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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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 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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Gipsy Love
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
We'd make our bed in the bracken
With the lark for a chambermaid;
The lark would sing us awake in the morning,
Singing above our head.
We'd drink the sunlight all day long
With never a house to bind us;
And we'd only flout in a merry song
The world we left behind us.
We would be free as birds are free
The livelong day, the livelong day;
And we would lie in the sunny bracken
With none to say us nay.
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
poem by Arthur Symons
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TRIOLET: It Got Away
-
When going fishing as a child
the line seemed like a beam of light-
the woods, my mind, were bramble wild
when going fishing as a child.
I cast as far as those exiled
but boyhood soared, then sank from sight.
When going fishing as a child
the line seemed like a beam of light.
poem by Glenn Bagshaw
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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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Sunrise Along Shore
Athwart the harbor lingers yet
The ashen gleam of breaking day,
And where the guardian cliffs are set
The noiseless shadows steal away;
But all the winnowed eastern sky
Is flushed with many a tender hue,
And spears of light are smiting through
The ranks where huddled sea-mists fly.
Across the ocean, wan and gray,
Gay fleets of golden ripples come,
For at the birth-hour of the day
The roistering, wayward winds are dumb.
The rocks that stretch to meet the tide
Are smitten with a ruddy glow,
And faint reflections come and go
Where fishing boats at anchor ride.
All life leaps out to greet the light --
The shining sea-gulls dive and soar,
The swallows whirl in dizzy flight,
And sandpeeps flit along the shore.
From every purple landward hill
The banners of the morning fly,
But on the headlands, dim and high,
The fishing hamlets slumber still.
One boat alone beyond the bar
Is sailing outward blithe and free,
To carry sturdy hearts afar
Across those wastes of sparkling sea;
Staunchly to seek what may be won
From out the treasures of the deep,
To toil for those at home who sleep
And be the first to greet the sun.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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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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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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Light.
Light me a light any kind of light,
Just shine its beam into my darkest night,
For like a child I stay up in fright,
So light me a light any light tonight.
Candlelight, moonlight any light is just right,
For in that light I might find my might!
Don’t sing me a song, don’t hold me tight,
Just light me a light, any light tonight.
Light me a light to assist my sight,
Just my naked eye darkness cannot fight,
So before darkness gets a chance to bite,
Light me a light any kind of light.
Flickering, glaring or outright bright,
I don’t care what kind just light me a light,
All I need is darkness away tonight,
So light me a light any kind of light.
poem by Barak Al'Mondia
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Shes A Gipsy
Satin sheets in her bedroom
Picasso hung in the hall
Only cover for a secret lover
Who shes expecting to call
Oooh-though the lady tries
She cant hide the gipsy inside
Shes a gipsy, and the ladys her disguise
Shes a gipsy, see the fire in her eyes
And shed sell off all her diamond rings,
The rubies and the pearls
If she could buy the freedom of a gipsy girl
She never touches her steinway
Plays the tables instead
Oooh-win or lose she still leaves with only
A dream to take her to bed
Oooh-though the lady tries
She cant hide the gipsy inside
Shes a gipsy, and the ladys her disguise
Shes a gipsy, see the fire in her eyes
And shed sell off all her diamond rings,
The rubies and the pearls
If she could buy the freedom of a gipsy girl
Oooh-though the lady tries
She cant hide the gipsy inside
Shes a gipsy, and the ladys her disguise
Shes a gipsy, see the fire in her eyes
And shed sell off all her diamond rings,
The rubies and the pearls
If she could buy the freedom of a gipsy girl
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Gipsy Vans
Unless you come of the gipsy stock
That steals by night and day,
Lock your heart with a double lock
And throw the key away.
Bury it under the blackest stone
Beneath your father's hearth,
And keep your eyes on your lawful own
And your feet to the proper path.
Then you can stand at your door and mock
When the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't right that the Gorgio stock
Should live as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy blood
That takes and never spares,
Bide content with your given good
And follow your own affairs.
Plough and harrow and roll your land,
And sow what ought to be sowed;
But never let loose your heart from your hand,
Nor flitter it down the road!
Then you can thrive on your boughten food
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't nature the Gorgio blood
Should love as the Romany do.
Unless you carry the gipsy eyes
That see but seldom weep,
Keep your head from the naked skies
Or the stars'll trouble your sleep.
Watch your moon through your window-pane
And take what weather she brews;
But don't run out in the midnight rain
Nor home in the morning dews.
Then you can buddle and shut your eyes
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't fitting the Gorgio ryes
Should walk as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy race
That counts all time the same,
Be you careful of Time and Place
And Judgment and Good Name:
Lose your life for to live your life
The way that you ought to do;
And when you are finished, your God and your wife
And the Gipsies'll laugh at you!
Then you can rot in your burying place
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't reason the Gorgio race
Should die as the Romany do.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gypsy Vans
Unless you come of the gipsy stock
That steals by night and day,
Lock your heart with a double lock
And throw the key away.
Bury it under the blackest stone
Beneath your father's hearth,
And keep your eyes on your lawful own
And your feet to the proper path.
Then you can stand at your door and mock
When the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't right that the Gorgio stock
Should live as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy blood
That takes and never spares,
Bide content with your given good
And follow your own affairs.
Plough and harrow and roll your land,
And sow what ought to be sowed;
But never let loose your heart from your hand,
Nor flitter it down the road!
Then you can thrive on your boughten food
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't nature the Gorgio blood
Should love as the Romany do.
Unless you carry the gipsy eyes
That see but seldom weep,
Keep your head from the naked skies
Or the stars'll trouble your sleep.
Watch your moon through your window-pane
And take what weather she brews;
But don't run out in the midnight rain
Nor home in the morning dews.
Then you can buddle and shut your eyes
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't fitting the Gorgio ryes
Should walk as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy race
That counts all time the same,
Be you careful of Time and Place
And Judgment and Good Name:
Lose your life for to live your life
The way that you ought to do;
And when you are finished, your God and your wife
And the Gipsies'll laugh at you!
Then you can rot in your burying place
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't reason the Gorgio race
Should die as the Romany do.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Case Of The Gipsy's Son
The judge he jailed the gipsy's son
For the trivial thing which he had done
He had stolen from a farmer a second hand tweed coat
Which was valued at a ten pound note.
The young man's father Gipsy Jack
Had already given the coat back
The Gipsy lad looked scared and pale
When his lordship said 'three months in jail'.
This was the young man's first offence
Said Gipsy Jack it doesn't make sense
Your lordship please for fair play sake
My son at least deserves one break.
The father for his son did plead
But the judge he gave his plea no heed
He said this is a lawful Land
And the sentence I passed it must stand
But Gipsy Jack had more to say
Said he my son got no fair play
'You are nothing but a stupid prig
Protected by a silly wig'
Gipsy Jack was held for contempt
And twenty days in jail he spent
And he paid the price for finding out
That if you are poor in court house keep shut mouth.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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5. Gone Fishing
Fishermen cast out their nets
We all in turn go fishing
Some will use a rod and line
While others fish by wishing
Some wish for so many things
Like numbers in a line
If the line is lacking some
Next time they say that’s fine
Others fish for gossip
So they can tell to others
No escape for anyone
Not even someone’s brothers
Fishing for a missing sock
The washer won’t release
Hiding out behind the drum
With fluff and bits of fleece
You see we all go fishing
Not always using bait
Just cast a line for what you want
Then settle down and wait
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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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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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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song - Crammag Light
The winter winds are blowin in from Ireland ‘cross the sea
I’m waiting on the pierhead here just watching seagulls wheel
The light is going down now and I’m thinking of the night
When you sailed out from this harbour wall down past Crammag light
The years have passed so slowly since I watched you sail away
I wonder if you’re on the waves still fishing night and day
The tourists have all gone now and I’m by the fireside
In the flames I see you sailing off down past Crammag light
(chorus)
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
The harbour bell is silent now but seabirds on the wing
Are calling out to everywhere, above the breaking waves
But the only song that I can hear is the song the winter sings
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
Remember when we stood upon the cliff at logan head
The sea was like a mill pond and the sun was setting red
The herring boats were drifting southwards on the flooding tide
In the distance we could see the moon over Crammag light
The waves are running high towards the fishpond cottage wall
And all the sea is empty now as darkness starts to fall
The Sanderlings are crying for another day that’s gone
To the south of Laggantulloch, Crammag’s light has just come on
(chorus)
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
The harbour bell is silent now but seabirds on the wing
Are calling out to everywhere, above the breaking waves
But the only song that I can hear is the song the winter sings
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
I’ve heard the talk about the ghost that haunts the waters here
They say that when the sun goes down his fishing boat appears
In winter’s gales and breaking waves, or so the legends say,
In the sweeping light from Crammag, heading north for Logan Bay