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Katrina: The Shrimpers Tried Their Best

Twilight sprinkles mist over October waves...
Ribbing docks, straining through nets...
Into sunset boats waiting for tides...
Wishes of months vanishing in weeks...

When brown water seethes, barren
As ash...no one knows, as ropes loosen
Again...
The night harvest will be dreams in waking
Sunrises...nets empty, dripping water...

Bridges open, shut, open once more...
It is only October. Cold. Seagulls keep
Boats company by sunset again...
Flying, sweeping, well fed...

On their own, soaring down on unwary
Fish, too-slow crabs...empty shadows
Shred into webs of too-soon
Family Holidays...yet,

Children always laugh, after little fingers
And eyes forget the presents
Still in stores.

poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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Fishing house

Memories are grumbling.
The kettles are rumbling.
Fishing house, where the boats float innocent waves.
Glow reflected by the water,

Sandy seabed, my eyes remind.
Of the grey mullet fish, and furry cat fish.
Crabs hide and seek, stones and reefs,
So pure currents within the water stream.

Under the bridge, the seaweed adorns
the rumours of waves slamming pillars.
A boat passing near,
sail the nets and hunt the eels.

Ropes become tangled,
where dry seahorses running no more.
The recall of the water, reflect the nets that I drown,
to catch the girl I loved.

poem by Luca Menin
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Open water!

Open water, open water!
All the weary winter's yearning
Bursts in restless passion burning.
Scarce is seen the blue of ocean,
And the hours seem months in motion.

Open water, open water!
Smiles the sun on ice defiant,
Eats it like a shameless giant:
Soon as mouth of sun forsakes it,
Swift the freezing night remakes it.

Open water, open water!
Storm shall be the overcomer
Sweeping on from others' summer
Billows free all foes to swallow,-
Crash and fall and sinking follow.

Open water, open water!
Mirrored mountains are appearing,
Boats with steam and sail are nearing,
Inward come the wide world's surges,
Outward joy of combat urges.

Open water, open water!
Fiery sun and cooling shower
Quicken earth to speak with power.
Soul responds, the wonder viewing:
Strength is here for life's renewing.

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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A Paumanok Picture

TWO boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waiting--they discover a thick school of mossbonkers--
they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water,
The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the
beach, enclosing the mossbonkers,
The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore,
Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deep
in the water, pois'd on strong legs,
The boats partly drawn up, the water slapping against them,
Strew'd on the sand in heaps and windrows, well out from the water,
the green-back'd spotted mossbonkers.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Fishing

They dropped the sails of their boats
near the shore of the Sea of Galilee
at early morning-light
and were heavy-eyed and tired
having worked in vain
all night long
and washed the nets
while the sun rose hot
in the blue cloudless sky.

From the distance a crowd
came nearer following
a holy man and listening to him
and he climbed into one of the boats,
asked Simon to sail
a little bit off shore
and sat teaching the people
from the boat.

The fishermen stopped working
and started listening
to the beautiful things that he said
and yet there he was still
just a man to them
and maybe a great prophet.

He instructed Simon
to sail into deep water
and to set the nets
for a catch.

Shaking his head
Simon explained that they
had worked all night long
without catching anything
but something about this holy man
made them obey.

When they brought the nets up
there were too many fish
for the nets to hold
and they beckoned their partners
in the other boat to help
and filled both boats
past their capacity

and suddenly Simon knew
that the Son of God
was sailing with him
and fell on his knees crying out:
'Go away from me, Lord;
I am a sinful man! '

And the fishermen were astounded
at the large catch that they had taken
and Jesus said that henceforth
they would be catching men
and they shored their boats,
leaving everything
to follow Him.

[Reference: Luke 5: 1-11.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunset: St. Louis

Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset,
When I came home again from far-off places,
How many times I saw my western city
Dream by her river.

Then for an hour the water wore a mantle
Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise
Under the tall and darkened arches bearing
Gray, high-flung bridges.

Against the sunset, water-towers and steeples
Flickered with fire up the slope to westward,
And old warehouses poured their purple shadows
Across the levee.

High over them the black train swept with thunder,
Cleaving the city, leaving far beneath it
Wharf-boats moored beside the old side-wheelers
Resting in twilight.

poem by Sara Teasdale
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Sea Of Joy

By steve winwood
Following the shadows of the skies,
Or are they only figments of my eyes?
And Im feeling close to when the race is run.
Waiting in our boats to set sail.
Sea of joy.
Once the door swings open into space,
And Im already waiting in disguise.
Is it just a thorn between my eyes?
Waiting in our boats to set sail.
Sea of joy.
Having trouble coming through,
Through this concrete blocks my view
And its all because of you.
Oh, is it just a thorn between my eyes?
Waiting in our boats to set sail.
Sea of joy.
Sea of joy.
Sea of joy.
Sailing free.
Sea of joy.

song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Seashore

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Seashore

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead
and the restless water is boisterous.
On the seashore of endless worlds
the children meet with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats
and smilingly float them on the vast deep.
Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children,
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children,
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
ships get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Dripping Water

Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the horizon of heaven,
on the land, on the sand,
makes me happy, and so elated,

Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the dark black clouds,
on the leaves, on the tress,
gives them a slow quick bath,

Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the thunderstruck light,
on the eyes, on the cheeks,
makes everyone to turn the face up!

Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the beauty of sky,
onthe mud, on the rivers,
makes musical splashes when gets strike,

Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the love of vast scream,
to the beautiful murmors of land,
makes me sing, and dance.

poem by Tayyeba Mustafa
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Crumbling Chalk

Beneath the cliffs of crumbling chalk was once a path
where you could walk. The walk would take you down to
the sand where fishing boats would come to land.
Now this crumbling chalk falls into the sea, where once
crabs and lobsters were caught for tea.
No scavenging left in this lonely bay even the gulls
have flown away; they have left the waves and the spray
are they to return another day.
Nets and pots have been swallowed up by the waves and
now their left to sleep in watery graves. A fishing village that was
once a boom has now become an empty tomb.
An oil slick just driffted into the shore and took away the beauty
that it had known before. Crumbling chalk that drops like tears
on the sand that's black made from the oil smears.
There is nothing left to self contain, oh will they no come
back again.

poem by Sylvia Spencer
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Sunset in March

The Spring has come to us again,
flowers are dancing in the rain,
the morning sky returns to blue,
sunset in March, a magic view.

A crocus bloom, blue pearl of Spring
smiles as the robins sing and sing,
watching the skies, I'm singing too,
sunset in March, a magic view.

The lake is waiting for old boats,
a sound of hope so freely floats,
the music that our souls pursue,
sunset in March, a magic view.

There is no time like Spring, indeed,
a heart renewed for worlds in need,
may all our wishes dreams come true,
sunset in March, a magic view.

poem by Marius Alexandru (March 2022)
Submitted by anonym
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The Empty Boats

Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
One haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:
There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.
Each soul is haunted by a ship in which that soul might ride
And climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven's silent tide
In voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate —
O empty boats, we all refuse, that by our windows wait!

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Katrina: Lady Of The Lake

And in the morning when the rain stopped shining,
The Lady picked daintily over waters tainted
With twisted wrecks of once-high trawlers.
The North wind blew flecks of lilies, pieces of
Sheds...crowding waves of last October.
Last October, Halloween month.
Tricks of hope, treats of tears.
Blue, blue string clouds. Sun shining on
Bags of ice, trucks of food.
Sagging faces, waiting in line. Whining children
Hanging on luck of one bowl of Cheerios.

He told the Lady to go home...she was not needed
To stroll the waters, hold the tides.
That, she did.
And through the murk Her voice went out,
Called Heaven back, biding, waiting...
Until Heaven was furious...boats' hulls' brimming.

Mortgages know nothing of Heaven, or a
Lady grinning.

poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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Goodbye....

i must write you with a heavy heart
this heart of stone

blank, numb, gray, rough,
silent,

i write this at dusk,
there are yet no birds flying in the twilight skies
some boats are still there
but only shadows

i want to be completely stoned

to bleed, and be broken,
to be hurt by you once again
in this masochism

last night, you spread your legs, you hang yourself in bed
crucified in the ecstasy
of our love on concealed identities

no one sees us, no one knows us,
except
the angry God.

this morning, i see strangled bedsheets, off white,
empty glasses on the floor, stained carpets,
half open windows looking into the vast blue ocean

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fishing boats

In the late afternoon
fishing boats come out of the waves
and like ministers
tiller men stand behind white pulpits.

Boats jump
over the last waves to the quay
and are drawn with cables
onto trailers,

before pickups and cars
drive into the parking lot
pulling motorboats.

There are red roman, snook
and cod
and fresh fish are everywhere in the boats.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Picture Poem #85 (From, This Is My Wasteland)

Dark October
with soft brown groves

purple blossoms
sunrise
and drifting weeks
in saffron

quixote lush
in the sunset

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Fishing Village From Across The Bay

The quiet solitude
of brown fishing boats,
anchors weighed,
riding gently, the soft
movement of the calm waters.

Silent slapping. As the waves
kiss the sides of the boats,
their masts tall and strung
with spiderweb riggings.
Loose canvas flaps idly with
the passing of a breeze,
tugging against the anchor.

Tiredly, the sun continues
its slow journey home, reaching
honey-gold fingers of warmth
through the blanket of clouds.
The orb of power-filled
light-giving energy gives one last
defiant flash as it breaks momentarily
through the clouds.

A dog barks from across the bay
and white puffs of smoke
rise slowly, lazily to meet
the clouds. The sleepy village
readies itself for the sleep
that will bring the new day,
and the sun, rested
from its duties of the day before.

The waves continue to lap
gently against the fishing boats,
Silhouetted gently against the
golden stretch of water from across the bay.

Silence sets in and prayers are
said before bed, and good night
kisses are exchanged and
then the lights are extinguished,
from across the bay.

poem by Kevin Parkin
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Trains And Boats And Planes

Trains and boats and planes are passing by
They mean a trip to Paris or Rome
To someone else but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
We were so in love, and high above
We had a star to wish upon. Wish
And dreams come true, but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
You are from another part of the world
You had to go back a while and then
You said you soon would return again
I'm waiting here like I promised to
I'm waiting here but where are you?
Trains and boats and planes took you a way
But every time I see them I pray
And if my prayers can cross the sea
The trains and the boats and planes

song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vilamoura (Portugal)

The sun is shining full and strong on the seaside town,
its marina is full toy boats only the rich can afford.
Restaurants and cafes are selling overpriced food and
drink under shady awnings and parasols.

In summers shade is costly under every tree a table
and waiters waiting to take your order. The midday
sun is relentless a throng of people walking up and
down the promenade, can they all be English?

I often walk here in late October when the elderly
come on holiday, shadows are free the sun is pale
on a fluffy sky, boats have sailed to a warmer clime
and the town dreams of last summer’s wine.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Deep Waters

I am every where-
all immersion-
surrounding you;
yet you cannot see me;

my name's unknown
my love unknighted;
not shown.

I give you my All
you swim in it
suffused with that joy
which
is unknown
to even itself.

You come and you go
and I labor in this love
giving birth
to you in my soupy midst;

seeing your dreams small
and large grow tall and fit.

I see them swim away too soon
swim away
because
I am water
and you are fish.

I surround you in my dreams at night;
you swim in your world
unaware of me.

But your mouth opens and opens again
drinking of me
which gives you life;
keeps you alive
in the dream world we share.

Above the water line
is the other world
of boats steamers and reality

But here below
under my cover,

it is only
you and I
but only I in the end
since fish you know
never
discover
water-
until
its gone.

We are all fish then
unaware of the dreamy water world
which makes fish possible.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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