Sometimes it’s a matter of faith
other times it’s a matter of sustanence
cast the nets upon the bits of mankind
that exist beyond the shores of the
dreams that reside in your mind
beyond the needs of your demanding will
The fisherman came and he threw in his net – what will he find today? Some starfish, or maybe just some stars? Some love out there? Please throw it back. Let both go. It’s nice to hold but it has to flow.
My mother was dead, my father was dead. The only good thing I had in life was my boat. I had big dreams of becoming a fisherman, but that dream and the only thing I had left soon went bad too. I went to jump from the dock onto the boat when I hit my head and fell I to the water and drowned… This is why I can’t have good things.
Oh what a joy it is to wake up every morning and go out in my boat. Nothing around me but blue sky’s and open water. Alone with my thoughts… But oh no! My thoughts. They take a turn for the worst. All of a sudden I am imagining this huge monster fish, it’s coming for me. It’s crazy. How is it that my thoughts can trigger such actions ? Right as I think that a voice says, ” because you are the fisherman”. The what? “The fisherman” it says again. “The fisherman of all fishermen, what ever you think happen to any fisherman alone oht in open water.
What is a fisherman? A man who goes fishing! Is that a career? It can be. Have I ever been a fisherman? Yes, when I used to go fishing with Dad. Those were the days. I’m not really fond of fishing but I like to eat fish. Go figure. I have a great deal of respect for those who choose to be a fisherman as a career.
A lonely fisherman—
as he sat on the dock with his fishing pole in one hand and his beer in the other, he thought to himself…
“What is my higher purpose, what should I be doing with my life?”
Except he answered this question himself. He realized he is supposed to live the simple life and continue being happy. That’s his purpose.
The fisherman stood, looking out over the water as the sun rose. Ripples caught the light in their usual delightful way, but there was one dark spot that ruined his view. The clear outline of a body, floating face down in the water, told him today would not be the relaxing day’s fishing he had hoped for.
the fisherman sat atop of his boat. he liked to do so, as he watched the sea in front of him. it was beautiful in his eyes, and he idly wondered if he’d ever think about anything else the same way he did about the sea. mermaids, those were fairytales, but to him, everything was possible. would he ever see one?
my fingers fumbled around the ropes of the net, raw from the friction and aching from the labor of hard work. i heaved with all my breath and pulled the haul aboard. panting heavily, water from the boat splashing on my face, i looked out to sea and saw it. the beast of my dreams.
time is of the essence i had to eat, sleep tight and fight till I’m ocean deep. time is time fisherman don’t you understand? feed with your actions and don’t let your words rest at your feet. please listen to these words of a person learning to be.
The water glistened against the sun’s rays, illuminating every grain of sand on the beach. I plopped onto the yellow sand and looked up, absorbing this beautiful day. It was a great day for fishing, just like any other day of the year. Whether it stormed or there was a hurricane, you can always find the blue-jacketed fisherman in the distance, constantly throwing his fishing pole into the deep blue sea. Every morning, just at 7, the blue-jacketed fisherman strolls into the beach with one goal in mind: fish.
be a fisher of all people
bait
open waters
patience
open skies
rhythm of the water
loving the open spaces
at the mercy of the elements
enjoying adventures, sameness and wonder
I’m afraid of fishermen. Well, not them, exactly. I’m afraid I’ll see them catch a fish, and then I’ll get upset and freak out at the unfairness and fragility of life, and the suffering and the fear and pain and the panic and…
– I really shouldn’t go near people who are fishing. I get sad. And then I get panicked that I’m going to see something I don’t want to see.
Yes, I eat fish sometimes. Yes that’s pretty dumb.
I work very hard to shut out the thoughts of what I’m doing.
The fisherman and his lake where always one
The painting lived on the wall in the dinning room.
The painting was the only reminder Nehemiah had of his father
A father who never understood him, never tried to
The fisherman and his lake where always one
The painting lived on the wall in the dinning room.
The fisherman shouts orders out to his crew as the waters hurtle over the sides of the boat. He stumbles and reaches out to grab something – anything – to keep him self upright. His hands find no hold and he crashes onto the deck below just like a wave. He doesn’t get back up again and the captain goes down with his ship.
There once was a lonely fisherman who often went fishing. One day he caught a magical fish that promised to grant him one wish. The fisherman wished for a companion, so the fish made a beautiful daughter appear. The fisherman loved his daughter more than anything else in the world.
The yellow hat was too much. But, damn it, he liked it. He liked the way the rubberized fabric squeaked between his fingertips, especially when his hands were wet with the ocean and the day’s catch. They said he looked like his father in that hat, with his big brown overcoat full of holes, and he liked that too.
Der alte Fischer warf das Netz aus. Unter dem Bug seines Schiffes gluckerten die Wellen. Eine Möwe kreiste schreiend über dem Mast, an dem der weiße Wimpel traurig und schlaff herunterhing. Kein Windhauch war zu spüren.
He was older, with fine wrinkles across his face that mimicked the waves on which he traveled. The scent of salt biting his nostrils was a daily occurrence and had been since he could remember.
I sat on the rocks every morning at dawn, taking in the smell of the salty air, crispy air. Watching the sunrise over the ocean as I watched the fishermen on their boats getting ready to go out for the days catch. They would leave just before dawn, but as the sun came up you could always see them out at the horizon as they sailed off for the days work.
I noticed one day that as all the other ships were going out one ship was coming in. Its belly full of fish even the deck had fish on it. I was not sure where this fisherman had been or how long he had been out, but it was apparent he did not follow the same path as all the others.
This stuck with me through out my life. As I grew up and as I grew in my career. I never wanted to follow the pack. I always wanted to be different to find a better way of doing things. I often thought back to the fisherman and wondered what put him on a different path.
Who was it that he saw doing things differently that spoke to him and told him it was okay to be different, to go against the grain and to strive to be the best.
I have no clue who that man was but I would like to take the opportunity to thank him wherever he may be for showing me a different path. One where I make the rules and set the goals.
The fisherman sat on the broken stump, his feet just touching the water. He bit off a chaw of tobacco and tucked it into the pouch of his bottom lip. It was a beautiful day for fishing.
She didn’t like to say that she was married to a fisherman, mostly because he hardly ever left the house long enough to be seen as anything. But, then again, when he did choose to leave their home on Sugarloaf Keys, it would be to go fishing in the ocean. Sometime he would bring her along to breathe in the salty air and look out on the mist, but she pushed him to bring her son instead.
The salty spray echoed through the walls of the ship,
As one man woke up with a start.
He was piloting a schooner all the way up from Florida,
During the Hurricane season,
And suddenly his old friend Katrina came to call.
She was a jealous woman,
And dragged him back to her watery depths,
Alone.
It would be years before they discovered the truth.
Fisherman tied up to the boat
They over throw the waters
They take the waters a shore
Picking up where they left off
The fisherman are super tossed away by the waves of the ocean
They tried to scramble they tried to have devotion
but they’ve come to far on this wave of a shore and the man in the sea has two bottles of whisky that he’s been drinking with a side of life
with a little bit of life held up on the shore
he’s got no tomorrow
The fisherman winked at him as they wrestled the nets aboard. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Hard work, this, and long hours, but by gum when the fish are running this is the best place to be. Right here on this little boat.”
The life of a fisherman is a hard one, sitting on my small boat as I paddle out into the middle of the lake, waiting for hours just for one fish. A fish that sometimes is not a fish. A fisherman’s temper and patience needs to be in check, a fisherman cannot explode when losing a fish as it will sc
The fisherman looks over to his mate like she hung the stars in the sky. He looks up at Polaris, down to his charts, back to his mate. She smiles and asks if he’s ready to weigh anchor.
I met a fisherman; and he’s good-looking. Took me to the beach. No need to talk about fishes and the sea. We were just there. Walking along the shore and chilling.
I raise my dripping hands from the ether, my fingers like a sieve.
A thousand memories swirling in my cupped palms and slipping through the spaces in between.
I am a fisherman of lies. Of people.
I catch but cannot keep the latter.
I keep but cannot catch the former.
He always found himself getting lost at sea–both literally and figuratively. While he wasn’t the best navigator in the world, the great, deep, blue expanse never scared him; he always knew he’d find his way back home if he didn’t go out too far. But for that knew him well, they knew that despite the confidence he had in finding his way back home literally, he was already too far out mentally to ever come back; the sea wasn’t the only thing that was vast–it was his mind as well.
This boy was no fisherman, it was blatantly obvious to all who could see him. Despite his unprepared aura, he eagerly clutched a too large fishing pole in one hand, and a small tackle box in the other. His eyes alit as they fluttered around the pier, scoping out the best place to set up for the day.
The fisherman walked down the muggy grass, concerned with the weather, he wore his trademark bucket hat and red rain boots. He looked up at the gray sun and frowned, this was supposed to be a beautiful day.
nJohn the fisherman had three dozen fish in separate baskets. It took him ten minutes to go out and fish them out of the sea. All of the spectators were simply amazed. How did he do it? Was it magic? John would never tell. None of them could know about the deal he’d made with the local intelligent sea life. The mermaids would make him pay if they did.
Her father had been a simple man, a fisherman from the Northside of Dunleigh who’d never done a single soul a lick of harm. But that hadn’t stopped the Southmen from killing him, from cutting him open and painting their front door with his blood, a sign to a Northern king they’d never met that his lands would belong to them.
And, when no king’s army had come riding in to avenge him, she’d done so herself, armed with naught but her teeth and a paring knife, long since gone dull from biting the skin of root vegetables.
I am a fisherman. Well more of a fisher of men. I cast my line out and wait, sometimes i get a bite and reel him in. Then i make the choice to throw him back or to keep him and eat him for dinner.
Lonely fisherman on the sea, what does your face do when you think of me? Reel’s off-kilter, rod’s broken, too. Nothing much to catch in this spot of blue. Drifting by the boats going two by two, wondering what happened between me and you. Lonely fisherman on the sea, lost in the cold foam of reverie. Lost in the cold foam of reverie. Lost in the cold foam of reverie.
Sometimes it’s a matter of faith
other times it’s a matter of sustanence
cast the nets upon the bits of mankind
that exist beyond the shores of the
dreams that reside in your mind
beyond the needs of your demanding will
Ice every where you look how in gods grace will I be able to sail this fishing boat threw,
I have no idea!
The fisherman came and he threw in his net – what will he find today? Some starfish, or maybe just some stars? Some love out there? Please throw it back. Let both go. It’s nice to hold but it has to flow.
My mother was dead, my father was dead. The only good thing I had in life was my boat. I had big dreams of becoming a fisherman, but that dream and the only thing I had left soon went bad too. I went to jump from the dock onto the boat when I hit my head and fell I to the water and drowned… This is why I can’t have good things.
Oh what a joy it is to wake up every morning and go out in my boat. Nothing around me but blue sky’s and open water. Alone with my thoughts… But oh no! My thoughts. They take a turn for the worst. All of a sudden I am imagining this huge monster fish, it’s coming for me. It’s crazy. How is it that my thoughts can trigger such actions ? Right as I think that a voice says, ” because you are the fisherman”. The what? “The fisherman” it says again. “The fisherman of all fishermen, what ever you think happen to any fisherman alone oht in open water.
What is a fisherman? A man who goes fishing! Is that a career? It can be. Have I ever been a fisherman? Yes, when I used to go fishing with Dad. Those were the days. I’m not really fond of fishing but I like to eat fish. Go figure. I have a great deal of respect for those who choose to be a fisherman as a career.
A lonely fisherman—
as he sat on the dock with his fishing pole in one hand and his beer in the other, he thought to himself…
“What is my higher purpose, what should I be doing with my life?”
Except he answered this question himself. He realized he is supposed to live the simple life and continue being happy. That’s his purpose.
The fisherman stood, looking out over the water as the sun rose. Ripples caught the light in their usual delightful way, but there was one dark spot that ruined his view. The clear outline of a body, floating face down in the water, told him today would not be the relaxing day’s fishing he had hoped for.
the fisherman sat atop of his boat. he liked to do so, as he watched the sea in front of him. it was beautiful in his eyes, and he idly wondered if he’d ever think about anything else the same way he did about the sea. mermaids, those were fairytales, but to him, everything was possible. would he ever see one?
“I know this cool place called the Fisherman’s Wharf, you wanna try it out sometime?”
“Um…sure. Well, I mean not now. But sometime soon, yeah.”
my fingers fumbled around the ropes of the net, raw from the friction and aching from the labor of hard work. i heaved with all my breath and pulled the haul aboard. panting heavily, water from the boat splashing on my face, i looked out to sea and saw it. the beast of my dreams.
time is of the essence i had to eat, sleep tight and fight till I’m ocean deep. time is time fisherman don’t you understand? feed with your actions and don’t let your words rest at your feet. please listen to these words of a person learning to be.
The water glistened against the sun’s rays, illuminating every grain of sand on the beach. I plopped onto the yellow sand and looked up, absorbing this beautiful day. It was a great day for fishing, just like any other day of the year. Whether it stormed or there was a hurricane, you can always find the blue-jacketed fisherman in the distance, constantly throwing his fishing pole into the deep blue sea. Every morning, just at 7, the blue-jacketed fisherman strolls into the beach with one goal in mind: fish.
be a fisher of all people
bait
open waters
patience
open skies
rhythm of the water
loving the open spaces
at the mercy of the elements
enjoying adventures, sameness and wonder
fisherman
I’m afraid of fishermen. Well, not them, exactly. I’m afraid I’ll see them catch a fish, and then I’ll get upset and freak out at the unfairness and fragility of life, and the suffering and the fear and pain and the panic and…
– I really shouldn’t go near people who are fishing. I get sad. And then I get panicked that I’m going to see something I don’t want to see.
Yes, I eat fish sometimes. Yes that’s pretty dumb.
I work very hard to shut out the thoughts of what I’m doing.
The fisherman and his lake where always one
The painting lived on the wall in the dinning room.
The painting was the only reminder Nehemiah had of his father
A father who never understood him, never tried to
The fisherman and his lake where always one
The painting lived on the wall in the dinning room.
The fisherman shouts orders out to his crew as the waters hurtle over the sides of the boat. He stumbles and reaches out to grab something – anything – to keep him self upright. His hands find no hold and he crashes onto the deck below just like a wave. He doesn’t get back up again and the captain goes down with his ship.
There once was a lonely fisherman who often went fishing. One day he caught a magical fish that promised to grant him one wish. The fisherman wished for a companion, so the fish made a beautiful daughter appear. The fisherman loved his daughter more than anything else in the world.
The yellow hat was too much. But, damn it, he liked it. He liked the way the rubberized fabric squeaked between his fingertips, especially when his hands were wet with the ocean and the day’s catch. They said he looked like his father in that hat, with his big brown overcoat full of holes, and he liked that too.
Der alte Fischer warf das Netz aus. Unter dem Bug seines Schiffes gluckerten die Wellen. Eine Möwe kreiste schreiend über dem Mast, an dem der weiße Wimpel traurig und schlaff herunterhing. Kein Windhauch war zu spüren.
He was older, with fine wrinkles across his face that mimicked the waves on which he traveled. The scent of salt biting his nostrils was a daily occurrence and had been since he could remember.
I sat on the rocks every morning at dawn, taking in the smell of the salty air, crispy air. Watching the sunrise over the ocean as I watched the fishermen on their boats getting ready to go out for the days catch. They would leave just before dawn, but as the sun came up you could always see them out at the horizon as they sailed off for the days work.
I noticed one day that as all the other ships were going out one ship was coming in. Its belly full of fish even the deck had fish on it. I was not sure where this fisherman had been or how long he had been out, but it was apparent he did not follow the same path as all the others.
This stuck with me through out my life. As I grew up and as I grew in my career. I never wanted to follow the pack. I always wanted to be different to find a better way of doing things. I often thought back to the fisherman and wondered what put him on a different path.
Who was it that he saw doing things differently that spoke to him and told him it was okay to be different, to go against the grain and to strive to be the best.
I have no clue who that man was but I would like to take the opportunity to thank him wherever he may be for showing me a different path. One where I make the rules and set the goals.
fisherman fish to feed the world. To be a fisherman means to leave your family for long periods of time. It is very dangerous work.
The fisherman sat on the broken stump, his feet just touching the water. He bit off a chaw of tobacco and tucked it into the pouch of his bottom lip. It was a beautiful day for fishing.
She didn’t like to say that she was married to a fisherman, mostly because he hardly ever left the house long enough to be seen as anything. But, then again, when he did choose to leave their home on Sugarloaf Keys, it would be to go fishing in the ocean. Sometime he would bring her along to breathe in the salty air and look out on the mist, but she pushed him to bring her son instead.
The salty spray echoed through the walls of the ship,
As one man woke up with a start.
He was piloting a schooner all the way up from Florida,
During the Hurricane season,
And suddenly his old friend Katrina came to call.
She was a jealous woman,
And dragged him back to her watery depths,
Alone.
It would be years before they discovered the truth.
Fisherman tied up to the boat
They over throw the waters
They take the waters a shore
Picking up where they left off
The fisherman are super tossed away by the waves of the ocean
They tried to scramble they tried to have devotion
but they’ve come to far on this wave of a shore and the man in the sea has two bottles of whisky that he’s been drinking with a side of life
with a little bit of life held up on the shore
he’s got no tomorrow
The fisherman winked at him as they wrestled the nets aboard. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Hard work, this, and long hours, but by gum when the fish are running this is the best place to be. Right here on this little boat.”
i wish a was a fisherman
sailing out at sea
breathing in the cool fresh air
and feeling completely free
The life of a fisherman is a hard one, sitting on my small boat as I paddle out into the middle of the lake, waiting for hours just for one fish. A fish that sometimes is not a fish. A fisherman’s temper and patience needs to be in check, a fisherman cannot explode when losing a fish as it will sc
The fisherman looks over to his mate like she hung the stars in the sky. He looks up at Polaris, down to his charts, back to his mate. She smiles and asks if he’s ready to weigh anchor.
I met a fisherman; and he’s good-looking. Took me to the beach. No need to talk about fishes and the sea. We were just there. Walking along the shore and chilling.
I raise my dripping hands from the ether, my fingers like a sieve.
A thousand memories swirling in my cupped palms and slipping through the spaces in between.
I am a fisherman of lies. Of people.
I catch but cannot keep the latter.
I keep but cannot catch the former.
He always found himself getting lost at sea–both literally and figuratively. While he wasn’t the best navigator in the world, the great, deep, blue expanse never scared him; he always knew he’d find his way back home if he didn’t go out too far. But for that knew him well, they knew that despite the confidence he had in finding his way back home literally, he was already too far out mentally to ever come back; the sea wasn’t the only thing that was vast–it was his mind as well.
This boy was no fisherman, it was blatantly obvious to all who could see him. Despite his unprepared aura, he eagerly clutched a too large fishing pole in one hand, and a small tackle box in the other. His eyes alit as they fluttered around the pier, scoping out the best place to set up for the day.
The fisherman walked down the muggy grass, concerned with the weather, he wore his trademark bucket hat and red rain boots. He looked up at the gray sun and frowned, this was supposed to be a beautiful day.
nJohn the fisherman had three dozen fish in separate baskets. It took him ten minutes to go out and fish them out of the sea. All of the spectators were simply amazed. How did he do it? Was it magic? John would never tell. None of them could know about the deal he’d made with the local intelligent sea life. The mermaids would make him pay if they did.
Her father had been a simple man, a fisherman from the Northside of Dunleigh who’d never done a single soul a lick of harm. But that hadn’t stopped the Southmen from killing him, from cutting him open and painting their front door with his blood, a sign to a Northern king they’d never met that his lands would belong to them.
And, when no king’s army had come riding in to avenge him, she’d done so herself, armed with naught but her teeth and a paring knife, long since gone dull from biting the skin of root vegetables.
I am a fisherman. Well more of a fisher of men. I cast my line out and wait, sometimes i get a bite and reel him in. Then i make the choice to throw him back or to keep him and eat him for dinner.
Lonely fisherman on the sea, what does your face do when you think of me? Reel’s off-kilter, rod’s broken, too. Nothing much to catch in this spot of blue. Drifting by the boats going two by two, wondering what happened between me and you. Lonely fisherman on the sea, lost in the cold foam of reverie. Lost in the cold foam of reverie. Lost in the cold foam of reverie.