Related quotes: Cold of morning fog as...

Cold of morning fog
as the fishing boats set out -
sea like a mirror.

haiku by Rory Hudson
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Related quotes

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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Haunting reflection's

Mirror
Mirror
I am a killer

Mirror
Mirror
I have a heart that merely beats
Without sound

Mirror
Mirror
I am cold

Mirror
Mirror
I am tearless

Mirror
Mirror
I am the devil in white

poem by Noorie Ali
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I love To Go Fishing

I love to go fishing everyday,
To the river or the lake.
Up in the morning without delay,
I go fishing soon as I wake.

Down to the water to wet my line,
My float bobbing up and down.
Fishing in the morning, is just so fine,
Your face will never sport a frown.

A big ole catfish, or a little bluegill,
I just don't give a hoot.
I love the way fishing makes me feel,
To me it's like forbidden fruit.

If I get lucky and get a bite,
Then the day is made.
I'll stick around till early night,
Just snoozing in the shade.

1/20/11 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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Safe Harbour

As the light starts to fade, at the end of the day,
And the last rays of sunset cascade on the bay.
The fishing boats set sail, their little lamps a glow,
Off to deeper waters and the school of fish below.
Along the granite, harbor wall, the lime washed cottage stands,
The little wind swept coastal path to the causeway and sands.
At the point a lighthouse giving out its light,
Protecting the wayward mariner as he sails on through the night.
For generations have come and gone, it’s always been that way,
As tide rolls in with the fishing boats that signals break of day.

poem by Nicholas Windle
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The Mirror Struggled

The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.

The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.

m irror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
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mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mirror Mirror

Mirror mirror
You tell lies
Who put crows feet
Round my eyes?

Mirror mirror
Hanging there
Who put that grey
In my hair?

Mirror mirror
Is that me
Is that really
Me I see?

Mirror Mirror
Stop your fun
That's not me
That is my mum

Mirror mirror
Don't stare back
For it's bad luck
If you should crack

Mirror mirror
On days like these
When what I see
Doesn't please

Mirror mirror
My mood this day
Will ask you turn
The other way!

poem by Stevie Taite
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Fishing Boats

Weathered boards on the old dock
Sun trying to peak thru
The water like a sublime dream
Seagulls circle the boats
You were there with your humor
With your easy going smile
You loved to take people fishing

Soon I will go into memory
The waters will always laugh
Lakes, rivers and sea
Poetry of the tides
Campfires and moonlight
Old man and the sea
Get the net I gotta big one!

Your fishing boat in the dusk

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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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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As Old As

It’s early January
Early morning
My feet are cold on the bathroom tile
And that’s not my face
Staring at me from the mirror
An older face than the one I went to bed with
Puffy skin wrinkles I don’t remember that
One gray hair does not belong to me
I am not this old man
The song of youth still
Plays in my skull my heart my
Bones ache
Eyes blur
After long day working
Hard to keep them open and
I sometimes nod off
To the late news or Letterman just like
My dad did when I was a boy
And I would look at him and think
He’s old and I
Will never be
Am not as old
As that face staring
From the mirror on this
Cold January Morning

poem by Tom Foster
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031510c All I Want Is Other Side

i could break out my fishing reel now
prop myself by bridge's wall and fish
while i watch you, you guys in despair
i could even take out my cooler and chair
this difficulty could be ease with mono rail
but so many hands, minds on the trail

oh! my! what's that ambulance doing here
not this early morning, please oh! my dear
no i'm not counting the fishing boats bobbing
i wonder though what kind of fish they're catching
blue crabs, sea bass, blues, spot, maybe flounder
that's a rough life, awake all night waiting for biter

those seagulls teasing bipeds again or begging
i remember they have to control their population
because of their unsightly droppings on your cars
there must be a group of smart person to figure
without offsetting the environmental coexistance
i'm not too concern, i just want to go to the other side

poem by Manonton Dalan
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When the Fishing Boats Go Out

When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o'er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There's joyance and there's freedom when the fishing boats go out.

The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves,
And sending sparkling kisses o'er the brows of virgin waves,
While routed dawn-mists shiveroh, far and fast they flee,
Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea!

Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie,
Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky
Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar
As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.

[Page 35]

The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free,
There's keenest rapture on its breast and boundless liberty!
Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out-blown,
And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his own.

Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows the breeze,
And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the combing seas,
Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea-gulls float,
And all the water-world's alive when the fishing boats go out.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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World’s Fisheries In Deep Crisis

April 2009 stocks
we already knew
world’s fisheries
were in deep crisis

do math shocking
more fishing boats
chase last shrinking
smaller fish stocks

half this world’s
fish caught fishing
we are throwing
back dead or is sales

sold no regard paid
to whether net fish
stock is endangered
or a species bycatch

38 million tonnes
of marine life taken
every year from seas
is not catch intended

target of fishing
vessels numbers
of most popular
species fall rapid

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mirror, Mirror, Bloody Fibber

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Can't you show me tall and slim?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Must I look so bloody grim?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
You're distorting my poor waist!
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
And why the heck am I defaced?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why have I a double chin?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
And what's the stupid, goofy grin?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Pointless asking ‘Who’s the fairest? –
More bloody likely, 'Who’s the queerest? ’
Now look, I paid a big bucks for thee,
So why can’t you be nice to me?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?
Me, you say? Ah, that's better –
Mirror, mirror, bloody fibber!

Mirror mirror bloody fibber
Mirror mirror mirror ribber
Mirror mirror mirror mirror
Mirror mirror make me slimmer

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Gone Fishing

Im gone fishing
I got me a line
Nothing I do is gonna make the difference
So Im taking the time
And you aint never gonna be happy
Anyhow, anyway
So Im gone fishing
And Im going today
Im gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me
You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But youll never be free
May as well go fishing

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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From the bay at Nawa

From the bay at Nawa,
Gazing back upon
The offshore islands
The boats around them
Seem to be fishing

poem by Yamabe no Akahito
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Fishing boats on sea
Suspended wings on blue sky
Sun-shine ripples

quote by by Indira Babbellapati
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Steal

A fishing rod
Stretch into the fishing pond slightly
Sneaking the child
Look around furtively
He did not see
I was at the window
Seeing him

knocked on the window
Ran away the child
Leave a fishing rod
I saw a mouse
Run away like a rushing smoke

The fishing rod
Hung on the iron railing and swayed
Nor fish no fishing rod
The child
The first lesson in life
A cost of stealing

poem by Catherine Yen
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Lakewood, In August

i see fog
jewel

upon a green
neckline

of twin mountains
mirror

upon a lake
silver

one morning
i see

mist creeping
upon the mirror

a fish jumps
and creates the ripples

i feel cold air
coming inside

my window
that does not blink

on tranquil
infinity.