"prawns" poems
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
14.4k
I
On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
II
Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
'On that little heap of stones
'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
III
'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
'Will you come and be my wife?'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
'I'm a-weary of my life:
'If you'll come and be my wife,
'Quite serene would be my life!'--
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
IV
'On this Coast of Coromandel,
'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--
'Gaze upon the rolling deep
('Fish is plentiful and cheap)
'As the sea, my love is deep!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
V
Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,--
'Your proposal comes too late,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'I would be your wife most gladly!'
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
'But in England I've a mate!
'Yes! you've asked me far too late,
'For in England I've a mate,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'
VI
'Mr. Jones--(his name is Handel,--
'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
'Dorking fowls delights to send,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
'And your jug without a handle,--
'I can merely be your friend!
'--Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
'I will give you three, my friend!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'
VII
'Though you've such a tiny body,
'And your head so large doth grow,--
'Though your hat may blow away,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy--
'Yet a wish that I could modi-
'fy the words I needs must say!
'Will you please to go away?
'That is all I have to say--
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'.
VIII
Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle,--
'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me
'On your back beyond the sea,
'Turtle, you shall carry me!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
IX
Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
With a sad primaeval motion
Towards the sunset isles of Boshen
Still the Turtle bore him well.
Holding fast upon his shell,
'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!'
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
X
From the Coast of Coromandel,
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On that little hep of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
4.2k
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle?
These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers.
What’s in store?
Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny.
At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs.
However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature.
Lugra love
East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.
You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.
You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)
Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.
Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Prancing prawns jive on
Rainbow trout salsa in streams
Salmon riverdance! :-)
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.
the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,
passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.
the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.
salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.
sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.
nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.
apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.
rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.
so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
Going down to sizzlers, (the sizzler song)
Come on mum and dad, don't be a tease
I do a lot of cooking, so why don't you grab the car keys
You see mum, there is no need to cook
And dad,,there is no need to book
Yeah we can have a lot of fun at sizzler, yeah
You see dad will have a steak
Mum will have a break, I prefer all you can eat
So I can eat myself stupid, man
So while dad is enjoying his steak, yes, he
Says it's so melt in the mouth
And I am fucken feeding my face, and looking like a loser, yeah
I first would have a plate of prawns, yeah I liked that,,yeah
And then I will have a savoury dip and special kind of crackers
And then I'll try a garlic bread and pasta, yeah
After that, when normal people give up
I will have ice cream and jelly and pancakes too
I will also try the nice chocolate mousse and healthy yoghurt
Oh yeah that's so nice, and listen mum, you shouldn't be a tease
Cause we can have a good meal at sizzler, please
And mum and dad enjoyed their meal, and they knew when to stop
But for about 20 minutes I was in the toilets spewing like crazy , oh yeah
My mum and dad were worried, and it got them all stressed
But the stupid vomiting won't actually stop
And when I felt a bit better I left the toilets
And mum and dad took me home because to them it was embarrassing
And on the way home I felt like vomiting again
And mum and dad stopped the car, so I can ***** it out
And I was there for about another 20 more minutes
And mum and dad said, come on, son, it's cold and we want to get home to the warm
And when I finished, I got back home, and it was a laugh a minute at sizzler yeah
You see dad enjoyed the steak, and mum enjoyed a break
And I think there should be a law against all you can eat places
Because all you can eat, is a bit of a tease
I was going down to sizzlers to ***** in the toilet, oh yeah
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
My fingers raw from scrubbing pounds of clams, mussels, peeling prawns.
My back aches in preparation for a meal that I wish to share with you.
Christmas music in the background.
A cocktail in hand
Now I sit for a moment and wonder
Where are you?
I hope you smile
Know I think of you
Waiting for our time together
Sitting here. Lost in thought.
Lost in you.
Kiss my love
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
when torn clouds bared blue holes
the river brimmed with ecstasy.
it had rained the whole day
and she was bursting in seams
to tell her side of the story
from the many
upon her shore's mangrove.
how the tiger guards her treasures,
prawns and ***** and honeys and woods,
pounces from the saline thickness of the mist
when dream of life is heavy on the gatherer
and smell of death far gone forgotten
rips the flesh cracks the skull open
flows the blood as silent night
carries the trophy for a bony rest
till devoured by her floodwater.
the river knows it too well
the tiger is her lover and loyal sentinel.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
Hello i'm Howard,
and I like fish,
I love the prawns and the tuna,
that lay on my dish,
but I'm not to fond,
of them sardines though,
they taste like crap,
my brother's named Moe
I love my food,
and so do you,
you eat it all up,
then it comes out in poo
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
* dedicated to Rene Magritte *
An image of my grandmother
her head appearing upside-down upon a cloud
the cloud transfixed on the steeple
of a deserted railway-station
far away
An image of an aqueduct
with a dead crow hanging from the first arch
a modern-style chair from the second
a fir-tree lodged in the third
and the whole scene sprinkled with snow
An image of a piano-tuner
with a basket of prawns on his shoulder
and a firescreen under his arm
his moustache made of clay-clotted twigs
and his cheeks daubed with wine
An image of an aeroplane
the propellor is rashers of bacon
the wings are of reinforced lard
the tail is made of paper-clips
the pilot is a wasp
An image of the painter
with his left hand in a bucket
and his right hand stroking a cat
as he lies in bed
with a stone beneath his head
And all these images
and many others
are arranged like waxworks
in model bird-cages
about six inches high.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 9:19 PM UTC
Christ and his apostles
had but bread and wine to share.
At that Last Supper many came
to a table nearly bare.
Gandolfini came by honestly,
his girth and double chin.
The mayonnaise he relished
May be what did him in.
He enjoyed a glass, or two, of beer
He liked his King Prawns fried.
He downed a pint of Morgan’s ***
with foie gras on the side.
Two Pina Coladas for dessert.
But surely that’s no sin.
Some speculate t’was the massive tab
That led to Tony’s end.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
horse aligned coil/roll of wave.
the bearded heat of sun unto birds, land **
poseidon’s son was a bird,
out there/
/there was a molten breach in the fissures deep.
it breathed an ooze of mother blood orange and hissing.
the coral lords photosynthesize cities from out of reef material.
where tree the family of fish, diverse and good people.
good dancers of the primordial dip.
tri-tipped dip of chips.
trident tugged zippers.
wetsuit squishy skin released.
the violent stories of men and ships.
the men and lumber treading dawn with prawns and lime.
island boys, as
big show trapeze lovers flung,
no,
as trapped monsters singing jingles
in jungles
in june.
or july.
the theory of hopeless elements is crushing/
water: or currents unending.
all above.
all below.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
and the page turns,
memories sepia, brown
and frosted with time
come to light.
faint, murmuring words,
swim at the back of my mind.
summer days....spent in splendour.
balmy nights and mosquito nets.
rockpools little crab kingdoms, the smell of coconut oil and arms macadamia nut brown..
and again the page turns
the boys in rugby kit
me standing off to one side
head in a book...
one girl among too many older brothers
always a tagalong in handmedowns and enid blyton's famous five..
and again the page turns...
christmss hats and presents
cold chicken,salads and little baby prawns....sherry trifle
and poppajack snoring, beer still in hand...
and the page turns and turns
little windows into former lives......sometimes nostalgia
and sometimes.... just a peeping tom..
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
I watch her and know my friend's Cat has a soul
why greet me and chase away the strays ?
Go figure out the unity, it last
and you will realise
there's instinctual maturity,
the pride of her groom
the health regime of cat grass
prawns auto reckoning !
the decision that Rock N Roll
is a tacky tail, is gracious,
her class suitably ignores
associated man made discordance
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
It all begins with pounding fists
against my door, and men with guns
and yellow tape, and me afraid,
I’m on the floor and crawling toward
the front room drapes to peak outside,
oh what in the world have I done?
A bit relieved, I find out why
a regiment is in my yard,
they say the man that lived next door
has turned up dead behind his shed,
they said he died an awful way,
with eyes ****** out by who knows
what, or why, but either way a
nasty death; poor guy.
The landscape man called 911,
but what he saw he wouldn’t say,
was so surprised to find him dead,
he swallowed his tongue, his face all red,
and there they lie both side by side
the one alive, the other dead.
The EMTs revived the one,
the older guy had long since died,
the guy who lived, they took away
to where? don’t know, they didn’t say,-
but rumor is a padded cell
where all he does both day and night
is moan and drool, he just ain’t right
from what he saw that spooked him.
Within a week I notice things
around the house (not his, but mine)
the porch out back, the wet wood stack,
the shifting earth, the sticking doors,
disgusting insects on the floor,
the pungent stench from underneath
the house, the vents that weep a
sickly brown and soupy **** I
must confess in ignorance,
I didn’t know a house could bleed.
I try some bleach, some cleaning spray,
but just can’t scrub the **** away,
it just gets worse, and just when I
can take no more a chasm cracks
behind the stack of sticky wood,
and from the hole a flying horde
of Satan’s pawns and slugs and prawns
and beasts of sorts I swear I’ve never
seen before come shrieking out and
flock about so loud the sound is
deafening.
And now I know what mute man saw,
he saw what’s left, the face of stone
when people die at home alone,
the rigor mortis, gouged out eyes
when killed by things that men despise,
those beasts that creep and crawl and fly
about as Satan’s pawns or slugs
or prawns or whatever else might
make them cry or swallow their tongue.
I really don’t know what the big
deal is - good god
its only BUGS.
I guess I’ll call an exterminator.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
THE NYMPH
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower- if you like women with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opened suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration-
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her thunderously satisfied indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And criss-crossing her piebald nose a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of her kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast-
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as in unexpected agony she died: “I thought, I thought, I was god!”
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
Dishes served full are well laid on the table
prawns are glittering adornments
though only yesterday
their tentacles were tasting the river
not knowing they would be in another water
in the river of saliva
grinded and pulped for a tasty moksha.
The rain falls unabated from last night.
Who'll go out to feed?, asks a voice.
Does never being hungry feel the same stress
as being hungry most of the time?
The answer is in the clouded eyes
watching the eyes
joyful for one more chance.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
I have a silver castle in the sky
One day, we will visit it, you and I
We will sail down the river, gently row
Eyes affixed on my castle, from below.
My beautiful castle is shining bright
Surreal and surrounded by mist at night
We will keep rowing until morning dawns
We will haul in nets of shimmering prawns.
My castle in the sky is very far
We will never reach it by boat or car
But in my mind it will always hold true
All is possible at the time of Yule.
In dreams my castle can be anywhere
Wherever I wish it, it will be there
Between you and me, no one else should know
My dream castle is made of ice and snow.
In my dreams I should also let you know
Castle walls glisten with silver and gold
Dreams of castles in moonlight all aglow
Piled sky-high with treasure and wealth untold.
Can I tell you, while I am feeling bold
Sadly, comes dawn, there is nought to behold
All the same, dream I will and dream I must
Tho' at dawn, even castles turn to dust.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
gem scones
and ginger loaf bread,
slathered with farmfresh butter.
washed down with
oh so **** cold home made
lemonade ices.
little pots of salmon rillettes
and tiny potted prawns
eaten on crisp potato wafers.
crustless finger sandwiches
of cucumber and tomato,
grown twenty feet to the left
of where we sit.
in the shade of the radiata pine tree.
minted gingerale punch.
sunshine dappled light,
playing on fine glassware.
the aromas of ovenlove
mint, pine, ginger, citrus
and salt,
mingle with old spice and
lavender water, of the grands, dozing,
as they sit baking, basking,
in the afternoon heat.
high tea,
at the homestead farm.
on the windswept coastal
plain.
once every couple of months,
awaited with much, anticipation.
remembered with much
fondness
a feast of food, family
and much love.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
there may be positive thinking,
the day after the cleaning.
after all, one’s problems
aint so bad when we hear of others.
it was hoped the electricity
was off, seems they still
use it in bangor.
this is shocking.
is it really all about shopping?
i think it is more about friendship,
and carings.
it may be said now, that
they do supply prawns.
sbm.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Crooked cops and sick men in high places.
Beating and ****** the sad mourning faces.
The people, the public; their prawns and their tools.
Abusing and using; their methods are cruel.
Our voice it means nothing, our fists do no good.
We will never be free, we are misunderstood.
For the fat cats with tall hats drink deep with the greed.
They say,
"Take from the people! They're helpless, They're meek."
And they're right we can't stop them, we'll always be beat.
They have tanks and battalions.
We have rocks and bare feet.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
How many happy moments
In a life of a fisherman?
When I stood and saw
The small fishing boats
approaching the shore
The fishermen smiling
Coming toward the jetty
With fish and prawns
The catch of the day...
Enough to make ends meet
Just another day...
How many days of lonely hours at dawns,
at sunsets and sunrise
You need to endure
To make a living...
Putting bread and butter on the tables...
To feed the hungry kids at home
when i stood and saw your strength
I just knew how hard life is...
for a fisherman..
like you..
The beautiful clouds over the skyline..
oranges and purples and cobalt blues .
might fascinate a person like me
might bring no pleasures
to a fisherman's eyes...
I stood and saw the beautiful colors of the sky
spread along the wide sky above
A gift from our creator... the nature
All to soon the sunrise fades into day
bringing harsh light to a softening early
morning as the magic fades away
morning the fishing boats go off again
leaving hopeful wife and kids at the jetty
what is left is an image hidden away
to bring about dreams of a sunrise day
To come home safe with the catch of the day!!!
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC