The Fisherman

Hello everyone,
This poem is about the calling of the disciples. I focused on the story of Peter, found in the Gospel of Luke. Peter and his fellow fishermen hadn’t caught any fish all day, but when they listened to Jesus’ instructions, they suddenly had a huge catch. The miracle made Peter realize who Jesus was. I explored Peter’s internal reaction to the miracle and the call to follow Jesus.
God bless

“The Fisherman”
By Morgan Prettyman
Luke 5:1-11
at the word of a stranger
    I sail to the deep water
      that has done nothing for me all night
  but disappoint.
        my fine fishing nets hang empty, arms drag
     exhausted, shoulders sag.
 there is nothing here.  I will prove it
    to him. 
I do as he says and 
    cast the nets again.
but as I throw them over the side
   my heart
        plunges in shock at the weight
   of the unexpected catch,
      the unexpected understanding. 
I am in the net, flapping in and out
     of the water in surprise
         at my first breath of real air,
dying to my old world and
      rising up to the new.
hauling in the shaking nets,
   I turn to the stranger on my boat
and see the Fisherman 
     smiling at his catch.

Creative Commons License
The Fisherman by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.



Hi everyone!
This poem was inspired by Max Lucado’s book Fearless and the story of Peter walking on water to meet Jesus (Matthew 14:22-34). Peter dares the stormy waters to go to Jesus, even though he becomes afraid and nearly sinks. I think one of the first steps to facing fear is to try – to step out and reach for Jesus to get you through your hardest times. If it becomes too much, He will catch you. Guaranteed.
God bless!


fear sits, black tar in my stomach
restlessly oozing side-to-side
looking for a way to spread

i sit, chilled and hollow
sleepless, shaking, scared
looking for a way to trust

You sit, quiet and sure
courageous, strong, patient
waiting for me to trust

I ask, voice small as fine-ground seashells
what happens now? what happens?
holding my breath for the answer

You say, voice big as rolling pastures
have faith, dear one, have faith
holding out Your hand

I say, voice rattling like glass chimes
I am still afraid, God, I’m afraid
sitting on my hands

You say, voice calm as snowy mornings
Reach out, step forward, try
holding out Your hand

I stare, like Peter on the stormy sea
caught, boat behind me, Christ before me
fighting tar-black waters

You smile, closing the distance
swift, simple, strong
catching my shaking hand

Now we sit, chilly on the shoreline
resting, calm, peaceful
watching the storm blow out
Creative Commons License
Sitting by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.