INTHETOTE
... an online archive of fisherpoetry, story and song.
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  • Anchored in Deep Water: The FisherPoets Anthology
JACK MERRILL started writing and publishing in high school. He attended several alternative educational programs including Sailing Education Association (SEA) - doing oceanographic work . He enrolled and graduated from Antioch College in 1975  with an undergraduate degree in literature and marine biology. His  work included several years at Outward Bound School as well as lobstering as a “sternman” for three years on Little Cranberry Island.

He married his wife Erica in 1982. After traveling through Europe, they started a family in 1985 – 2 great kids – Laura and Sam.


In 1976 Jack bought first boat – “Kingpin” – Lobstered in her until 1980 – 40’ “Bottom Dollar” was built in Corea, Maine. Unfortunately, she caught fire and sank on a December fishing day in 2006. Shortly afterward he  purchased “Tigger”, a 42” Duffy hull.

Jack has been an active member of the Maine Lobstermen Association since the early 1980’s – including over 20 years as Vice-President. He also has served as an advisor to “The Lobster Institute” at U Maine since its inception in 1987

Other interests – he is still active as a youth sports coach (baseball, hockey, basketball) over 50 teams over 30 years – Currently plays harmonica in a Blues Band – “A Train” – Paints with watercolor, gouache, and acrylics for a hobby  - intense relaxation – Reads poetry 3 or 4 times a year in public. He is glad to report that the Astoria FisherPoet Event has spurred similar events in Maine – Thanks to singer/songwriter/sculptor Gorden Bok for passing on the vibes


VIDEO
Jack Merril performs at the 2018 Gathering.                                                                                     Video courtesy of Brad Wartman, 2018

AUDIO




WRITINGS


Beginnings


the white barnacles
eaten by the
pink crab

armored walls left
empty
against the granite floor

the perpetrator crawls
sideways
in perfect innocence

like seed spit
on
unsuspecting ground

it is here
               exposed
                             life begins

in the wash of the tide


__________________



The Mooring


at the end of the day
in the darkness of the harbor
edging forward along the starboard rail
each step a challenge
cold concentration
heavy arms lift the chains
over the bow bit
the frozen air holds a man hostage
but we’re almost home

the body moves forward on its own
pulled into the skiff by a gentle swell
careful now
find those oars with frozen fingers
painfully grip and pull
straighten, steady
point the bow towards the docks
as if the tide had a hold of you
slowly ebbing towards a warm home
food never tasting better
sleep a dream away
rowing home with a cold clean soul   


__________________



Fisherman’s Boots

While it’s true the seashore whispers things
the poets tell us too much
secrets are better held in fishermen’s boots
rubber smells, oily soles covered with scales
muddied as well

a pickup ride home in the rain
as if the water insisted
on following him through the door
the water drips on the wood floor
wool cap and damp jacket hung on ancient hooks
the aroma of fish and old clothes salted
invades the entrance

the warmth of the house penetrates his tired hands
his sore back
he sighs, closes his eyes,
and lets the tension out for the first time in fourteen hours
searching for a quiet calm
the exuberant ocean and pounding engine wouldn’t allow

he’s eager to get off his feet
to find an ardent meal readied
to touch someone special,
to lie down and die somewhere among the waves
that rock him to sleep

he will not tell us what he has caught
or why he rises again in the dark
with only a cool moon watching
to do it again

he keeps it to himself
in poetry of silence, on deep green waters
he hears his grandfather’s voice, his grandmother’s laugh
that’s all you have to know


__________________



Like a flower

you’ve bloomed with love
your soft skin
and warm body
smiles at me
from the shore
makes my heart quietly pound
like the sea’s waves
on a sandy beach

lucky I am
to get this close
to my dreams
to that which every man
dreams of and needs
but seldom receives

the tide is still rising
my watery fingers
almost unnoticed
urge their way onward
without control

and will continue
until all that is you
is swept into
my loving depths

and when the tide ebbs
you will come with me
and I
will never be the same


__________________



White Gull


the white gull that follows me
tells me this
is a special life
today
as wars passed and
children cry out homeless
the white gull
sails behind the boat picking
discarded bait from
placid waters
vying for air and water
space amongst
the other gulls

the ruffians, the haggard ones
yellow eyed
feathers ruffled
scuffling, screaming but
never sorrowful


their airborne ballet
dances with possibility


__________________



Finishing Up



fall declares itself
in that bitter hurried wind
in that dying light
fall blusters its angry muscled cry
history sings through screaming davey blocks
baiting traps as father did
trying to catch tomorrow
the fishboats turn their circles


__________________



Nothing Changes


all these years
all these wars

all the selfish reasons for war
all the grief
                  all the tears
that could easily fill an ocean

all the dirty uniforms
                                 all the bloody bandages

all the body parts
                            hard to identify

all the speeches
                         meant to justify

all the smells
all the flies                   

all the good reasons
they had to die


__________________



The Relationship



it is not
as if one is
truth and
one is lies

it is not
as if one
is love and
one is hate

it is not as if
one is crooked
and one is straight

we navigate
the changes in the tide


the boat bucks
tossed by a random sea

arms and shoulders hold
the wheel
like taut rope

muscles straining
eyes fixed
seaward
the tangled waters turn

inside out
it is not
as if one
is certain and
one 

is in doubt




RIGHTS NOTICE


- 
All performance photos on this site ©  2013, 
Patrick Dixon & Veronica Kessler  www.PatrickDixon.net  unless otherwise noted.

 - All works on this site are the copyrighted property of the authors. No reproduction without written permission.

- Any media source wishing to use material on this site is asked to contact FisherPoets@comcast.net for permission.