The Fisherman's Tomb
Over the fisher Pelagon Meniscus his father set
The oar worn by the wave, the trap, and the fishing net;--
For all men, and for ever, memorials there to be
Of the luckless life of the fisher, the labourer of the sea.
Related quotes
Sea Salt
On sea...
Fisher man's fishing...
Kattmaran...
Catching fishes...
Jump the net's
Fisherman's life
Did not jump
All are under
The sea with net...
Fisher man's fissing
Fishes was
Tasted for food...
Poeople's eat...
Fisher man's life
Is only for sea salt
Tasty...
why...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Fisher Of Men Jesus Said To Be
In the name of my Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ I offer any passerby who thirsts
the living waters the bread of Christ
wide I cast my nets as a fisher of men
I walk the lake shore I walk the rivers
oceans storms of seas bear witness
fishing foreign shores for shipwrecked souls
even long line will I fisher of men use cast
behind fishing for any lost souls to bite hooks
offer hope eternal piercing into lost life souls.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Marc Greets Things in the Morning
Hi boy with the bike on the vase on the bloom
ploom ploom
hi chair by the table
hi bread on the table
hi fisher-of-fish with the pipe
and
hi fisher-of -fish with cap
cap and pipe
of the fisher-of-fish
H i i i —i fish
hi little fish
hi tiny fishy-fine of mine
poem by Paul van Ostaijen
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I definitely have a Fisher voice.
quote by Joely Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Along Shore
Wan white mists upon the sea,
East wind harping mournfully
All the sunken reefs along,
Wail and heart-break in its song,
But adown the placid bay
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
All the deeps beyond the bar
Call and murmur from afar,
'Plaining of a mighty woe
Where the great ships come and go,
But adown the harbor gray
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
When the cloudy heavens frown,
And the sweeping rain comes down,
Boats at anchorage must bide
In despite of time or tide;
Making merry as they may
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
Now is time for jest and song
All the idle shore along,
Now is time for wooing dear,
Maidens cannot choose but hear;
Daffing toil and care away
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
Oh, the fretted reefs may wail,
Every man has furled his sail!
Oh, the wind may moan in fear,
Every lad is with his dear!
Mirth and laughter have their way,
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Why Presume To Judge?
errors mistakes sins
why presume to judge
what belongs to God
when God has said
do not judge
least you be judged
why not instead
be a fisher of men
a fisher of women
go out try travel
save a few desperate
lost weary souls
least you can do
is buy them a meal
a cup of coffee?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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When the Dark Comes Down
When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea
With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's threnody,
The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar
With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown,
For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill
Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill
There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore
The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore,
For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown,
The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep,
And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep;
There's music in the song they sing and music on the sea,
The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany,
For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown,
And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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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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The Drunken Fisherman
Wallowing in this bloody sty,
I cast for fish that pleased my eye
(Truly Jehovah's bow suspends
No pots of gold to weight its ends);
Only the blood-mouthed rainbow trout
Rose to my bait. They flopped about
My canvas creel until the moth
Corrupted its unstable cloth.
A calendar to tell the day;
A handkerchief to wave away
The gnats; a couch unstuffed with storm
Pouching a bottle in one arm;
A whiskey bottle full of worms;
And bedroom slacks: are these fit terms
To mete the worm whose molten rage
Boils in the belly of old age?
Once fishing was a rabbit's foot--
O wind blow cold, O wind blow hot,
Let suns stay in or suns step out:
Life danced a jig on the sperm-whale's spout--
The fisher's fluent and obscene
Catches kept his conscience clean.
Children, the raging memory drools
Over the glory of past pools.
Now the hot river, ebbing, hauls
Its bloody waters into holes;
A grain of sand inside my shoe
Mimics the moon that might undo
Man and Creation too; remorse,
Stinking, has puddled up its source;
Here tantrums thrash to a whale's rage.
This is the pot-hole of old age.
Is there no way to cast my hook
Out of this dynamited brook?
The Fisher's sons must cast about
When shallow waters peter out.
I will catch Christ with a greased worm,
And when the Prince of Darkness stalks
My bloodstream to its Stygian term . . .
On water the Man-Fisher walks.
poem by Robert Lowell
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Truth Works
'When the truth works its way
through the net of illusion
and plunges back into the sea, '
says the fish to the fisher,
'the freedom it experiences
then is far greater than
that it experienced
before it was caught.'
'So you are the truth? '
says the fisher to the fish,
checking his net for a tear
the fish might work through.
'I am the truth, and you are, too, '
says the fish, jumping up
out of the net, 'and so are
the net and the sea.' Splash!
poem by Dick Holmes
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My Fisher Lass
I stood beside the Summer sea
And watched far out my Fisher Lass
Row swiftly in her boat to me,
And the sea shone like a glass.
She waved her strong, brown hand to me,
The boat flew swiftly in from sea,
The osprey laughed in wild, wild glee
To see her row so swift to me.
Laugh, laugh, sea-birds and glad, glad sea,
My soul laughs too in mad, mad glee;
I catch her in my waiting arms
And lose my fears of wrecks and storms;
I brush the sea-damp locks aside
And kiss the mouth she tries to hide.
I stand beside a Winter sea,
A storm-wrecked boat lies on the shore;
The sea moans sad an elegy,
For my lass rows in no more.
No more across the Summer sea
My Fisher Lass rows into me;
I wait each day upon the shore -
They say that she will come no more.
Moan, moan aloud, thou Winter sea,
My Fisher Lass is lost to me!
The ships ride in, the ships ride out,
I hear their sailors' mournful shout.
Some day, I know, across the sea
My Fisher Lass will row to me.
poem by James Edwin Campbell
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Four Fingered Fisherman
You're in the back seat and you say to yourself
"OK it doesn't matter anyway"
it's weeds pulling weeds and your Blaming yourself
Ok we're all indifferent in our own ways
You're in trouble now and you say to yourself
"Ok my baby clean conscience anyways"
You're in the back seat and you say to yourself
"OK it doesn't matter anyway"
It's weeds pulling weeds and you're blaming yourself
Ok we're all indifferent in are own ways
You're in trouble now and you say to yourself
"Ok my baby clean conscience anyways"
Four fingered fisher man alright
finger four fisher man so uptight
hello
you're getting on no one
you're both right
Four fingered Fisher man all night long
Four fingered Fisher man so uptight though
so uptight though
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Frozen Fishing Pond
The wind and the snow fell upon the land,
And a new story began,
A clearer picture moved beyond
The frozen fishing pond
Where the children had skated.
The winter embraced and not hated;
The laughter filled the air,
Innocent joy was there.
poem by Chad Fisher
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Oh, I have nothing to say
Imagine me sitting
On a big rock
Facing the sea
The sea is peaceful
Seagulls are flying
Behind is the morning sun
And at a distance
Is the silhouette of a horizon
Broken by a mole
Of an island
Small boats sail
Fisher folks are fishing
Children are splashing water
Their mothers are watching
Oh, I have nothing more to say
Indeed this is a happy day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In a Breton Cemetery
They sleep well here,
These fisher-folk who passed their anxious days
In fierce Atlantic ways;
And found not there,
Beneath the long curled wave,
So quiet a grave.
And they sleep well,
These peasant-folk, who told their lives away,
From day to market-day,
As one should tell,
With patient industry,
Some sad old rosary.
And now night falls,
Me, tempest-tost, and driven from pillar to post,
A poor worn ghost,
This quiet pasture calls;
And dear dead people with pale hands
Beckon me to their lands.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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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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The Carrickatine
(from an ancient womb
death arose claiming
fruit of the birth)
Bow receiving blows
From a fearsome foe
As a fishing boat
Sailed for home.
An autumn storm
Bringing pain and
Loss to the kindred
Of fisher men.
Off the Irish coast
A turbulent sea
Spewed proof that
She had won.
Immune to the hopes
Of a fearful six
As they struggled
Towards their doom.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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But I'm trying to play into this role as much as possible and be a nicer person in real life.
quote by Fisher Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Until you know that life is interesting - and find it so - you haven't found your soul.
quote by Geoffrey Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a spy in the house of me. I report back from the front lines of the battle that is me. I am somewhat nonplused by the event that is my life.
quote by Carrie Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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