The Carrickatine
(from an ancient womb
death arose claiming
fruit of the birth)
Bow receiving blows
From a fearsome foe
As a fishing boat
Sailed for home.
An autumn storm
Bringing pain and
Loss to the kindred
Of fisher men.
Off the Irish coast
A turbulent sea
Spewed proof that
She had won.
Immune to the hopes
Of a fearful six
As they struggled
Towards their doom.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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Related quotes
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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Womb to womb to tomb
I am born unto this womb
To be born again unto another womb
Before I take birth once again unto another womb
Then as mark of respect
A tomb shall man place on that womb
To remind the world
That this day a man
Was, born unto this womb.
Before another birth I seek
To live another life in another womb
In the seas of life I shall swim
Before I am once again ready
To take birth unto this womb
To be born again unto another womb
Before, I take birth once again to be entombed.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 290108.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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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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The Tempest
It started out a bright sunny day
as on his boat he sailed.
The wind in his hair, the sun on his face
the salty sea air was inhaled.
He'd learned how to master the giant waves.
He'd sailed with his dad in a squall.
He'd been taught to bravely face a storm.
He lived for it since he was small.
He saw the gulls aloft in the air.
He watched their flight and thought
'I feel as free as those white-winged birds, '
happy with what he'd been taught.
The time went fast. He glanced at his watch
and then he searched the sky.
Off in the distance he saw dark clouds
and turned towards shore with a sigh.
All around darkness closed in
and the winds and rains did blow.
He struggled to keep his boat aright
and his fear started to grow.
This can't be. He loved the sea
but the violence in the sea had spread.
He tried to think calmly and heard his dad.
'Don't fight it son or you're dead.'
He could not see to steer with care.
The waves broke over his head.
He tied his body to the boat he loved
and thought about being dead.
Bruised and battered but breathing still
he prayed with all his might.
And with the darkness came God's answer.
'Sail away with me into the night, '
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Autumn Is In The Leaves
The autumn is in the leaves,
in the gestures of people,
when trees are already standing as skeletons,
the autumn is bringing pain
when the winter appears,
the stormy wind blows doors close
with spots of sun splashing down,
stripped trees are in their bark,
lonely I walk in the lane.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Death is....
Death is when your loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain to the heart
Death is a feeling of permanent sadness and pain
Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away
Death is a call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is a lesson to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is an unhappy feeling to have
Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf
Death is something we all will go through
Death is a storm waiting to brew
Death is a lingering crow always overhead
Death is a soul, done being fed
Copyright © Rebekah Johnson (Age 12)
poem by Rebekah Joh
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My Fisher Lass
I stood beside the Summer sea
And watched far out my Fisher Lass
Row swiftly in her boat to me,
And the sea shone like a glass.
She waved her strong, brown hand to me,
The boat flew swiftly in from sea,
The osprey laughed in wild, wild glee
To see her row so swift to me.
Laugh, laugh, sea-birds and glad, glad sea,
My soul laughs too in mad, mad glee;
I catch her in my waiting arms
And lose my fears of wrecks and storms;
I brush the sea-damp locks aside
And kiss the mouth she tries to hide.
I stand beside a Winter sea,
A storm-wrecked boat lies on the shore;
The sea moans sad an elegy,
For my lass rows in no more.
No more across the Summer sea
My Fisher Lass rows into me;
I wait each day upon the shore -
They say that she will come no more.
Moan, moan aloud, thou Winter sea,
My Fisher Lass is lost to me!
The ships ride in, the ships ride out,
I hear their sailors' mournful shout.
Some day, I know, across the sea
My Fisher Lass will row to me.
poem by James Edwin Campbell
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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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Norwegian seamen's song
Norwegian seamen are
A folk grown strong 'neath sail and spar;
Where boats can find a way,
The best men there are they.
On high seas or at home,
In calm or when the storm-waves comb,
To God their prayer they make,
Their lives they gladly stake.
Incessant is their strife,
They wage with death a war for life,
And dear their souls they sell
In conflicts none can tell.
All that is commonplace
In history seldom leaves its trace,
And often none is there,
The tidings home to bear.
But fishing-boats in need
Have shown so many a daring deed
Of courage fine and skill,
Though unrecorded still.
And many a seaman's head
A wreath of sea-weed wore when dead,
Whose name should shine in gold
Among great heroes bold.
Saint Olaf's Cross's praise
Would on that pilot fitly blaze
Who saved a hundred men,
And hundred once again.
To many a boy so young,
Who riding home to boat's keel clung,
His father set on board,
We honor should accord.
In Norway's mountain-coast
Our land's own mother-breast we boast,
With food for us and tears
For sons whom danger nears.
In it each deed has lot,
And there no brave son is forgot,
From Hafurfjord's great day
To the last castaway.
This each one felt and found
Who homeward came and looked around;
This each one felt who went,
In the last look he sent.
They felt the ocean o'er:
Their ships our country's fortune bore;
Honor and power it sought,-
And these the white sails brought.
Hurrah for them to-day
Who the Norwegian flag display!
Hurrah for pilots true
Who forth to meet them flew!
Hurrah for them who ply
Their fishing-boats 'twixt sea and sky!
Hurrah for all our boast,
Our skerry-skirted coast!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Allemande
Allemande, where have you gone?
Did I know anything about you?
Many moons have come and gone
They wane so easily without you
All along I said we'd be sorry
Sorry, and so we are
But ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows
And ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows
And ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows you home?
Sorry, sorry, and so we are
Allemande, your face so long
And all my silly hopes hung on you
All along I said we'd be sorry
Sorry, and so we are
And ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows
And ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows
And ain't that the way that
The way that the wind blows you home?
Sorry, sorry, and so we are
Oh, the way that the wind blows you home
Sorry, sorry, and so we are
song performed by by Keane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Lyme Regis
I love Lyme Regis,
the pink and white cottage's,
and the deep blue sea,
the pebble on sandy beach's where the children play,
walking along the heritage coast, picking up fossil's along the way,
watching the fishing boat's going out to sea,
bringing back mackerel and crab for us to eat for tea,
the Cobb, the cliff's, the safe harbour for the little ship's,
for these and many more thing's,
i love Lyme Regis.
poem by Alan J Duffield Lock
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A Memory That Lives
The scent of the roses
have filled the room.
They came today
to lessen my gloom.
Why the gloom?
why the doom?
There's a hole in my heart
like a cold stone tomb
filled with pain
ever present
like an empty womb.
I've lost my babe.
She was taken away
and 50 years later
there are roses to say
'Your pain is mine.
I feel it too.
For mine was the seed
placed in you.'
And so on this melancholy day
once every year
the roses are sent by my love,
my dear
to help me remember
her birth, her death
as I inhale the sweetness
with my breath
that I only wish was hers.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Hindus' Karma Theory
Soul had no pain without body.
Body has no pain without soul.
Soul, liberated has no pain.
Body, dead, lost senses for pain.
Engine with oil runs the car.
Without oil, the car won't move.
The credit goes to the engine.
Burdon of the fruit goes with soul.
The soul finds an entrance in a birth.
With it come the fruit of the past.
As long as the sin carried over,
The soul enters birth after birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Nobody Home
I can tell by the way
There aint no lights in the windows
And by the way your curtains hang
Yeah, I know which way the wind blows
I said no, I said no, I said no, nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
You went away, what a heavy load
You must have took it with you
Down and out, to no thanks to boat
But no one can get ya
I said no, I said no, I said no, aint nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
I said nobody, nobody home
From the way that you act
I guess you havent been there
By the look in your eyes
Theres nobody been there
I said no, I said no, I said no, nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
I said nobody, nobody, nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
I said no, I said no, I said no no no, nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
I said nobody, nobody home
Nobody home, nobody home
Aint nobody home, nobody home,
Nobody home
Nobody home
Nobody home
Nobody home
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Into The Mystic
We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when thst fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I dont have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fisherman's Tomb
Over the fisher Pelagon Meniscus his father set
The oar worn by the wave, the trap, and the fishing net;--
For all men, and for ever, memorials there to be
Of the luckless life of the fisher, the labourer of the sea.
The Umbilical Connect
the umbilical chord's
severed to let me be
to know my 'self'
and ever since
i continue to struggle
but even while it's intact
you knew your 'self'
for you're blessed with
the wisdom to unravel
the ever intriguing
birth and death
while the chord nurtured you...
what blessed soul must have
descended to bless my womb
is that all i owed you
nurturing you within
the confines
of my womb...
blessed is my womb
to have sheltered
you on this earth
to deliver you back
to the realms unknown
no, no...
i don't pull you to
the earth bound travails
but
at times i wonder
what you, whom i called
naciketa looked like...
you showed me the way
that in birth, is contained death
30oct2009
15.54hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Death is... A Compilation of Death Poetry
(10/05/2000)
Death is when your loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain to the heart
Death is a feeling of permanent sadness & pain
Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away
Death is a call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is a lesson to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is an unhappy feeling to have
Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf
Death is something we all will go through
Death is a storm waiting to brew
Death is a lingering crow always overhead
Death is a soul, done being fed
Death is cruel,
Death is unfair,
Why death?
Does death care?
Death is unkind,
Death breaks hearts,
Why death?
Do you like to part?
Death is here,
Death is there,
Why death?
Why be everywhere?
Death is the end,
Death is to die,
Why death?
To make people cry?
Death was created,
Death is still here,
Why death?
We live in fear,
Death is death,
Death is dead,
Why death?
Because death said.
Death is forever, so don’t flirt with death
Death is painful, so stay away from knifes
Death is not for lovers, so don’t die
Death is not for me, so don’t even try
Death is never clear, so be careful
Death is never fun, so stay away from strangers
Death is never pleasing, so don’t get caught up in the hype
Death is never fair, so get use to it
Death is always occurring, so don’t forget it
Death is never what u expect, so expect the unexpected
Death is not for you, so please don’t give up
Death is forever, so don’t forget that
poem by Shenise Ashmeade
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Cherokee Traditions
A very wise, and old tradition
passed on through many generations
concerns the rules of going fishing
in all the lands, of all the nations
be not to take all you can get,
let little ones go out and grow,
and do not use a fishing net
attached behind your boat to tow.
Since Nature knows how to provide
for all her people and her critters,
you must go hunting far and wide,
and of the wild beasts' springtime litters
you may take one, perhaps a pig,
raise him at home to feed the tribe.
Always think small and don't act big
and only rarely do imbibe,
as white man's water, mixed with fire
can rob you of your heart and soul,
convert you into a big liar
and take away from you your role.
If there is one way that we measure
all man and beast by (ancient rules) ,
that word is HONOUR, and a treasure
and those who have it are no fools.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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