"trawler" poems
i
give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..
give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..
give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..
let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..
( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)
give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars
as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..
ii
the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..
just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the
drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals
and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat
and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..
some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..
bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..
there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..
some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering
some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen
small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..
a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..
and regression
bad men
bad men..
lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler
assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..
a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..
a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..
helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..
and the jonah
gone and all
is light..
the end..
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Pots, coiled ropes, orange, blue
Laid, at the harbor side, waiting
Waiting, for the tide,
An old fishing net, laid on the concrete,
A weathered sunburnt fisherman,
Sitting quietly repairing holes within holes
Birds perching patiently on the harbor wall,
Waiting
In the distance the sun dips towards the horizon
Casting a light over a returning trawler
The birds lift lethargically from
Harbour perch, beat their wings , wheel
Towards an incoming meal ticket
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
kissing that boyfriend of mine
is far from divine
we usually partake
of a short peck
as his breath
is like a sardine trawler's deck
our lip locking
is always an abbreviated affair
staying attached at the mouth
isn't our fair
truncating our kissing
suits us to a tee
and we get along
rather agreeably
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
He swam across an ocean to steal a concubine from a potentate,hauled himself ashore in some oil rich state.
Whitebait for sharks that roamed in the sand,fish for the cannery,what kind of a man was he?
His saving grace,her face which monitored each move he made until he reached the palace gates,
then flinging all aside he cried may God have mercy on this humble man who only tries the best he can and from the harem,a girl called Celsius ran into his arms which opened wide,time to hide ,time to run,
time to burn,the desert sun does not play games nor names the bones which bleach upon its sands.
Holding hands they stowed away on a short haul trawler out of the bay and here where fear was laid to rest
the best was yet to come.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
There's a steady mist rising,
Down by the sea,
Glowing red in the lamplight,
I see fishermen unloading their catch,
The sea gulls trying to ******
It's growing cold, and my hearts colder still,
Life is growing on the harbour side,
The steady embrace of the tide.
The trawlers trawling heavy on the sea,
Fish by the hundred stand on the misty dock.
The trawler men unloading, unloading by the clock.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
they fell from a tolleycroft trawler
(about a mile off the gary dock)
tossed in a bottlenose gulf stream
partially pasted on ruk and crustacean
belly ******* ragged
fender bent rolling
drifting on krill chop
past o' malleys
down juan de fuca
rubbing grain
into the gun barrel sea
twisted benjamins
nipped by the hungry swell
blunt on a wayward log
deep in the gutty storm
slack jaw, skinned
medling
over phosphorescence
and grayling
and cold erratic flow
(oh those seedy finman!)
driftwood gorge
at celebration light
sun carts rise
to the homecoming
**** that nuisance moon!)*
crimson tide
and contraband
strung on the greyhound
intervention essentials
with menacing roots
these crackers lack
all disposition
and tact
an enemy mask
lies deep within
blinded rodmen
on a shoreline retreat
where the franklin bills
are spinning
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
Seeing a vessel.
A catcher of fishes.
Espies another catcher of fishes.
These little fellows are destined for dishes.
Crew watching the crying ones.
The gulls as they rise.
Screaming wildly, they're on fire with excitement.
Gulls watch the Herrings, as they're breaching the foam.
Flapping and flipping, they're struggling to breathe.
The trawler man in the South westerly squall.
Struggling to cling to the slippery deck.
Tries hard not to fall.
He's used to it.
Another dollar.
Another day.
Only way to scoop his pay.
He's landing his fish.
Amid the squawking and bombing.
Keen and mean.
Tatty old trawler, chugs into the safe haven of harbour.
Today's catch thrown onto the dockside.
A different gull swoops.
A sly diving skydiver,
He's diving for dinner.
Never a loser.
Always a winner.
(C) Livvi
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
A little dot of light in the distance
Signalled that they were on their way home
She was waiting at her own insistence
As the trawler drew closer through the foam.
Her man had taken another man's place
And he sailed with yesterday's tide
But their baby was due in only three days
She wanted him back on dry land by her side.
It caused her to reflect on her father
He'd been lost in the'53 spring tide
That had raced down the east coast of England
Brushing trawlers and ferries to one side.
They called it 'The Big Flood', it was really that bad
It happened unexpectedly
Two and a half thousand, including her dad
Were drowned and swallowed by the sea.
January thirty-first into February one
The storm raged like no other before
Then it turned out to sea and was suddenly gone
Leaving death and devastation in it's maw.
The trawler was pulled into the harbour
And her husband jumped the jetty and ran
He took her into his arms and she worried no more
He was home, he was safe, and her man.
©Joe Wilson - The trawlerman's wife & the 1953 spring-tide disaster...2015
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
Who are my to say whats right
and how dare me to even try.
The blood that trickles from my wound,
is on my sheets,
tears in my eyes.
I try to cast my mind back,
like the trawler casts a hopeful net.
In the search of love and truth,
but all that's left is harsh regrets.
There's sometimes when I wonder:
what if we just never spoke?
I wonder would the love transpire,
I wonder what it would evoke.
See memories have a need for words,
its how we form a view.
But its those words that led us here,
and now I don't have you.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
life is vaporous
life is sleep and within life vapour I take a slumber
limbered keen and nimble I kip travels
unraveling lumber
the annual rings a lolling carpet
life is but a pencil sharpener
at my shoulder
a nap sacked boulder
peppered quartz for schemes
as an investor in dreams
i am larval
mumbling some verse nonsense
gavel for gorge
clouted by The Greats
the knowers who silk spin
the freedom of sleep and the imagination
into rule and bard
the thirsty claws of the snared dream
the shared laws that barter with hurt
even as though we know ;
'ignorance is no excuse for the law'
seesaw
we ****** not forward with our 'self'
we have a trust of 'no confidence'
and an obedience to follow
i am some frown of traveller
and a knowledge trawler
self-made unaware
an incomplete idiot with a knot of care
life is sleep and within that sleep i take my life
and with it
any the fool that follows
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 9:46 AM UTC
~
his ropes are worn but hold the strain;
they’ve seen far worse in wind, in rain.
his deck is bare, his winch is full,
his back and arms ache. yet again;
though soon his catch the hold will fill,
with hissing jaws and snapping claws;
reward of toil with traps of steel.
’neath cloud and sun, to dusk from dawn,
with weathered hand he works and sweats;
to bring to port ’fore sun has set,
there’s hungry mouths to feed at home;
a wife whose face his hands to hold.
in years still young, but days too old,
these seas have aged his weathered soul;
and eyes that peer neath bill-ed hat,
have wept as waves stole all he has;
not once, but twice they claimed his lot,
sunk to its bed like fallen stone;
but skill and luck his love has bought,
her prayers from home have brought him back.
of fable and of myth he’s made,
cup of saltiness with pinch of sin;
with baited traps he lays in wait,
yet knows he is the baited one;
for he’ll ne’er throw in these lines,
or trade his trusted trawler in.
a farmer’s life may suit his love,
but this she sees would be his end;
and so she lives each day in wait,
for his trawler's horn to sound.
this too she knows far too well,
one day his horn will sound no more.
no coffin nor a stone he’ll need;
the sea will bear him to that shore,
his lasting gift to her is them,
each child's face, his own imprint.
the sea his final resting place.
his voice to hear amidst the wind;
~
*post script.
an imagined crabber and lobsterman; with mouths to feed and a love he needs back home, owing much to prayer and good fortune, though even this has it limits as the sea's rigors daily tempt fate. these lines mused from my own castings of traps and nets... of harvesting the sea’s bounty for a mere weekend, with my lover near at hand.
https://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/05/magazine/a-speck-in-the-sea.html
pss. i am many months away and life has changed; these changes are still a work in progress. my goals too have been rearranged... death and hardship have that effect on us, though sometimes change that feels alarming actually takes us to a place of salvation; this being my constant hope! i make no promises that i am back, only that for now i am here, and have missed you and the sacredness of these walls.*
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
By one hand the knife made ready,
In the other flips a fish;
Suddenly, the two are steady
In the rhythm of the slish.
And worthy men and worthy craft
Rebuke the jarring waves that lash
Each man starboard, port and aft,
With bitter wet and violent crash.
And carcass after carcass tossed
Lifeless to the ****** hold
Shimmers, though the light is lost,
And the dreary day grows cold.
And vagrants in the trawler’s wake
Bobbing back atop the swells
Flutter up then swoop to take
The sacrament of fish entrails.
Here, wind and rain and haze dilute.
Yellow, green, red, brown converge.
And the gray is absolute,
And time and mind and sense diverge.
Moments roll as waves uncounted.
Thoughts are scattered as debris
On pebbles of perception rounded
By the endless surge of sea.
And rivers rise and passion flows
Inward channeled by belief.
Images drift by then go
To certainty, or doubt so brief.
And certain as the banks concede
To the wash and swirl and spray
So the tide and time recede
Shaping yet another day.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Like minnows through trawler nets
They get by
Neutrinos stream in my head
All the time
A gross grip on spinnerets
Catch a fly
Where are you in the wakeless night?
Close your eyes
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
Distance can be miles apart
Or a block away from each other '
We both see the horizon
In different time zone
Separate position
Same direction
Before sun rise
In the still of the darkness
I see a virgin’s bloodless love
Flowing at peace ;
The wait was long
But he showed no wrath
Incinerating me in the flames of his glorious path
Have I not walked a natural phenomenon this beautiful before
Never the I'consumed methylated spirit -
That I'engaged in 'tandav
Whilst my boots concealed precious opioid syringes
was un touched .
The same story created multiple more
Even though I have unraveled a myriad of ideologies
I kneeled to the One ;
The exquisitely pure ,
The inconceivable ;
The unmanifest ,
Of infinite form ;
Blissful, tranquil, immortal ;
Everything about him reeks of danger and insanity
His scent gives off a feel of nostalgia and safety
Following sardiness of regret
Caught by the trawler of hope
Here control i s overrated '
The moment of the divine wholeness
Here I sit under it
Incessantly chanting
S t i l l
M o t i o n l e s s
Over an infinite time
It's green foliage adorns the sky
Each flower smiling .
The constraints,
which were built by the mind,
crumbled in an instant .
I look beyond myself and saw you there
All of these years of loneliness !
And though you are right, I've been looking as well,
In different time zone
Separate position
Same direction
Before sun rise
In the still of the darkness
'I 'Offered myself
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
Motionless White
Numbers on a map.
No more.
So much ocean.
Men adrift at sea.
Only hope keeps them alive.
That and faith in God.
Old misplaced ways left behind.
New ways reborn.
The miracle happens.
Picked up by a trawler.
Too late for one.
Fine for five.
A miracle?
You, Jesus, tell me.
based on a shipwreck
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
Motionless White
Numbers on a map.
No more.
So much ocean.
Men adrift at sea.
Only hope keeps them alive.
That and faith in God.
Old misplaced ways left behind.
New ways reborn.
The miracle happens.
Picked up by a trawler.
Too late for one.
Fine for five.
A miracle?
You, Jesus, tell me.
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
My mind is a twilight trawler
Looking down on each step
One eye always forward
Heavy, loud steps
Each with its own timbre and reason
Every turn is a surprise
When you're alive
But I find myself
In a certain corner
Of a certain city or forest
And it's time to learn the streets,
Or the trees
And find more than water.
My mind is a twilight trawler.
I look hard at your daughter.
I look hard at other people's daughters.
I look down on each step,
With stronger feet and sharper head
But paint me black and call me dead,
I look back at your daughter.
Unjust
Observing
In-between
Undecided...
*****
I am the product of many forces
My drive is not to find their sources
But carry on the human lust--
The gift of light evinces dust.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 11:17 PM UTC
Russian trawler with
payload of white flags
destined for Ukraine
seized by the French!
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 4:04 AM UTC
my face burns
a flame of emotion across a clouded sky
my insides swell and heave
a ship rocks from the tidal waves
i lose my footing,
or did i jump?
Why did I do this?
I already know the answer.
-silence-
the air ripples my clothes
i fall for hours
crash.
the ocean.
i remember the feeling.
it's cold; i am solid
i cannot move
water is in my lungs
the salt stings my eyes.
there is nothing for miles
only i exist here
It isn't enough. Most life in the ocean isn't this high up.
i let out the remaining air in my lungs, and i begin to sink.
I see you.
Watching me.
we both relive our pain.
the stinging of the box jellyfish.
the pierce of an octopus beak.
it hurts.
I see our blood color the water.
The tears in our eyes, or is it the brine?
You say something.
I couldn't hear it.
I have to keep sinking.
I have to find you, see you,
Ask you.
I pull us both down.
your stinging stops, for one moment.
the jellyfish and the octopus.
is it an embrace? is it a struggle?
I hold our memories,
cradled in 8 arms.
I feel your fear.
I see my mistake.
jetting upward, I force myself up.
upward in the roiling ocean.
Why did I do this to you?
What can I do to fix it?
the octopus pulls
it pulls
it pulls it's arms off.
it can't look at itself
not with these arms
not with these eyes.
Looking back now, I really didn't see her.
I promised my heart to her, and I only gave half.
he stops moving.
floating motionless.
the jellyfish has drifted away.
he watches in silence.
she has painted new pictures.
he closes his eyes and thinks of what he's done.
the months pass
he meets the other fish in the sea.
he wastes his time.
on them.
on his hobbies.
on working.
each night he sees her in a dream, but by morning he says it's washed away.
I can't blame her.
I wasn't there.
september.
he feels himself climbing up the side of the trawler.
Maybe I can stay alone.
By myself.
Maybe I really am the devil of the ocean, and only god can redeem me.
he argues with his friends
"You still miss her, don't you?"
is what they ask.
he hesitates.
he feels the love resurging.
I am different. This time it is different.
he wakes up early and works out.
he takes on another job.
he resists the pull of the sea.
he thinks of the jellyfish and his wrongs. he wants to share his unbridled love.
I'll look.
Just one more time.
the waves, they're back
the sky is gloomy and it rains for days.
he wants to dive again.
back down to her.
he knows his mistakes and remembers hers. but it'll be different.
the ocean looks the same.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
I love no particular place
Only a feeling; fleet, unplanned
I have no past for which I long
My heart is a green meadow
where your rescues may run
But should we gaze upon it?
For what is meant to be
will disappear into the night
when we decide it is ours
I knew of every color
And every sound
Like shells on the beach,
netting on a trawler,
anchors on the ground
But you knew what they meant
Together in your heart;
it was an ocean voyage
and an island for us to love
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC