Dark Horse
The amorous handsome devil seems that's in spying at dusk.
Spring tide in the lake and he is very anxious to catch fish
But he isn't a regular fisherman.
A mistrust mistress too prefers the dusk and carousers don't like moonlight.
A prank but nobody cannot blame.
It's not a prearrangement but an accident.
When opportunity strikes who oppose the option?
In the darkness you cannot see the heart and tattle is not so important.
A taster needs a small sample?
To my poet friend Denis.Joe
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 24
A weak fisherman caught a strong fish in his net and not being able to retain it the fish overcame him and pulled the net from his hand.
A boy went to bring water from the torrent.
The torrent came and took the boy away.
The net brought every time a fish.
This time the fish went and carried off the net.
The other fishermen were sorry and blamed him for not being able to retain such a fish which had fallen into his net. He replied: ‘O brothers, what can be done? My day was not lucky but the fish had yet one remaining. ‘Moral: A fisherman cannot catch a fish in the Tigris without a day of luck and a fish cannot die on dry ground without the decree of fate.
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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We went to a small lake, Bass Lake. It was beautiful. It was perfectly still when we got there in the morning. The fog was lifting off the water. It was just magical. And we did catch some fish, 13 fish.
quote by Jennifer Granholm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And If I Did, What Then?
1 'And if I did, what then?
2 Are you aggriev'd therefore?
3 The sea hath fish for every man,
4 And what would you have more?'
5 Thus did my mistress once,
6 Amaze my mind with doubt;
7 And popp'd a question for the nonce
8 To beat my brains about.
9 Whereto I thus replied:
10 'Each fisherman can wish
11 That all the seas at every tide
12 Were his alone to fish.
13 'And so did I (in vain)
14 But since it may not be,
15 Let such fish there as find the gain,
16 And leave the loss for me.
17 'And with such luck and loss
18 I will content myself,
19 Till tides of turning time may toss
20 Such fishers on the shelf.
21 'And when they stick on sands,
22 That every man may see,
23 Then will I laugh and clap my hands,
24 As they do now at me.'
poem by George Gascoigne
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Lucky Catch
Once saw a small boy
Hand line a very large fish
Very lucky boy!
With expensive gear
Fisherman cast very far
Not a single fish
'Boy could barely cast'
Remarked the old fisherman
'Just beginners luck'
True about boy's skills.
Could only cast to the fish
Feeding at his feet
Not just gear or skill
To be lucky in fishing:
Fish where the fish are!
poem by Zen Bojczuk
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Sad
dusk to dusk
this sadness
carries a shade
the heart finds
hard to bear
the melancholy
scarlet of dusk
an artist keenly
touches up to portray
the remaining
breaths of the day
the soft breeze
carries your soft sigh
and carress
to bid me farewell
the quiet dusk is
choked with
my longings
for you while divinity
witholds its
consolations
and looks at me
through blood shot eyes
a breathless
conflagration of
copper red,
orange and gold
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Fishing (Novelinee)
To sit next to the big river brings peace
throwing a rod over the tranquil way
in a kind of the heart's sheer release
into the same pool up to close of day.
To live a life of utter joy we must,
when the river catches the rays of morn
to experience nature until dusk,
to be there when the bright new day is born;
it's great to just catch time at dusk and dawn.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Jigger
Jigger was a fisherman
and only had one wish
he really really wanted
to catch a friggin Fish
he fished for 39 years
didn't even get a nibble
after all his tears
he mouth began to dribble
On one warm sunny afternoon
he drew out his rod, was late June
low and behold on his line was a fish
after, he saw it was dead,
he had only one more wish
that he would never catch another fish
poem by David Darbyshire
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This Mighty Wanderer
Standing on a cliff overlooking the sea
I stare out at the restless waters below,
slowly moving in and out
with each incoming and receding tide.
Like a nomad ever seeking
a new place to rest its head.
Its colours always changing
under the rays of the sun,
wandering restlessly forever
from dawn to dusk,
dusk to dawn
in its never-ending travels
in this worldwide.
This mighty wanderer
only comes to shore
at the incoming tide.
17 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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At dusk as I urged the fish too bite
I remember the lake light shining
Like a disk as I fished for perch or pike
At dusk as I urged the fish too bite!
Bite a spoon of shimmering bait…
I remember bats flitting and circling
Like the insects they longed to catch…
And the ripples left by fish, that had.
I remember the blunt roll-call home…
The boathouse like a sarcophagus…
With its two well rotten doors
Gaping open; like malnourished jaws.
Awaiting, deaths ferrymen back.
Back to them; keep net shores.
I remember the rolling. Fog, rising
About the gnarled chestnut trees
Billowing-out; into brackish reeds…
And then a slice of moon leaping,
Frantic; pulling line from my spool.
I remember the lake light shining
In the scales of a real; living ghoul
Plucked out of the waters fighting…
Was a fish that wasn't preschool.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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When Age Comes On
When Age comes on!--
'The deepening dusk is where the dawn
Once glittered splendid, and the dew
In honey-drips, from red rose-lips
Was kissed away by me and you.--
And now across the frosty lawn
Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on--
And Age comes on!
And biting wild-winds whistle through
Our tattered hopes--and Age comes on!
When Age comes on!--
O tide of raptures, long withdrawn,
Flow back in summer-floods, and fling
Here at our feet our childhood sweet,
And all the songs we used to sing! . . .
Old loves, old friends--all dead and gone--
Our old faith lost--and Age comes on--
And Age comes on!
Poor hearts! have we not anything
But longings left when Age comes on?
ENVOY.
Just as of old! The world rolls on and on;
The day dies into night--night into dawn--
Dawn into dusk--through centuries untold.--
Just as of old.
Time loiters not. The river ever flows,
Its brink or white with blossoms or with snows;
Its tide or warm with Spring or Winter cold:
Just as of old.
Lo! where is the beginning, where the end
Of living, loving, longing? Listen, friend!--
God answers with a silence of pure gold--
Just as of old.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Qinghai Lake
Qinghai, Qinghai Lake,
Largest salt lake in China
Blue colour water
Blue clear skies.
Birds fly near the Birds island
During spring times.
Stand high and tall at 3,600 m
Weather according to season
Sunrise at dawn
Sunset at dusk near Qinghai Lake
beautiful colourful lake
seen from hill top
Many cattle of yaks and sheep at the hills top
with the nomadic Tibetans and their tent
The lake full of beauty and colour
beyond compare
Qinghai Hu,
Many fishes and plants.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The Visitor
Down the hill, in the field of sweet alfalfa, they're
freezing each other, the children
playing tag and I'm up at the house, I'm
in the picture window, thin
and distant like the glimpse
of a surfacing fish. What dark waters
the house is, behind me, settling
into evening. Dusk
and there are, of course, fireflies. Tell me,
what was your name? When you visited once,
by the backroad where the stones glowed pale
in the moonlight, I was too young, I still thought
I belonged to the world. But now
quartered in this house, watching the neighbors' children
turn to dusk, I feel
I'm ready. Come back
and bring your finest wine, the oldest bottle.
Bring that strange dusty book you were reading.
poem by Kate Northrop
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Dreams
I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day
Of rare and dainty poems I would write;
Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent,
Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
And songs and sonnets carven in fine gold.
The day is fading and the dusk is cold;
Out of the skies has gone the opal gleam,
Out of my heart has passed the high intent
Into the shadow of the falling night—
Must all my dreams in darkness pass away?
I have been dreaming all a summer day:
Shall I go dreaming so until Life’s light
Fades in Death’s dusk, and all my days are spent?
Ah, what am I the dreamer but a dream!
The day is fading and the dusk is cold.
My songs and sonnets carven in fine gold
Have faded from me with the last day -beam
That purple lustre to the sea-line lent,
And flushed the clouds with rose and chrysolite;
So days and dreams in darkness pass away.
I have been dreaming all a summer day
Of songs and sonnets carven in fine gold;
But all my dreams in darkness pass away;
The day is fading, and the dusk is cold.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Isaac Newton
Isaac Newton
For years he fished in the nearby lake,
but the fish would never take his bait.
So he baited his hook with crusty-bread,
but even that didn’t turn their head.
He changed the bait to a lump of cheese
and thought this would tempt and tease,
but alas no bites from dusk till dawn,
so he changed the bait to boiled corn.
With no success with boiled wheat
Newton would not accept defeat.
So he put a juicy worm upon the hook,
but even this got no second look.
He cast aside his tackle and thoughts of fish,
and became a mathematician and physicist.
One sunny morning beneath an apple tree
he sat reading a book of philosophy.
From the lake a fish leaped high above his head,
but an apple fell down and hit him instead.
He looked up for the fish and it fell onto his lap,
so he ate the apple and put the fish back.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Fisherman
At night
A man sat there drenched in the dull candle light
He sat there rod in hand
He wished that he might
Be able to catch a fish this night
He liked the pull the thrill the fight
How the fish thrashes on sensing death in sight
On this island so small there is no need for pity
A fisherman knows that killing is not pretty
But to keep money in the pocket
And a belly full of fish
A fisherman must cast out his line
So that someone can have there next dish
It was easy for him
The fisherman I mean
He always enjoyed this scene
Sitting at the edge of the dock
With his bucket, candle, rod, and radio clock
All he has to do is reel in from time to time
Just to check on his bait
And some people are impatient
But he liked the wait
The sea breeze on his face
The sound of crashing waves all over the place
His quiet canopy has fallen around him
The white noise of the ocean could always be broken on a whim
I think he heard us
Because he just shuddered as you caused all the fuss
“You! You think I am lonely, I thank you for your concern”
Turning and smiling his beard looking like a fern
He gnarls his teeth as if he just ate a leaf
“I am happy in this quiet, you can join me if you wish. Just keep quiet”!
“Or you’ll scare away all of my fish”
Written: November 30,2010
poem by Ryan Collins
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050311E it's place not fish
there's man made lake close
with three giant sprinklers, nice
banks planted with pine trees
very tall now, i have clear view
besides protruding flower plots
they also stock with fish, bass
i haven't seen anybody fish there
maybe because it's surrounded
by parking lots, highway, buildings
noisy traffic, noisy shoppers, busy
i wouldn't mine do catch and release
for a fisherman, it's fishing on a tub
poem by Manonton Dalan
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The lunar blossom
I am the flower of the moon
Who stands tall in the darkness
I am the light of shadows
Who wander perpetually
I rest in serene silence
The music of the night
The dusk showers fall
And I stay ablaze
As small as a mouse
With purpose larger than life
I sail ebony waters
Obsidian winds fill my sails
I am the boat of life
The beacon of hope
I am seemingly irrelevant
Only to blind who do not seek their truths
Through the day I stay
My light spears dusk like tusk
I am the flower of the moon
Who stands tall in darkness
poem by Logan Fulk
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An Old Fisher In The Green
A man, this man, alone in the green,
a little, tiny sand, a speck in the sea.
He used to be a torrent, a veritable blizzard,
ready to weather the storms, this strong fisher.
Then these little fish, to him flocked,
and his heart gave in, collapsed in him, and gave him quite a start.
He took the fish and laid it out, gave it his breath,
and as it looked, its eyes glowed hot, and took from him the rest.
Then it became a fisherman, but one that knew its gift,
it indeed was a fisherman who helped its once-known kin,
what a wondrous man this fish did make, reveling in this skin,
it indeed was a better fisherman who helped its once-known kin.
And so this old fisherman, living on his last breath,
lived only to help the fish he helped, until his last, his death.
His last was given to a fish he deemed demure, a wriggling sickly thing,
he gave it his last, he did, he did, though it remained a fish.
He gave his all, he did, he did, till this fish became enlarged,
yet still not a man did it make, but instead became in charge,
a shark it made, it did, it did, and it hounded out,
till once again, it did, it hid, became the rounder out.
The fishermen were thrown on their guards, this shark was so enlarged,
till all was dust upon the sea, and the old man was set free.
The vision just though may it be,
became but dust upon the sea
till all was dust to dust upon the sea,
and the old man, weak, was at last set free.
poem by Kevin Maroney
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Never is she shut #never is she shut
You are my Sun.
You are now set.
You brought me dawn
Everyday at ten.
You sent me dusk
Everyday at five.
Weekend two days,
You left me in dark.
You shone on me for brief,
But heavily, brightly
And deeply with warmth.
That referred warmth
Spread all the night.
I felt the shine of my Sun,
Off the dusk, at full night.
My night is brightly lit.
Now my sun is set.
Where is my dawn?
Where is my dusk?
Where is the sunny day?
Where is my beauty?
Who will there be to lit
My night-full day?
And dreaded night?
You be a Moon, now on.
Waxing and waning,
Be always on horizon
So that there comes
Once a while a full-moon,
To imbue me with life.
My day-less night
Is lit with Moonlight.
You be my stars, farther.
You twinkle and twinkle
At me high from horizon!
With your news, beckon!
With your heart, command!
I am in the bath of starlight.
My night-full day is lit.
My sun, though, is set,
No dark is there at night.
She is there as Moon.
She is there as Stars.
Though she is set as Sun.
I’m now a nocturnal.
She can never be set
Out of my heart and soul.
11.06.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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