And here is a poem spoken in the voice of Peter, the fisherman who followed Christ:
We had toiled till daybreak and caught nothing,
trawling mercury stains on the glass lake,
but finding them fishless. He stood watching
us: fishers of men, breathless, scarce awake,
with calloused hands. Though His breath caused the world
to emerge, He gave us no assistance.
Perhaps the sight of our washed nets unfurled-
co-operation and sheer persistence-
showed Him fallen men performed some tasks well.
When we’d exhausted our efforts, He said:
“Try the other side of the boat. I tell
you, prophesy that a multitude fed
on two fish is nothing to me. Vast draughts,
miraculous ingatherings await
Much later, on the shore, we spied a waft
of smoke and smelt some broiling fish. He cooked
our breakfast. We marvelled and ate.
He joined us: a fish out of water; looked
the same, drawing His symbol on the sand.
I dredged my mind to find inspiration
to write about Him, but was barren and
no silver flickerings of creation
took my bait. Then he blew on smoking coals,
which I kissed. Their heat took me to my cross,
but not before I’d netted many shoals
of men, small fry and large, for His great cause.