Quietly graceful through the night they sailed a lazy sea.
That old grey moon kept hanging round to keep them company.
No land as yet or soon suppose, they still a-ways to go.
For low the winds that bear them home, a blithely to and fro.
All wearied out and aching, too, though now their fishing done.
They hauled away ’till late the day, ’twas hailed, a rare day’s run.
The nets tied up and scrubbed the deck, they fed and bunkered down.
To sleep, they stray, farewell the day, for wears the night her gown.
Come hail the morrow, land ahoy, a harbour safe and sound.
Their well-earned toil to reap the spoil and pass the rum around.
Let not the weather change her mood, let lightly sail the foam.
As oft afore where waits the shore, a maiden’s welcome home.
Was nowt about, no hail or gale, aloft but moon and star.
No foghorn sounded warning calls, no storms rose near or far.
The sea as calm as ne’er before, ’twill always be unknown.
Why maidens still in mourning for those men who ne’er came home.
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Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: July 18th, 2025 06:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Priya Tomar, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments5
Tony I grasp deeper meaning in this poem of fishers and the sea. Like Melville there lies more beneath and one wonders if all of us as fishers, some return home and others not, leaving loves behind. A lovely poem well set and worded carries in its lines meaning deeper than the sea on which some lives are lost and others rejoice.
Hello Soren,
There's many a sorrowful tale to be told from the planet's oceans, some stranger than fiction. Your very fine response is well met and very much appreciated. Kind of you indeed.
All the best for the week ahead,
Tony.
Below my beach house in Brazil is a monument and a plack for the lost fishermen of this small village, without names it is like the monument of the lost soldier. I thought of this as I read this poem
We have a good few of these monuments scattered around the coast of, Ireland, just names but very sad reading. A beach house in, Brazil; that must be heaven on earth. Do you go sailing?
No have not gone sailing deep sea fishing in Florida though
Tony, what a beautifully woven piece. The rhythm holds steady like the sea itself...gentle, lyrical, and rich with quiet sorrow. That final turn doesn’t break the tone...it deepens it. A haunting, graceful tribute. 🌹👏
Hello, Tristan,
Lovely to hear from you again.
A quiet sorrow indeed bearing on the silent and into numbness. Most kind of you to read and respond and it is very much appreciated.
May the week ahead find you in good spirits,
Tony.
You are most welcome, dear poet and friend. I hope the same for you too!
Well worded....
Deep thoughts in your poetry .....
Thank you very much, Priya, kind of you indeed.
Have a lovely week,
Tony.
You are very welcome
Mystery in the land of deep poetic rhythms.
Ne'er to be solved, just is.
Thanks Tony.
Hello, Dave,
'Just is' and always will be. Your words are very much appreciated.
Do take care now and enjoy the week ahead,
Tony.
A lovely write I sense of how we travel the seas of life, some return back home and some do not. Loves are gained and some are left behind and some are unable to return home as they have passed, intriguing and enjoyable read
The trials and tribulations of a mariner's life and the loves they leave to weep. You are very kind and it is very much appreciated.
Wishing you happiness for the week ahead,
Tony.
You are very welcome
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