Quotes about heave, page 13
Lost in time
I came to time
And found it
A faithful host
Of an imperial breed
Immortal, immutable
Time lived;
Time is to live
Like a passer - by
I board into time
And as such
I depart
I came to time
And found it
Mystic, void;
A fragile weapon
Travelling as light
I heave into time
But not without a strife
Buying up every moment
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poem by Bolami lawal
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To Ailsa Rock
Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls' screams!
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
How long is't since the mighty Power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams—
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams—
Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!
First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant-size!
poem by John Keats
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Last Curtain
I know that the day will come
when my sight of this earth shall be lost,
and life will take its leave in silence,
drawing the last curtain over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night,
and morning rise as before,
and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think of this end of my moments,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the light of death
thy world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare is its meanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain
and things that I got
---let them pass.
Let me but truly possess
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poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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To A Lady
Offended by a Book of the Writer's
NOW that my page upcloses, doomed, maybe,
Never to press thy cosy cushions more,
Or wake thy ready Yeas as heretofore,
Or stir thy gentle vows of faith in me:
Knowing thy natural receptivity,
I figure that, as flambeaux banish eve,
My sombre image, warped by insidious heave
Of those less forthright, must lose place in thee.
So be it. I have borne such. Let thy dreams
Of me and mine diminish day by day,
And yield their space to shine of smugger things;
Till I shape to thee but in fitful gleams,
And then in far and feeble visitings,
And then surcease. Truth will be truth alway.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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In My Eyes
I hope that one day,
You'll come to realize
How perfect you look
When seen though my eyes
But if tomorrow, my life was to end
With so many of the fun thing left to do
It wouldn't matter at all
Because, of the times I have spent with you
So give me your body,
Your heart, mind, and soul.
And let's make sweet love together,
To make each other whole.
So Come and lie down here beside me,
And let me kiss your skin.
As my lips trace circles,
To leave a trail of wetness from where I have bin.
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poem by George Albot
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Sonnet: The Bus, I Prefer to Take!
I like to take the bus tho’ old and spare
To reach for practice, my clinic by eve;
It moves like neither snail nor speeds like hare!
Yet, carefully, it goes tho’ people heave.
The driver in his sixties looks quite wise;
The passengers don’t crowd; each gets a seat;
The bus looks welded much and not so nice,
With jerky windows, silence, floor not neat!
Not many board the bus at every stop;
The journey takes a longer time indeed;
No robbers come to steal and there’s no cop;
The bus is safe but cannot others lead!
Altho’ this bus is not the one most sought,
The risk of accidents is almost naught!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-1-2005
poem by John Celes
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Children With Soap Bubbles
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
in the wind’s frolicking game
hopping like horses that gallop
and other children have got to look out
or their eyes are going to burn.
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
against the arms and heads of others
before they heave into the air,
hopping like horses that gallop
with children blowing over a soapy soup
soap-bubble after soap-bubble burst,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
like balls kicked off by the wind
when mothers scold their dirty children,
hopping like horses that gallop
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Now I Know Life Better
A long walk to the end of the earth, I took a sneak in to the cauldrons of time,
I saw there were a little joy, a little hope and a little sorrow and loads of tomorrow
I held my hand out in to the pot, to collect some joy,
I grabbed tinsels of joy that kept slipping away in shy
Each time I had sorrow maul the joy and wreck it or pry
There again I saw hope pouring in with a wry,
And wash away all the sorrow and leave tinsels of joy,
Every time I thought I would hold on to the sequins of joy,
I would see time the cauldron of joy roil in tempo of fire
It would roar and then heave a deep sigh,
Again, I would try to gather tinsels of joy…..
poem by Sri Tista
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The British Tar
A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word.
His nose should pant and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.
His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,
His brow with scorn be rung;
He never should bow down to a domineering frown,
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl;
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Seafarer's Diary; Berceuse: #1
As I cast
My soliloquized nets over
The ravaging seas
In fathoms, it occurred to me like fire
That the sea
And I hold
Different, halted breaths.
I listened to the sea
On my forlorn boat,
The sea’s delightful wind
Stifling my hair in a mad strife.
The sea – desiccated wryness:
The stillness, the sea’s demise
After a parade of waves
Is what enrages me the most.
I careen towards the wooden flail
Of the boat and there
I sojourned to listen to myself
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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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