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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Related quotes
Hungry Children
Everyday children around the world are starving,
Children has to go without food,
When their parents don't have the money to feed them,
All over the world, there are times,
When all children have went to bed without anything to eat.
Children die every single day,
Because they don't have,
Enough money to feed themselves.
Food should be free to low-income families,
So that the people who can't afford to feed their children can feed them,
Without having to worry that their children or themselves will die,
If food is free to these people,
We will have children for our next gernation.
poem by Bethany Williams
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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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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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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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Sacred Election
Sacred
sacred right,
the right to vote.
Sacred
sacred right
to be elected.
The people's votes are tallied
The best choice is declared.
Let no one manipulate the result
Let no one tamper the votes
Let no one buy people's votes
and strip the voters
their sacred right to choose.
Let this election
truly reflect
people's sacred rights.
___________________
November 6,2012
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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No One Demands
... that there must be respect
to the wings of a fly, a mere fly
on top of a garbage
from your kitchen,
that there must be respect
to a leaf of a mahogany
on a permission to take it
away from a twig,
that there must be respect
for the handful of water that
you drink from the river,
that there must be respect
for the porcupine fish
from the bottom of the sea
even if it's form be
hateful,
the air is sacred
the sea is sacred
the tree is sacred
like every man, every baby,
every eye
every hand
the spider is sacred
and so is the carabao
resting in the mud hole
after a hard day's toil
every carapace
an empty shell
every grain of sand
belongs to no one
respect and live
on the blessings
of Mother Earth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sacred Ground
Iced over, close your eyes. whisper the flame, it takes us higher.
Seems our world is closing around. when Im inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
When Im inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
Now youre the one that I want, you know its true.
Let go of everything, open up to me.
Im right beside you, Ill be your watchful eye.
I send waves of devotion over you. you take it all in and give it back, give it back again.
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
Yes well love till theres nothing left to give...
Matching every movement, swimming in an ocean of sweat, and scent of you. it drives me to ...
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
I know I can change your mind. give it to me the same way.
Giving it all up for love, I know that you feel the same way.
Id give it all up for you, I swear I would.
Now Im falling, falling inside ...
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pulicate Lake (Chennai)
A rollicking trip on a boat
we had through the Pulicate Lake.
The nests cast all along the creek
warn the boat-men take care.
Men, women and children
dip in and come up the water,
with pulsating trout in their palms
and dropp into the slinging bags and creels.
The weak and the old in loin-cloths
are holding the fishing-rods,
and peering at the wood pulp with eager
to lug up the unwary dab.
Some dogs are emerging out in knee-deep water,
with struggling dace between the teeth.
We looked at the scene with pity
though we had fried fish to crunch at lunch.
Oh dear! They're stone statues not birds
waiting to pick up the misled fish!
The scent of coastal stuff from my friends
drove away the shrimps from our way.
Ah! Some baskets and towels too swirl around
to catch the lusty wealth of the sea.
Never these fish roaming in the lake
could go back to the estuary.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Monologue Of A Commercial Fisherman
“If you work a body of water and a body of woman
you can take fish out of one and children out of the other
for the two kinds of survival. The fishing is good,
both kinds are adequate in pleasures and yield,
but the hard work and the miseries are killing;
it is a good life if life is good. If not, not.
You are out in the world and in in the world,
having it both ways: it is sportive and prevenient living
combined, although you have to think about the weathers
and the hard work and the miseries are what I said.
It runs on like water, quickly, under the boat,
then slowly like the sand dunes under the house.
You survive by yourself by the one fish for a while
and then by the other afterward when you run out.
You run out a hooky life baited with good times,
and whether the catch is caught or not is a question
for those who go fishing for men or among them for things.”
poem by Alan Dugan
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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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Mission
For many days we travelled from a distant place and time,
To reach a place they call the planet earth,
There was to be a celebration,
On the mission of the sacred heart.
The planet earth from way up there is beautiful and blue
And floating softly through a rainbow,
But when you touch down things look different here,
At the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus
Watching all the days roll by
Who are you and who am i?
On a dirty worn-out sidewalk, sits a mother with a baby,
In her vale of tears she sees no rainbow
And someone's singing from a window
In the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus -- repeat
There's a building on a corner, in a city, in a land,
On a place they call the planet earth,
My orders are to sit here and watch the world go by,
From the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus -- repeat
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mission (A World Record)
For may days we travelled from a distant place and time,
To reach a place they call the planet Earth,
There was to be a celebration,
On the mission of the sacred heart.
The planet Earth from way up there is beautiful and blue
And floating softly through a rainbow,
But when you touch down things look different here,
At the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS
Watching all the days roll by
Who are you and who am I?
On a dirty worn-out sidewalk, sits a mother with a baby,
In her vale of tears she sees no rainbow
And someone's singing from a window
In the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS -- repeat
There's a building on a corner, in a city, in a land,
On a place they call the planet Earth,
My orders are to sit here and watch the world go by,
From the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS -- repeat
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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God Asked Noah
Before the world was drenched in shame
Ere Satan reigned in man
The Father Son and Holy Flame
Wrote down salvation’s plan
Then God told man to build a boat
In faith to walk inside
But only eight were kept afloat
All unbelievers died
“I thank You Lord for saving me
For I was drowning too
From certain death You’ve set me free
And gave me life anew
Allow me in Your boat to sail
I’ve heard my Saviour’s call
In Christ I know I’ll never fail
Nor from Your grace will fall
I long to be a lifeboat Lord
Returning to the sea
Calling Your fish to climb on board
As Jesus did for me
With Christ I’ll sail to far off shores
In truth from port to port
We’ll free the catch from Satan’s claws
We’ll fish till all are caught
The wind is right the course is set
My Lord is at the helm
Let’s hoist the sail cast wide the net
Let’s fish throughout Your realm
Let’s cast our nets in every land
Let’s sail in one accord
Let’s teach the fish to understand
How safe is life on board.
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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A Poem of Hunting, Fishing, and a Truck
I throw my gun in the back of my truck
With it I hope to kill a 12-point buck
While in the woods, BANG! I see the deer fall
I take him home, freeze the meat, and mount his horns on my wall
I grab my pole and tackle box and head to the lake
At this time in the morning, I feel barely awake
There is no school today, I’m glad there is no class
A mighty tug on my line, I hook a large mouth bass
There is nothing like hunting; waiting for the kill
Cutting and cleaning the meat my freezer I’ll soon fill
Deer steaks and deer jerky have such a great taste
And with his head on my wall nothing goes to waste
I like fishing, fishing is fun
Fishing underneath the rising sun
I like catching the fish and putting them in a net
Fish is a great dish when the table is set
My truck is unstoppable; it can’t beat
I slam the door and strap myself in the seat
I start the engine and press the gas to the floor
My truck takes off and my engine lets out a roar
I wouldn’t be able to hunt or fish if it wasn’t for my truck
With it I carry poles, guns, and my fallen buck
I pull my boat with my truck in four-wheel-drive
At my destination I always arrive
poem by Glaedr the poet
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The Fishing Poem
Fishing in the moonlight or fishing in the sun;
Fishing for the big ones is fun, fun, fun.
Catching the small ones or none at all,
It’s a great sport to get on the ball.
Good luck on your next trip,
And let’s hope you don’t get sick.
poem by William Sawyers
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A fish
He said 'there are plenty of fish in the sea.
All you have to do is go swimming to see.'
True, it would be easy to accomplish this.
But catching a fish... is not what I wish.
What fun would that be, to fish.
I need something better then that...A fish.
'Ha! , You fool that does not exist.'
My friend sometimes you should open your eyes.
Because catching everything that swims by, is not always the prize.
What if I told you to dig deep instead.
'Then I would say there is something wrong with your head.'
Perhaps you would be right, I'm sure it would be a tougher fight.
Digging hole after hole for something that is not in sight.
But what if I stumbled across a clam at the bottom of this sea.
So shiny...So bright it made all the other fish a terrible site.
And my friend whats even better then that.
Inside this clam is something to ewww and awww at.
A pearl inside of it so perfect you would be amazed.
That you would be able to do nothing but sit and gaze.
Would that be worth something to keep.
'I'm sure it would, but you have to dig so deep'
Well that's better then catching just a pretty fish, at least that's what I wish.
poem by Christopher Litten
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Sacred And Eternal
I am fortunate to be a poet with words periodical
I am fortunate to write poems sacred and eternal.
I am fortunate to see the world in new look
I am fortunate to be in poetic imagination
With evergreen colors sacred and eternal.
I am fortunate to be a part and parcel of the world
That is yours and only yours
And you are for all sacred and eternal.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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