"The Mariners "

Men who make a living from the sea

    The Mariners

Where is my home?
As the wind softly blew
Mariners hauling nets alone,
to find their income anew.

Gulls announced the new dawn,
diesels warmed, nets gathered.
Past the point, sight of land gone,
busy men on decks, nets scattered.

Home had become the sea for many,
ocean became land underfoot.
Waves like tall grass that waved,
in ways only mariners understood.

Full throttle, wind in our face,
gulls too far back to follow.
Set the bait, pull the traps,
our lines going out for miles.

Live lining for a living,
on calm seas or rough.
The sea can be unforgiving,
the work long and tough.

The hull full, men all tired,
retuning to their homes.
Around the point, the gulls return,
mariners no longer alone.

S A Gibbins 5-19-05