Quotes about ship., page 8
Landlubbers
I nigh drops dead (the bo'sun said)
When the gist of things I grip
In the land by these 'ere Southern seas
As I seen on my long last trip.
They seems a joke, them curious folk
Wot bides at the blue sea's lip,
Whose wealth is made in a world-wide trade -
Landlubbers all wot seems afraid,
For they ain't got a deep-sea ship.
No, they ain't got a deep-sea ship, they ain't,
For their 'earts ain't with the blue,
Tho' they claims the seed of the tough sea breed,
Like Drake, an' me an' you.
On their isle sea-girt they farms the dirt
Of a fertile coastal strip;
But they seems afraid of a sea-borne trade
An' the hauls their British fathers made,
For they ain't got a deep-sea ship.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Ship
The Ship
She arrived tangled amid a hazed dew,
carrying my past, dog hound tracking,
from years back, wide vision blacking,
and a stork I was, searching her crew.
(Thus I stood on those same moorings,
her icon remained - Christmas rejoice,
it was the sea hum muzzling her voice,
so I kissed her face that was alluring!)
Like a stork I aptly stood, on one foot,
side-gazing for sunken pals to discern,
as after my nautilus care and concern,
blackened was the ship with dark soot.
Dusk was silent, abrading acta details,
still numbness; maybe the ship stared,
as my foolish and curious eyes paired,
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Sea Rogues
Out in the sea, in the rough waves
A ruffian galleon in pursuit of ill-gotten wealth
Its crew of sea rogues out for stealing
They are led by a dark-hearted captain, Captain Health
This crew goes about stealing and killing
A terrible life for which they crave
A merchant galleon, they spotted
The ruffian ship on hot heels of the rich-laden ship
Moving forth at a speed to get closer
The ship of bandits had the merchant ship within its grip
The other ship, filled with chaos, disorder
Robbed clean and dry, the ship had bloodshed
Taking everything they’ve stolen
The sea rogues rejoiced with the prized stolen items
For celebration, they drank rounds of rum
To have amassed jewels, gems of great desire to them
Sang songs of the seas, played with pipes and drums
This is a sea life, they see as golden
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poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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Ship To Shore
When you pulled at the wheel with me
To steer our fragile ship of state
We nosed toward uncharted seas
But found our course within a lake.
And every where that we did turn
There loomed another barren shore,
We turned, and then did turn about
To find we'd sailed each course before.
And you would chafe at each restraint
And I would rush to catch each squall
That filled our sails a little while
Before we lay becalmed once more.
Then you would see each distant point
As bearings, where your freedom lay
And drive our ship before the storm
For day upon each battered day.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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After the Sea - Ship
a dancer on the stage
the ship and the sea my envy
they dance to god's repertoire
a heartwrenching spontaneous dance
energetically executed
over a stage that rotates in waves
strenuous steps that shuffle between life and death
poignant steps that send the hearts afiery, the feet frenzy
first a breeze, a soothing calm
that would soon throw the dancer helter skelter
onto a tempest
where the goddess of dance
has to be propitiated, called upon
for each step, each stomping of foot, feet
up and down, up and down
over treacherous waters
where the living bares their souls
and dancers fashion in motion every emotion
each muscle, each nerve
tested for their fitness in
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Musician's Tale; The Ballad of Carmilhan - II.
The jolly skipper paused awhile,
And then again began;
'There is a Spectre Ship,' quoth he,
'A ship of the Dead that sails the sea,
And is called the Carmilhan.
'A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew,
In tempests she appears;
And before the gale, or against the gale,
She sails without a rag of sail,
Without a helmsman steers.
'She haunts the Atlantic north and south,
But mostly the mid-sea,
Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare
Like furnace-chimneys in the air,
And are called the Chimneys Three.
'And ill betide the luckless ship
That meets the Carmilhan;
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Bird’s-Eye View
'Croak, croak, croak,'
Thus the Raven spoke,
Perched on his crooked tree
As hoarse as hoarse could be.
Shun him and fear him,
Lest the Bridegroom hear him;
Scout him and rout him
With his ominous eye about him.
Yet, 'Croak, croak, croak,'
Still tolled from the oak;
From that fatal black bird,
Whether heard or unheard:
'O ship upon the high seas,
Freighted with lives and spices,
Sink, O ship,' croaked the Raven:
'Let the Bride mount to heaven.'
In a far foreign land,
Upon the wave-edged sand,
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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Legend Of A Pass Christian
A Live-oak grows by the shallow sea.
Rest under its boughs, I pray,
And hear of the pirate—bold was he—
And the lady he stole away.
He was a black-browed buccaneer,
And she like a snow-drop white.
From a scuttled ship he bore her clear
As it sunk in the haggard night.
And with bell and book he wedded her.
And shaped her to his will.
Yet though her body could not stir
Her soul escaped him still.
Though we be wed and vows be said,
Though beaten sore I be,
I'm naught of thine, thou'rt naught of mine,
God loose these bonds from me!
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poem by Harriet Monroe
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Kids!
Kids!
Hundreds of 'em for the farmer! Kids of an imported brand;
Thousands of 'em for the country! Lo, the man upon the land
Bids
Loud for England's surplus youngster - five whole bob a week, 'tis said;
And their value to the nation stands at many pounds a head.
But the nation never riz 'em.
That 'would tend to Socialism';
So we have to fetch 'em over from the country where they're bred.
Kids!
Send us kids from good old Britain - sons of men who won't be slaves
From the land where countless paupers seek dishonorable graves
Quids!
We're prepared to offer for them. Ship them out across the deep,
From that dear old Freetrade country where the cost of labor's cheap.
While, of our unmarried workers
(Married men are costly shirkers)
We will take a meagre hundred at a pound a week and keep.
Kids?
We can't raise 'em in Australia, where employers by the score
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XI. -- Bishop Sigurd At Salten Fiord
Loud the anngy wind was wailing
As King Olaf's ships came sailing
Northward out of Drontheim haven
To the mouth of Salten Fiord.
Though the flying sea-spray drenches
Fore and aft the rowers' benches,
Not a single heart is craven
Of the champions there on board.
All without the Fiord was quiet
But within it storm and riot,
Such as on his Viking cruises
Raud the Strong was wont to ride.
And the sea through all its tide-ways
Swept the reeling vessels sideways,
As the leaves are swept through sluices,
When the flood-gates open wide.
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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