Prince Edward Island
In Prince Edward Island
I am in a fishing boat
Working
With the rest of the
Other fisherman
On board
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Boardinghouse by the riverside
He has lost his youthful idealism.
The old bachelor sips his mug of coffee,
She stirred well the spinster Landlady.
I have no idea any further,
But he's a boarder with the rest two,
A barber and a bankrupt fisherman.
Bachelor depends on his pension
And he dreams all the time,
If he marries this stingy lady
by an accident he could buy
The fisherman's selling boat
and live happily by fishing?
[We are always the same age inside.-Stein]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
while the rain pours down
like water out of God’s hosepipe
with engines roaring in the ears
and clouds of smoke hang over the boats
with every fisherman for a moment being caught
in a own world while fog whirl about the boats
that rocks up and down to the harbour mouth.
The waves crash, the sea foams and bubbles
and “my girlfriend has a good lover, ”
is sung by one while the trawler sets its course
on the look out for barracouta, cod and sea trout.
“Look at the shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, ”
a fisherman shouts against the wind that pulls and pulls on the boat.
“Salmon man, salmon” roars the tiller man back and walls of water
roll past and the boat turns to get fishing gear ready.
“My girlfriend has a good lover and he’s a gelded goat, ”
the tune goes on and something clatters down
drawing the attention of the fishermen and the water shines
and when the boat is full they tell jokes that they guffaw at.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Fisherman's Boat
I am tied to a pole
In me came and sat a fisherman with a big mole
He had a fishing rod and a net
With a bucket and bait so wet
He untied me and rowed me
Into the deep sea
And with rod, net and bait
He caught fish till late
He went home with a big fish
To prepare and eat a tasty dish
Tomorrow again he’ll come wearing his overcoat
To untie me, his little fishing boat.
poem by Niharika Singh
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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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Rongmon the Fisherman by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika (Translated from Assamese)
That morning
Rongmon the Fisherman
Went fishing
On his wobbly little boat
'Please don't go fishing!
Please don't go fishing!
Look, there comes the storm
O Rongmon, listen,
The river is swarming
With crocodiles
Thirsting for blood'
But towards the evening
In middle of the river
He disappeared 'thout a trace
Beating her bosom
Look'in at heaven
(Rohdoi) gave out a heart piercing wail
‘Go, you waves, take flight
I'll find my way through the night
My Rongmon must be brought home'
Lying on the beach
Brought by the waves
Atlast, She found her Man...
(Translated by S.A.Shah, Bokultol)
poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
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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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Alone iam alone in alone island
Alone iam alone in alone island
Alone mew on alone palm tree in alone island
Alone shark surrounding alone island
Alone boat far away from alone island
Alone iam dying alone in alone island
Alone iam alone in alone island
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Honey, I Took The Fishing Boat
I took the boat out fishing,
and didn’t tell you that I went
Then before I knew it
all my fishing time was spent
Some angels pulled me over
and said that I must dock
I wasn’t even startled
so I must have been in shock
They wouldn’t let me make a phone call
just said they’d let you know
Then they said, “ Lay down the fishing poles”
and to heaven we did go
They dressed me in a flowing robe
I guess I’m in the choir
I sing a decent alto
but I can’t go much higher
Well, looks like I’m here to stay,
so you must follow aft
Don’t worry that I took the boat
I did leave you the raft
poem by Rosie McFadden
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the Fisherman
THE FISHERMAN
All his life in his sun-burnt boat he is out there
on the sea,
To eke out an honest living with his catches at
sea!
The sea is his second home, where his soul
breathes free!
The sea remain placid, the sea remain calm,
Rocking his boat gently like a mother patting
her son!
But when the sea raves and foams in the mouth,
The fisherman calmly surveys the distant storm
clouds!
He silently sets sail towards the safe shore;
Though at times he boldly tries to ignore!
And should his boat overturn and capsize below,
His mother will keep him afloat - as he swims
to the shore!
-Raj Nandy
27 Mar 09
Wake Up
All the days are not equal but,
I will always have my love for you;
Lovely and romantic,
Sticky and sweet;
My love is like Kwa-Zulu Natal Province.
I am the Island of hope,
I am the Island of love,
I am the Island of peace,
I am the Island of romance,
I am the Island of passion,
And i don't want to look back.
I am the boat of love which,
Sails through the cave of darkness;
So gt the European touch and come to me,
Like a visit to Buckingham palace.
I have the touch of the Kung Fu Panda to teach you,
So get the Asian touch and come to me;
Why have you stop dreaming, when there is tomorrow?
Get the African touch and come to me;
Why have you lost hope, when tomorrow is another day?
Get the Australian touch and come to me;
You may fall today but,
Try to wake up again! !
For, the furure is unknown.
As far as the human eyes could see,
Your body needs rest;
My Mystic Lover,
My Mystic River,
Do we consider our ways and the results that it brings?
Then, let us be very honest to each other;
'Mamma Mia! ' True love is all that i share with you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fisherman's Walk
You're just like the rainbow!
Of your muse,
Of your love,
Of your peace,
Fisherman's Walk;
Fly high! !
I believe i can fly;
And like the muse of a prison on an Island of crocodiles.
Writing to free my mind,
Painting to inspire my world,
But, i can still smell the aroma of your love around me!
For, you are like the light in darkness.
Living alone,
Drying up leaves,
So, come and rescue me with your love! !
For, i am falling deep down.
Fisherman's Walk,
Through the walls!
Living in the hole,
But, to have the night prepared around you! !
I want you,
I need you,
I love you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Angeline
Angeline
had arrived in
Nova Scotia
Today
By boat
And the boat that
She traveled in from
Toronto
Was a fishing boat
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sacred Sea
I travelled
In that sacred sea
Every Easter
On board of God's
Fishing boat
Catching fish from that
Sacred sea
To feed the women, the men, and the children
That are starving
In different parts of the world
poem by Aldo Kraas
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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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At Lambert's Bay The Fishing Trawlers Sail Out
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
where clouds of smoke hang over the boats
while the rain pours down in buckets.
The waves hit, the sea foams and bubble,
it looks as if a storm is rising
and 'my girlfriend has a fine fellow, '
one sings in darkness before he starts whistling
where clouds of smoke hang over the boats.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
seeking snoek, cod and sea-trout
and the boat turns to get out fishing gear,
it looks as if a storm is rising
and the men wait on the sea's first gifts
with rain like only God's hosepipe brings
while the rain pours down in buckets.
'Look at that shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, '
the song continues and something falls down
and the boat turns to get out fishing gear,
with engines roaring loudly
every fisherman is caught for a moment.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
'my girlfriend has a fine fellow and he is a wild goat, '
one sings against the wind with more joining voices,
the song continues and something falls down
and the tiller-man wonders about the sudden rain
but the fishermen are catching
while the rain pours down in buckets
they are standing ready but half-blinded
'Where are we going on the wide, wide sea'
one sings against the wind with more joining voices,
gigantic waves hits and pulls the boat
and some fishermen are scared.
At Lambert's Bay the fishing trawlers sail out
while the rain pours down in buckets
while the fishermen sing their song:
'The waves hit, the sea foams and bubble, '
'where are we going on the wide, wide sea'
and 'my girlfriend has a fine fellow.'
[Reference: Barracouta is known in South-Africa as 'snoek.']
poem by Gert Strydom
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From Gordon’s bay harbour
From Gordon’s bay harbour
we took a boat
along the coast
of False Bay
and your fingers
knotted through mine
while we sailed
into the ocean.
The launch went up and down
the waves of a calm sea
although a light breeze
was blowing, throwing
drops of spray
into our faces.
Your cheeks were glowing
and your eyes
had the look of adventure
and anticipation
and we took several photographs
of the scenic mountains,
the beaches and shore.
We stopped sailing
at a island of rock
protruding from the waves
that was covered with seals,
which they called Cape sea lions.
The stench of seal dung
and rotting fish
hang heavy in the air
and the boat was rolling to and fro
as well as up and down
and you and some
of the other passengers
got really seasick
and very nauseous.
I took some more photos
trying to ignore the stench
and photographed seals,
waves braking over the rocks,
and everything
but the sea around us.
Those seals had their eyes open
unlike us
for predators like sharks
and shrieking as a saw
going through a board
while more got on those rocks
and sharks started to circle
that island and the boat
and we also felt
like something in the food chain
and were relieved
when the boat’s engine
started again
at the first try.
poem by Gert Strydom
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We, in Prince Edward Island, are fully familiar with this modern phenomenon.
quote by Alex Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tibet
Tibet..
All reflected glories some are china come against Japan. China grasping greed as pick up Tibet for long and till now is law.
Venal official claim their own country lands.
China value china olden lands the fishing island which stand near the seas of Japan..
China says they own the fishing island.
Fishing island has change of owner countries for several times. Ok logically pick up fishing island regain their china lands.
Fishing islands back to china all as china grasping greed.
There are sin and china capture Tibet from DALA LAMA.
DALA LAMA and his precedents own and charge Tibet at the older next turns.
Now china arms are strong and all their policies may drum at the worlds but first is Japan which is this chesses and capturing cards.
One should love their country soils but fair for other countries.
Free the Tibet.
Free the Tibet before picking up fishing island and Japan seas that flowed near.
China deaden sounds are gongs and drums.
Get into deathful ends are creepy ways.
China matches are long are sad.
Only saints should lives every more.
China sins are then sinning.
Polar moods are wars are killing forces.
Give the Tibet back to old Tibet leaders all are rights.
---Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3---
poem by Cheung Shun Sang
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John The Fisherman
When he was young youd not find him doing well in school,
His mind would turn unto the waters.
Always the focus of adolescent ridicule,
He has no time for farmers daughters.
Alienated from the clique society,
A lonely boy finds peace in fishing.
His mother says john this is not the way lifes supposed to be.
Dont you see the life that you are missing?
And he says...
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
Now years gone by we find man that rules the sea.
He sets out on a dark may morning .
To bring his catch back to this small community.
He doesnt see the danger dawning.
Four hours up, oh the ocean swelled and swelled,
The fog rolled in it started raining.
The starboard bow. oh my God were going down!
The do not hear his frantic mayday.
And he says
When I grow up I want to be,
One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done,
I want to be a fisherman.
Ill live and die a fisherman.
Calling john the fisherman.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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