My Own Sea Of Blues...
there is no salt
in your sea of
blue, i guess,
it is all bitterness
in there
but wait
there is a blueness in
the sea
that makes this world
a waving
experience, foamy white
sea caps,
white sea gulls hovering
for a school
of fish
a yacht with lovers
sharing
lives,
a fishing boat loaded with
a big catch
children swimming
along the coast
sunbathing babes
multicolored beach
umbrellas
surfing boards
sunglasses
on my own interpretation
of the sea
of blues....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
In My Wild Flights Of Fancy The Ocean I Can See
The blueness of the saltwater the white waves rolling free
In my wild flights of fancy the ocean i can see
The silver gulls and black backed gulls above the white beach cry
And the sun is shining brightly in the clear and sunny sky,
The children in the shallows they laugh and splash and run
In the coolness of sea water their way of having fun
On a pleasant day in Summer of 25 degrees
And there is a soothing freshness in the freshening ocean breeze,
The distinctive smell of the seaweed washed in by the last tide
A refuge from beach predators for tiny sea things to breed in and hide
Coastal people love the ocean and near the ocean they choose to stay
And in the coastal cemeteries their last remains do lay
The rumble of the ocean the white waves running free
And in my flights of fancy the sea is calling me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Love Lyme Regis
I love Lyme Regis,
the pink and white cottage's,
and the deep blue sea,
the pebble on sandy beach's where the children play,
walking along the heritage coast, picking up fossil's along the way,
watching the fishing boat's going out to sea,
bringing back mackerel and crab for us to eat for tea,
the Cobb, the cliff's, the safe harbour for the little ship's,
for these and many more thing's,
i love Lyme Regis.
poem by Alan J Duffield Lock
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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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Pierre The Penquin
'I have just been swimming to catch my fish. I have 3, I love fish it is absolutely delicious, I don’t want them cooked, I can’t see the sense in that, I will eat them raw one by one and savor every bite. They are cold and slippery to slide down my throat. I will eat my fish first, then I might go for another swim, or I might go for a snooze for a while.'
Who knows?
Pierre the penguin has just been swimming,
to catch his evening meal.
He does not need a boat for this,
or a rod or reel.
He can swim very fast,
and catch his fish quite easily.
Pierre is well equipped for this,
has you all can see.
He has a flipper on each leg,
that makes him very strong.
So, when he goes swimming,
he can stay out there quite long.
The fish are cold and slippery,
to slide down Pierre's throat.
The oil in the fish,
gives Pierre his lovely coat.
After his meal,
he might go for another swim,
or he might go for a snooze.
Which one do you think,
Pierre, should really choose?
poem by Pamela lutwyche
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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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Is it really like fishing?
They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?
How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.
Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.
poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
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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 Lake
The lake so grand, boats afloat
all sizes and shapes
pontoons, yachts, sails and fishing boat
people from all over and all ages
every wave so beautiful as the they stroll ashore
from white caps to rolling wave. the flow so endless
the boats flowing so gentling across the water
the fish swimming so free under the water
teasing the fishermen, steal the bait
the lake is the place to be on this fine day
God creation for all to enjoy
take the moment and view the lake
It so grand and so free
poem by Michael Peterson
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Hues of blue
From the holiday apartment’s window
I see people swimming in the blue pool
and the water looks icy cold
from the dark blue colour
Some girls and women have
bathing caps on in colours
of white, green and blue
and others swim without
while some lie
around the pool.
While the day gets hotter
the colour of the pool changes
to a lighter hue
and just across the road
the beach is full
of people lying in the sun.
Some swim with the waves
breaking white
and some are deeper
in the aquamarine water
and still deeper
some surfers
are riding the waves
the of a navy blue ocean.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the 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 Blues In Black And White
the writing is on the wall, baby
We're different as day and night
But I guess that I refused to face it
The blues in black and white
When I got home I knew, baby
Something was wrong tonight
When I found the note you wrote ,it gave
The blues in black and white
CHORUS
Color my world without you in it
And the future dont look too bright
Darlin' its not a pretty picture
The blues in black and white
Since you've been gone I'm going crazy
I've got to get on with my life
Maybe I'll write a book and call it
The blues in black and white
repeat chorus
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let us do something else
Harbor tug gongs and the sound of hungry gulls
A salty breeze burns dry lips
the sweaty sun stings bare shoulders
and the glare tears sunglasses
but this toil here on the jetty makes me smile
determination keeps me on the fishing line
today I catch the biggest one
with ample amounts of whiskey
declare unto all
I’m on god damn holiday
poem by Martin Lochner
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Super Summer
No more school
I’m always swimming in the pool
This is summer break, doesn’t this sound great?
I smell loads of chorine
The grass is a beautiful bright green
I scream for ice scream
On the beach I fly some kites
Sweet corn, ice pops, and strawberries open up, and take a bite
I sit under the stars at night
Quiet rids on my big blue bike
I love taking hikes
Charvale pool is always filled with little tikes
Always socking up the sun
but watch out for sun burn because it hurts tons
I hate burnt hotdogs on stale buns
I love huge boom fires at the beach
Fishing in funs when we all get one fish each
My hands and face always sticky from the peaches
Extremely hot air
Katie and I make a great summer pair
Pink and blue cotton candy at the fair
Sleeping in super late
When fishing I always run out of bait
Winning my swim races makes me feel great
Listening to my favorite songs
On road trips we spend long hours in the car
Mini put is lots of fun but I never am under par
I live for the summer
But soon it will be all gone and have to go to school and that’s a bummer
This is my super summer
poem by Molly Breadcrumb
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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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A White Yacht I See
a white yacht i see
on a very blue ocean
far away
at the port
a shadow of a girl with a long black hair
against a very strong sunlight
waves at me
still
i figure out as i wait on the top of this mountain
where the air is fainting
she must be the one
destined to die
because no one helped her
because
i have no way of becoming
this wooden boat
to sail and save her
from him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Deceiving World.
Try to catch,
But couldn't catch,
Seen as small and big fish,
Then too strong for their hooks,
Swimming under the new city mall,
Swimming under silver bird gallery,
Swimming under the theatre gallery
Where it called to be situated,
In the island of Nigeria Africa.
Asked where is the world,
Deceiving world its means?
Answers in illusion and delusion,
Tried but hid in tenacious pretense,
pretense of long slavery,
Pretense in standard,
Pretense of self interest,
Pretense of wickedness,
Try to catch,
Too strong for the hooks,
Seen as small and big fish,
Swimming in the island,
Swimming under Museum center,
Swimming under cultured and tour-isms,
Where its called to be situated,
In the world of blacks and white,
In the island of Africa.
Asked where is the world,
Deceiving world its means?
ILLUSION, WICKEDNESS, GREED AND HATRED founds,
Appears answers for reality,
Reality of seconds, Movement, distractions, and player hitters,
Called and seen a deceiving world,
Asked where is the world of the deceits,
At levels of a canteen,
Deceiving world at classrooms,
Deceiving world world of movement,
Deceiving world of called percussionists,
Deceiving world indeed and not fiction called.
poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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How Many Grains Of Sand Are There On The Beach?
we are on the beach
it is a very bright and warm day
the coconut leaves are cooling us
the shade is comforting
the sands so white
the sea is crystal blue
the sea gulls are singing
colored fishes come up from time to time
hiding in the corals
if you want to know how many grains of white sands
are there on this beach
begin the count
for the meantime
we are taking our much needed plunge
we leave you for a while
enjoy yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fishers
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And before the sun comes out the sky looks gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are off fishing
They left quite early at the break of day.
They tow their boat to the ramp at San Remo
But only on a calm and windless day
And within sight of land they dropp their anchor
Where the fish might be schooling on the quiet bay.
For them a pleasant way to spend their morning
To fish with rods and lines from boat for three hours or four
Especially when the hungry fish are biting
A good morning's catch some twenty fish or more.
The gentle waves against the boat keep lapping
And the sun breaks through the clouds just after nine
It must be soothing for the nerves and pleasant
To sit and relax and fish in the sun shine.
The chill of late Autumn is in the morning
And the sun at nine shines through the clouds of gray
And Jack Iversen and Kenny are out fishing
In their boat anchored on San Remo bay
poem by Francis Duggan
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Alcan Road
Open the gate to the red land
Alcan road, by the turquoise lake
Starry skies, a mushroom cloud
Folding waves - in a foamy tide
Washing in beds - of opal shells
white gulls cry - for you and I
butterflies - float away
drift over pools - of salt and clay
mountain man - frosted child
eagles cry - puppets of god
strung like time - molded in form
trees bend back - and trails distort
it leads to the land - of Alcan Road
the turquoise lake - and starry skies
mushroom clouds - folding waves
foamy tides - of salt and brine
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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