In Loving Memory of Frankie Jordan

Papa's Poem
Written by Heidi  ©

He's up in the early hours of the morning
A dark silhouette of a man rowing out to his mooring

He's all geared up and has his lunch
Crossing to his boat from his punt

The start of the engine can be heard
Forever remembered a mechanical hummingbird

The smell of the sea and the sounds of men
All getting ready to go out again

What a sight to behold to see the ocean roll
As the boats set out this day to go
The work is hard, long it toils, hauling heavy traps as the rope recoils
Gafts,bands and bait bags...no short tail lobsters...now that's a red flag!

Back breaking work, rough cracked hands
Choppy waters...he knows how to brace his stand

He can chart the bay without a map
He's been doing this since he was a lad
No need for the legal loran...he's what we call a real fisherman

He knows every cove and every ledge
He knows the depth of where the bottom is

Points his finger to the nest of some seafaring fowl
Or maybe the resting place of some seals for awhile

It's amazing to see the works of the hands of this gentle giant
Yet at one time in his life he wasn't to keep quiet

He could be stubborn, opinionated and often times crazy
Hearing stories of old...back in the day

In frustration he'd run his fingers through his hair
Pound his fist on the bulkhead and let out a swear
And then said "forgive me lord, I swore...I know"
Then he'd do what he did best...put his head down and go

He was a tower of strength to us growing up
He had his many faults but showed us love

He was bullheaded and we were strong willed
He spoke his mind...we took his advice...not that we were completely thrilled

But I can look back at the time he gave his heart to the Lord
Moved within himself by God's precious word

He didn't change overnight; he still had that struggle within
But I remembered that Jesus first made disciples out of fisherman

His life didn't become perfect since that day
But things became a little easier as he learned how to pray

Fishing was his life, his love and his passion
You could see it in a lot of his actions

He became the Lord's fisherman
So I just want to tell you again

Day after day fishing he will manage to go
Though this man is frail, weathered and worn
Years of hard work and labor, now with only precious time to savor

Out on the water is where he wants to be, a love for the open ocean sea
He has seen many sunrises and a many sunsets
There is where he met his death
"But don't be sad"... he would say
I am bound for Heaven's Glory

So I looked out across the water as the sun began to sit
So calm and clear seemed it all...with a few ripples from the fish

I stood upon the town dock as I looked out into the harbor
Picturesque boats of all sizes and color

Each boat denotes a symbol from its master
Some of strength, some of courage, words of brag about who is faster

But in the midst stands a little boat alone
God whispered in my ear..."My child...he has gone home"

BACK