
along the whale's black back
stuck with barnacles and whorls of worms
slips the man from the boat
who used be a priest, then a rabbi
buttoning his macintosh.
Kersplash!
The whale glides off, laughing and spouting.
The boat drifts off, the sun comes out,
the atolls drift and shift, the heavens popsicle green.
'Isn't it lovely, ' sputters the man
(who has lost his stove pipe) emerging
back in air. 'Isn't it lovely.'
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Boneheads Bank Holiday
You know I need a little break
To get away for a holiday
So I can see the sun
Cos in the sun they say its fun
If you can get some
Well I could take a train or a boat or an aeroplane
Or I could steal a car
Cos in a car you can go far
Just depends on what kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
What kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
I met a funny looking girl
On a crowded beach in spain
Her name was avaline
She said she came to spain to have a good time
But she was with her mum
Who had a face like a nun in pain
She said her name was dot
She didnt half talk a lot
I couldnt tell if she was mad or not
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Dont you know - I should have stayed in england
On my polluted beach - with all my special friends
Dont you know - I should have stayed in england
With my big house and my big car
And all my friend are there at the bar
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
You know I need a little break
To get away for a holiday
So I can see the sun
Cos in the sun they say its fun
If you can get some
Well I could take a train or a boat or an aeroplane
Or I could steal a car
Cos in a car you can go far
It just depends on what kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
What kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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bloodline ***** FISHING ON PALILAN TABO-O WHITE SAND TRENCHES
in memory of the late Carlos carling Caminos, our fisherman, and to my biological Papa Romy
at Brgy. Palilan and Tabo0o, Jimenez, Misamis Occidental,
Mindanao, Philippines
Nearly summer
March night of 1995
crest of waves took off
beneath the escaping-out Pacific
typhoon eye
hitting upper most Philippine
archipelago
A perfect night for
my childish fishing adventure
at Misamis sea
after Papa permitted me to
join Carling in GOODBYE type
fishing
I threw then a fishing net as we
had approached the fishing bay
above coral reefs to trap
passer-by seasonal school of fish
locally known as the matam-baka
carried by low tide current
along trenches
we had a good 'catch' ever
until the last thrown and
the fishing net was trapped
along reefs
we simply bid goodbye
same as that fishing type was being called
goodbye to the nylon net
goodbye to the just caught fishes
too hard to pull it back
into our customized pump boat
the current was so strong
unpredicted
only the fisher's kerosene lamp
was left as we went back
shore
I lighted on
until now flaming in the
school of my memories
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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