The Lobster Pot – We are here to please
Sometimes I’m a canister, a fender or a sphere,
Whatever shape or form I take I’m an inanimate beast to fear.
There’s a kind of game I like to play when tired of tedious floating,
I make myself invisible to sailor folk out boating.
When from their vessels keen of eye or through binoculars I’m spied,
I sink below the surface and cunningly there I hide.
Sometimes motoring straight at me, though they prefer to be zig-zagging,
My lines await them mercilessly as I form up for a snagging.
So there I was the other night, visibility could have been clearer,
When I spotted a yacht approaching me by the name of ‘Talavera’
Talavera ? That’s a battle field – therefore must be up for a bruising,
So I put paid to their passage plan and delights of summer cruising.
I entwined my lethal nylon lines around the prop and rudder,
And gave it a damn good wedgie that would make any sailor shudder.
The vessel was immobilised, effectively against me moored,
With the skipper hurling abuse at me as he wielded his boat hook and sword.
He contacted the Humber Coastguard to report his sorry position,
And a lifeboat was launched from Scarborough to bravely take on the mission.
With powerful search lights blazing, grappling hooks and Shannon class grunt,
They formed a plan to free my prey, while I cursed ‘get off me you …. punt (ers)’
But I was no match for the RNLI who mustered reinforcements,
With inshore rib now upon the scene and overwhelming endorsements.
They were far too skilled for me alone, and although I had summoned one mate,
We lobster pots were no match for them and we stubbornly awaited our fate.
But all is well, no one got hurt, although crews were abruptly awoken,
And now we all have tales to share with no shortage of words to be spoken.
Now back with my pals, strung in a line, how I wish that things could differ,
That I could be noticed, or even liked, whatever the sea state or weather.
Having mastered use of camouflage, for disguise within the briny,
How I yearn to wear a flag by day, and by night a light so shiny.
Oh what joy I would give to crew widely passing my fluttering flag,
Relieving themselves of boredom calculating the coefficient of drag.
On moonless nights, with no stars above, wouldn’t I look dashing,
To those on watch when from afar they see my bright light flashing.
My wish is for all fishermen to attach to their pots a marker,
So all who like to share the sea may live happily ever after.
It really can’t be that onerous when all is said and done,
And now I’m off to have my lunch – more lobster anyone?
The Tim Heale Website 
A poet and you didn’t know it, sooo many talents.xxx
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