En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Saltburn

I used to watch the fishermen, go out from Saltburn sands
Their cobbles loaded up with nets and long lines in their hands
The lobster pots were up forard, with the markers and the picks
Going to the fishing grounds, they knew all the tricks

They wore a woolen jersey and a yellow vinyl coat
A sow wester when it was raining, or a beanie in the boat
I used to watch them coming home, from the fishing bed
A wave pushing his beam, i loved my uncle Fred

The cobbles they were sturdy boats overlapped you see
Corked with tar to seal them from the northern sea
I've seen them in the water when storms are about ter burst
Disappearing beneath a wave, it's what they fear the worst

Up she comes with the spray, there oars are digging deep
Just longing for some dry clothes and someones arm's to sleep
I've seen them on the good days, . when a bountiful catch is landed
I heard them in the pub that night tall tales, They expanded

I've seen their craggy faces, as they smoked their pipes
I've seen them playing dominoes an listened to their gripes
A braver bunch I've never met, apart from the miner
I take my hat off to fisherfolk, you make my England finer

poem by Bob Gibson
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The sea gipsy

The sea gipsy

she's anchored in our sheltered bay, a fishing boat tonight will stay
a forard mooring rope made fast, engine's cut, anchor cast
light is failing, silhouettes, casts shadows of old fishing nets
atop the mast a solitary light, a beacon, throughout the night

with the tides rise and fall, she swings on the anchor's maul
waves lapping against her hull, oblivious to a wandering gull
decks are clear, gear stored, sleep comes to those aboard
on the morrow, at dawns first light, the eastern sun chases the night

movement aboard this working craft, is witnessed forard and abaft
now in the bright light of day, the gipsy prepares to get under way
lines are hauled, the engines started, the gipsy now, has departed
steaming to the fishing grounds, through the reefs and outer sounds

poem by Bob Gibson
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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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The Lake

The lake so grand, boats afloat
all sizes and shapes
pontoons, yachts, sails and fishing boat
people from all over and all ages
every wave so beautiful as the they stroll ashore
from white caps to rolling wave. the flow so endless
the boats flowing so gentling across the water
the fish swimming so free under the water
teasing the fishermen, steal the bait
the lake is the place to be on this fine day
God creation for all to enjoy
take the moment and view the lake
It so grand and so free

poem by Michael Peterson
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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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Down In The Deep

Way down, down in the deep
how many a sailor went to sleep?
Some in ships that were wrecked in a storm,
some in vessels that now do form
abodes for fish to swim all around.
Down in the deep at the bottom of its ground.

Way down, down in the deep
how many travelers went to sleep?
Some in planes that crashed in the sea,
strapped in their seats, not floating free.
The sea became their final resting place
down in the deep without a trace.

Way down, down in the deep
How many fishermen went to sleep?
Some in boats loaded with their catch,
Time had come when the sea became their match.
But, fishermen are in love with the big blue deep.
And so it is down in the deep that they sleep.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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Fishing For Something

Fishing for something, On a lake out west,
But; the only thing biting, Mossies are a pest;
I really came to catch a dozen or so trout,
But had to stop, There's a storm come about.

Fishing for something off their pier,
Up at ballarat. On wendouree weir;
Hope to catch some trevally for tea,
But all I caught was an old shoe, silly me.

Fishing for something, I'll need a net,
Try to catch lobster, if I don't I'll be upset,
So I let out the net, and to my surprise today,
5 lobsters, and 1 cheeky dolphin trying to play.

Fishing for something, a minister will do,
As he preaches to the people, the message so true;
About. Love, and kindness, and helping each other,
And telling them too, to help witness to a brother.

Fishing for something, is what we can do,
Help so many, find a way, and not be in a stew;
Don't judge others, and don't start to fight,
But be caring and sharing, lead them to the light.

poem by Margaret Haig
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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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The fishermen of Gallilee

The fishermen of Gallilee, disciples of Jesus, called to be,

Learning how to live by Faith, they obeyed when He said 'follow Me.'

They went out to fish with their nets one very stormy night,

And as a storm blew up, they saw Him walk and got a fright;

They thought it was a ghost, But they soon found out,

It was Jesus walking there, and soon their boat came about.

Another time when they were on the sea, as Jesus did stand and talk,

He then said we'll go the other side by boat, we won't walk;

And as they started out with their boats into the deep,

Jesus went to the back of the boat, and went to sleep.

Now as they travelled, the weather changed, and a storm did blow,

And the Fishermen came so afraid, Fear was all they did know;

They went to Jesus and woke Him, then said don't you really care,

That we're in danger, but why couldn't they realize, Jesus was there;

Jesus then stood up, rebuked the storm, and the storm quietened down,

Jesus said Peace, and peace came, No longer their faces did frown.

The fishermen learnt many things, and so do learn them, it's so,

That trusting in Jesus, for everyone, is the only way to go;

But with trust and faith, helps us to cope in life,

When sin causes us to go wrong, brings about strife;

Just keep on believing, and try not to doubt,

You too like the fishermen, you'll no longer pout.

poem by Margaret Haig
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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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Goodbye Little Colombus

I'm going fishing
I got me a line
Nothin' I do's gonna' make the difference
So I'm taking the time
And you ain't never gonna' be happy
Anyhow, anyway
So I'm going fishing
And I'm going today
I'm going fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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The Fisherman of Wexford

THERE is an old tradition sacred held in Wexford town,
That says: 'Upon St. Martin's Eve no net shall be let down;
No fishermen of Wexford shall, upon that holy day,
Set sail or cast a line within the scope of Wexford Bay.'
The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no one could tell;
And no one ever questioned, but the people kept it well.
And never in man's memory was fisher known to leave
The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's Eve.

Alas! alas for Wexford! once upon that holy day
Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of the Bay.
The fishers and their families stood out upon the beach,
And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth they might not reach.
Such shoal was never seen before, and keen regrets went round—
Alas! alas for Wexford! Hark! what is that grating sound?
The boats' keels on the shingle! Mothers! wives! ye well may grieve,—
The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin s Eve!

'Oh, stay ye!' cried the women wild. 'Stay!' cried the men white-haired;
'And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers never dared.
No man can thrive who tempts the Lord!' 'Away!' they cried: 'the Lord
Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's reward.'
And scoffingly they said, 'To-night our net shall sweep the Bay,
And take the Saint who guards it, should he come across our way!'
The keels have touched the water, and the crews are in each boat;
And on St. Martin's Eve the Wexford fishers are afloat!

The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the land,
On dark faces in the fishing-fleet and pale ones on the strand,
As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward the cries
Of kneeling wives and mothers with uplifted hands and eyes.

' Oh Holy Virgin! be their guard! ' the weeping women cried;
The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats cleave through the tide,
As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, in a line
The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phosphor-lighted brine.

Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers! All your prayers they sorely need
To save them from the wrath they've roused by their rebellious greed.
Oh! white-haired men and little babes, and weeping sweethearts, pray
To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford Bay!

The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the nets are thrown,
The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing sea-wind's moan:

Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for some return,
To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed to mourn.
But ah! the Wexford fishermen! their nets did scarcely sink
One inch below the foam, when, lo! the daring boatmen shrink
With sudden awe and whitened lips and glaring eyes agape,
For breast-high, threatening, from the sea uprose a Human Shape!

Beyond them,—in the moonlight,—hand upraised and awful mien,
Waving back and pointing landward, breast-high in the sea 'twas seen.
Thrice it waved and thrice it pointed,—then, with clenched hand upraised,
The awful shape went down before the fishers as they gazed!
Gleaming whitely through the water, fathoms deep they saw its frown,—
They saw its white hand clenched above it,—sinking slowly down!
And then there was a rushing ' neath the boats, and every soul
Was thrilled with greed: they knew it was the seaward-going shoal!

Defying the dread warning, every face was sternly set,
And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul the net.
But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, —God-fearing men were they,—
They cut their lines and left their nets, and homeward sped away;
But darkly rising sternward did God's wrath in tempest sweep,
And they, of all the fishermen, that night escaped the deep.
Oh, wives and mothers, sweethearts, sires! well might ye mourn next day;
For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of Wexford Bay!

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Along the river

Water bends, rolls down
to fiind a place to banks,
waves break by stones
and curl up around them,
yellow poplars,
that watch the river, tremble,
drooping willows wash their locks
in hesitating water.
I remember how I was fishing
under shaded banks
with my friends.
Fishes were avoiding my fishing rod
and were inviting me to the competition with them.
From the river that winds tremblingly,
I hear melancholic verse of the natives
gone to the fishing with the boat.I have felt asleep.
It has seemed to me that a beautiful gondola with a miraculous fairy
has crossed the river.
I was charmed by the beauty of the fairy
that has glittered on the lustre of the water.
On the bank, I have done token to the gondola
and the oarsman has brought the gondola near the bank.
At the light of the torch, I have caught the hand of the fairy
and I have invited her on the bank.
A spark has died out in her heart,
bugle of silver has blown long
the disappearance of the gondola.
The fishers from the village have woken me up:
„ It was getting late.You have to go home”.

poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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Were Coming In Loaded

(words & music by blackwell - scott)
Ooh yes were comin in loaded, ooh yes were comin in loaded
Ill hold the boat steady brother like a rock
Full speed a head until we hit the dock
Were heading for home, the fishing was great
Were comin in loaded cause were all out of bait
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
We gottem packed to the water-line
Some got away but the catch was fine
Never saw such big ones, mman oh man,
Were comin in loaded just as fast as we can
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
Im gonna see my baby soon as I get back
Knock on the door with my pockets packed
Shell look at me well she cant say no
Were comin in loaded so come on lets go
Well, well, well, well, well
Oh well now yeah!
Oh well now yeah!
Yeah! were comin in loaded

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catch A Wave

Catch a wave and youre sitting on top of the world
Dont be afraid to try the greatest sport around
Everybody tries it once
Those who dont just have to put it down
You paddle out turn around and raise
And baby thats all there is to the coastline craze
You gotta catch a wave and youre sittin on top of the world
Not just a fad cause its been going on so long
All the surfers going strong
They said it wouldnt last too long
Theyll eat their words with a fork and spoon
And watch em theyll hit the road and all be surfin soon
And when they catch a wave theyll be sittin on top of the world
Catch a wave and your sittin on top of the world
So take a lesson from a top-notch surfer boy
Every saturday boy
But dont treat it like a toy
Just get away from the shady turf
And baby go catch some rays on the sunny surf
And when you catch a wave youll be sittin on top of the world
Catch a wave and youll be sittin on top of the world
Catch a wave and youll be sittin on top of the world
Catch a wave and youll be sittin on top of the world

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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 Brady Bunch

You can watch mr. rogers
You can watch threes company
And you can turn on fame or the nelywed game
Or the addams family
I say, you can watch barney miller
And you can watch your mtv
And you can watch till your eyes fall out of your head
Thatll be ok with me
And you can watch (tv)
You can watch johnny carson
You can watch phil donahue
And you can use tv guide to help you decide
With capsulized review
Say, you can watch 60 minutes
Even captain kangaroo
But theres only one set, so what ever you watch
Well, you know I gotta watch it too
Say, give it up, give it up, televisions taking its toll
Thats enought, thats enough, gimme the remote controll
I been nice, I been good, please dont do this to me
Turn it off, turn it off, I dont want to have to see
The brady bunch
Not the brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Yeah, the brady bunch
Its the story of a lovely lady
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold, like their mother
The youngest one in curls
Its a story of a man named brady
Who was busy with three boys of his own
They were four men living all together
Yeah, but they were all alone
Until the one day, one day when the lady met the fellow
And they knew, and they knew it was much more than a hunch
Then they knew this group must somehow form a family
Thats the way, thats the way, thats the way they all became
The brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Yeah, the brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Oh, its the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch
Oh, the brady bunch, yeah
Oh, the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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