Sonnet. Faith
Securely cabined in the ship below,
Through darkness and through storm I cross the sea,
A pathless wilderness of waves to me:
But yet I do not fear, because I know
That he who guides the good ship o'er that waste
Sees in the stars her shining pathway traced.
Blindfold I walk this life's bewildering maze;
Up flinty steep, through frozen mountain pass,
Through thornset barren and through deep morass:
But strong in faith I tread the uneven ways,
And bare my head unshrinking to the blast,
Because my Father's arm is round me cast;
And if the way seems rough, I only clasp
The hand that leads me with a firmer grasp.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Captain West, of the Steamer Atlantic
The gathering clouds around us lower,
The tempest wildly raves,
But fearlessly our noble ship
The angry ocean braves,
And buoyant as a sea-bird rides
The crested mountain waves.
The gale, the storm, the night may come,
No fear disturbs the breast;
Our ship is strong,---our Captain brave,---
And we securely rest.
Long life to him and all his Line!
Health to the gallant West!
Pilgrims to many lands are we,
And now our travel o'er
Once more beneath the Stars and Stripes
We near our native shore;
And since we parted from it last
Who does not love it more?
Adieu, new friends and old, adieu!
May every wandering breeze
That meets you on the Voyage of Life
Be far less rude than these
That our good ship has met so well
Upon the wintry seas.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No Storm Can Touch This Ship!
Just when I thought all things were well,
As ship's captain and felt quite great,
A thunder-storm has loosened hell,
And threatens to besmirch our fate!
The storm is satanic in size;
This ship can't withstand its fury;
I tried to be honest and wise;
I pray to God much more truly!
My faith and hope in God are strong;
I've got to save the ship, inmates;
This transient trial can't last long;
To help, God, angels delegates!
No evil can befall one good;
Fierce winds may blow and come may hail;
God rescues one from deepest wood;
He never forsakes, nor can fail!
God loves His righteous creatures all;
He cares for them and never sleeps;
His ears can hear their faintest call
From mountain-tops, valleys and deeps!
Lord Jesus will calm down the storm,
And usher better climes to sail!
This ship must reach the land in form,
With ship intact, and inmates hale!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 20-10-2012
poem by John Celes
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Jonah
Jonah was God’s special prophet;
One stormy day a whale he met.
He had run far, far, far away,
From where he was to be that day.
He had went on a old tough ship
That was now by big waves whipped
But he was tired as the storm broke
And went and snuggled in his cloak
So down in the old ship he slept
While the others on the ship wept
Captain came down him to awake
Call on your god for your own sake
They would cast lots to see just why
The gods wanted them all to die
Up on the deck they cast the lot
Who’s fault was it for what they got?
Then on Jonah the lot did fall
And then and there he told them all
He told them why all was not well
He cried Throw me in the sea swell
So up and out they threw him in
And all at once the storm did dim
But in the sea Jonah did swim
And a fish came swallowing him
In a big fish three days and nights
So dark, slimy, and with no light
So deep down in there he did pray
That God would pardon his wrong way
That fish spat him on the dry land
Onto the soft, hot desert sand
To Nineveh he quickly went
To now do just as God had sent
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Homeland Africa
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Down the ocean a ship comes sailing through the waves
Filled with hundreds of men they take as slaves
Just long for their true homeland africa
And to be saved they want to be free
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
They are tired of waiting for a brand new day
Some of them sing and chant some of them pray
And some men got a little tired too
No one knows if the journey pay
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After The Sea-Ship
AFTER the Sea-Ship--after the whistling winds;
After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship:
Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves--liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great Vessel, sailing and tacking, displaced the surface;
Larger and smaller waves, in the spread of the ocean, yearnfully
flowing;
The wake of the Sea-Ship, after she passes--flashing and frolicsome,
under the sun, 10
A motley procession, with many a fleck of foam, and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid Ship--in the wake following.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Now my dreams are like a sinking ship
In the darkness of loneliness
I spent my painful boring days
Hoping one day I would see your light
You are like the morning of my night
I keep on waiting for that day
But all my hairs are turning gray
Now my dreams are like a sinking ship
In frozen water and sea too deep
It sailed for the land of peace
Now I miss even your kiss
You are a stranger in this ship
Now I look for you now I weep
If I can find you the storm will go
God knows what will happen I don't know
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Ship That Never Returned
On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze;
A ship set sail with a cargo laden for a port beyond the sea.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
There were sad farewells, there were friends forsaken, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said a feeble lad to his aged mother, I must cross that deep blue sea,
For I hear of a land in the far off country, where there's health and strength for me.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
'Tis a gleam of hope and a maze of danger, and our fate is still to learn,
And a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said this feeble lad to his aged mother, as he kissed his weeping wife,
"Just one more purse of that golden treasure, it will last us all through life.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
"Then we'll live in peace and joy together and enjoy all I have earned."
So they sent him forth with a smile and blessing on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Talent is not independent
In a storm, when a ship reaches shore,
All are ashore. The weaklings too.
In a storm when a ship wrecks bare,
All are sunk. The strong one too.
When a cinema is hit,
All the crew are hits, talented or not.
If it flops, the talented too are lost.
Your talent is linked with the unit’s skills.
24.01.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Boy Crusader
“Oh father, is that Jerusalem—
Those walls and towers so strong!”
“Ho, boy, we are yet in our own fair France,
That is only Avignon.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, are these the Jordan's banks?
Let us rest in those vineyards fair”
“Ho, boy, these are only the banks of the Rhone,
And we may not linger there.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, I fear them—the waves! the waves!
Is Jerusalem over the sea?”
“Ay, over the sea and then over the hills—
But cling, my boy, to me.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, is that Jerusalem,
Like a shell of gold in the bay?”
Nay, it is only Palermo, boy;
And this is Saint Rosalie's day.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, I feared the sea, but more
I fear this burning sand”
“Good cheer, my boy; take heart of grace,
We tread upon holy land.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, can it be Holy Land,
With all this blood and death?”
“That was Acre we stormed, my boy;
Now let us to Nazareth.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, the hills are so high—so high!
Is Jerusalem very far?”
“Hush, hush, my boy, and I'll tell you the tale
Of the Kings who followed the Star.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, the hills are so steep—so steep!
Will Jerusalem soon be near?”
“Boy, what had it been had you carried the cross,
Instead of your father's spear?”
* * * * *
“Oh father, I am weary and faint;
This must be Calvary!”
“Good cheer, my boy; but one hill more;
Jerusalem is nigh.
“The men-at-arms have passed the ridge.
Hark, boy, how the warriors sing!”
“I only hear the sound of harps,
And waters murmuring.”
‘Wake, boy, this is no time to fail!
Oh best of happy hours!
Behold at length Jerusalem—
Its gates, and domes, and towers!”
“Father, I see Jerusalem,
Ah, nearer than you deem!”
“Your eyes are closed, you see it not,
Or see it in a dream!
“Your eyes are closed, my boy, my boy!
Your face is to the West!”
“Father, I see it overhead,
And, oh, so full of rest!
“There are little children clothed in white,
And angels leading them;
There are streets of gold and gates of pearl!
At last—Jerusalem.
“And our little Marie is beckoning me,
In her hand a diadem.
Father, I must go on before
We'll meet in Jerusalem.”
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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The Ship of Oak
When the bow-waves race through the foam
and aft are the boiling trails,
What ship is that in the fading light
with the press and the wind in her sails?
When the salvo flashes through the smoke
and the stricken cruisers reel,
Behold a pennoned ship of oak
That leads the ships of steel!
Through storms of lashing hail
When the green swells life and gleam,
What sailor now commands the Fleet?
The Captain of a dream:
When battle thunders to the shock
Or while the gulls go swerving by,
He leads the Fleet in a ship of oak,
One arm and blinded eye.
poem by Herbert Asquith
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It Is This Poem
thunderstorm
carries a ship
relentlessly aboard
a hopeless man he confesses to be
one hopeless man
losing his sense of direction
climbs
aboard towards the roof of the ship
gazing at the horizon
i fear that he would jump
out the ship into the whirlpool
he looks at me
and i sense the same
fear
to an identical situation
upon the same
storm upon the same ship
upon the same
dark hour
somehow we change
and so here i am
writing about him
it is this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Abandon Ship!
I'd like to get off this ship
That you're sailing into heavy seas,
You won't listen to my warning,
So you must do as you please.
This 'ship' is our relation-ship
And you're heading for a reef,
Our friend-ship will be wrecked
In a storm of pain and grief!
What am I going to do,
Dear Captain of my heart?
I never dreamt it possible
That you and I would part.
You look at me so quizzically,
Your smile turns to a frown....
Get off this ship at once
Or you and I will drown!
I've tried so hard to make you see
The folly of your ways,
The nights have been so desolate,
So comfortless the days.
I thought you really cared for me,
A true and loyal friend,
The sun is setting in the West
And soon our Day will end.
Abandon ship or change your course
Before it is too late -
I can't believe your attitude,
What an evil, bitter fate! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Aboard At A Ship's Helm
ABOARD, at a ship's helm,
A young steersman, steering with care.
A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,
An ocean-bell--O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-reefs ringing,
Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place.
For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's admonition,
The bows turn,--the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her
gray sails,
The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds
away gaily and safe.
But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship! 10
O ship of the body--ship of the soul--voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Acknowledge Him
Each day, as busy as I may be, my Lord always speaks to me,
At times throughout a busy day, this as I walk life’s narrow way.
Acknowledging Him in all I do, busy days, He sees me through,
Trusting Him with all my heart, He guides me from the very start.
Christ walks with me all day long, filling me with His joyful song,
With me in the darkest night, He guides me safely with His Light.
Filling me with joy and peace, with a presence that will not cease,
For in my heart, Christ lives inside, helping me, in Truth, to abide.
Friend, as I daily abide in Him, Christ guides from a world of sin,
He leads me with a staff and rod, to live each day to honor God.
Christ takes me to waters still, as he leads me in His Father’s will,
To make a testimony of my life, to bring the lost to Jesus Christ.
Through this, blessing comes my way, as I live for Him each day,
Lifting up my Lord and King, as I acknowledge Him in everything,
It is only fitting to give Him praise, as He guides me all my days,
Filling me with peace and power, to help me in that busiest hour.
And all of this has come to me, from the cross raised at Calvary,
The cross lifted for every nation, to draw men to God’s Salvation,
So you could acknowledge too, Christ, who died for me and you,
Then God can come into your life, through The Son, Jesus Christ.
Night on the Convoy
(ALEXANDRIA-MARSEILLES)
Out in the blustering darkness, on the deck
A gleam of stars looks down. Long blurs of black,
The lean Destroyers, level with our track,
Plunging and stealing, watch the perilous way
Through backward racing seas and caverns of chill spray.
One sentry by the davits, in the gloom
Stands mute: the boat heaves onward through the night.
Shrouded is every chink of cabined light:
And sluiced by floundering waves that hiss and boom
And crash like guns, the troop-ship shudders ... doom.
Now something at my feet stirs with a sigh;
And slowly growing used to groping dark,
I know that the hurricane-deck, down all its length,
Is heaped and spread with lads in sprawling strength—
Blanketed soldiers sleeping. In the stark
Danger of life at war, they lie so still,
All prostrate and defenceless, head by head...
And I remember Arras, and that hill
Where dumb with pain I stumbled among the dead.
We are going home. The troop-ship, in a thrill
Of fiery-chamber’d anguish, throbs and rolls.
We are going home ... victims ... three thousand souls.
May 1918.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Ship Starting
LO! THE unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails--an ample
Ship, carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately--
below, emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions, and foam.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Undulating dreams...
The waves volatile
The sea deceptive
Grey sky hid
The star that steers
Where's the shore?
Wind singing dirge
Waves echoing agony
My ship! My ship! My ship!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A'Maze'ing
Your pain is His pleasure
For the storm has a clearing
And He will begin
Once your end is nearing
He does His work best
When there’s nothing to lose
And your will is all gone
So it’s His will you’ll use
When it’s time to let go
Then you have to hang on
To your faith in the Lord
And not the things that are gone
Even peace has a price
But it has already been paid
When the son of man came
The groundwork was laid
Keep your eyes on His suffering
Then your heart will know His love
Not the kind you seek here
But the kind from above
He gave his life here for all of us
Even those you despise
So let go of your grudges
If you want to rise
It’s like life is a maze
And the walls are too high
But God knows the quick exit
He sees the maze from the sky
He just wants to guide you
When you hit the maze wall
Because the healing is greater
The harder you fall
So when your storm is raging
Know that God’s got your hand
For one day it will clear
And you’ll see His big plan
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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O Who Will Speak From a Womb or a Cloud?
Not less light shall the gold and the green lie
On the cyclonic curl and diamonded eye, than
Love lay yesterday on the breast like a beast.
Not less light shall God tread my maze of nerve
Than that great dread of tomorrow drove over
My maze of days. Not less terrible that tread
Stomping upon your grave than I shall tread there.
Who is a god to haunt the tomb but Love?
Therefore I shall be there at morning and midnight,
Not with a straw in my hair and a tear as Ophelia
Floating along my sorrow, but I shall come with
The cabala of things, the cipher of nature, so that
With the mere flounce of a bird's feather crest
I shall speak to you where you sit in all trees,
Where you conspire with all things that are dead.
Who is so far that Love cannot speak to him?
So that no corner can hide you, no autumn of leaves
So deeply close over you that I shall not find you,
To stretch down my hand and sting you with life
Like poison that resurrects. O remember
How once the Lyrae dazzled and how the Novembers
Smoked, so that blood burned, flashed its mica,
And that was life. Now if I dip my hand in your grave
Shall I find it bloody with autumn and bright with stars?
Who is to answer if you will not answer me?
But you are the not yet dead, so cannot answer.
Hung by a hair's breadth to the breath of a lung,
Nothing you know of the hole over which you hang
But that it's dark and deep as tomorrow midnight.
I ask, but you cannot answer except with words
Which show me the mere interior of your fear,
The reverse face of the world. But this,
This is not death, the standing on the head
So that a sky is seen. O who
Who but the not yet born can tell me of my bourne?
Lie you there, lie you there, my never, never,
Never to be delivered daughter, so wise in ways
Where you perch like a bird beyond the horizon,
Seeing but not being seen, above our being?
Then tell me, shall the meeting ever be,
When the corpse dives back through the womb
To clasp his child before it ever was?
Who but the dead can kiss the not yet born?
Sad is space between a start and a finish,
Like the rough roads of stars, fiery and mad.
I go between birth and the urn, a bright ash
Soon blazed to blank, like a fire-ball. But
Nothing I bring from the before, no message,
No clue, no key, no answer. I hear no echo,
Only the sheep's blood dripping from the gun,
The serpent's tear like fire along the branch.
O who will speak from a womb or a cloud?
poem by George Barker
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Aboard At A Ship's Helm
the island with the gracious mountain
the tip of the boat inches steadily forward
my heart angled between it
one hour, two hours, three hours
the mountain looms so grand but so far
the boat plods on... and on
bumping against the wave
going up down, up down
the swirling birds, how fortunate they are up there
i put my bored mind into their wings
and travel to realms that excite the mind and senses
of man and wife and children
that run between the trees, shrubs
that flip past my eyes
i put stories into the houses that run
away so fast from view
warm stories of infatuation, continuous love making
where the world revolves around
a man and woman, and their senses
the halcyon day stays as it is
never runs into night
on and on the river records my imagination
youthful imagination that makes
the young years so worthy of living
so many generations pass for my hero and heroine
in one boat ride seven hours in all
they run on so many fields, cheerful in so many of the houses
before the mountain finally looms big onto my eyes
the stories i have spun trail the waves to another dimension
i ready myself for the stories the almighty spins for me
each step of the way i am now the hero
the waves and the whole mountain lie in wait for me
Aboard At A Ship's Helm
ABOARD, at a ship's helm,
A young steersman, steering with care.
A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,
An ocean-bell-O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-reefs ringing,
Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place.
For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's admonition,
The bows turn, -the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her
gray sails,
The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds
away gaily and safe.
But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship!
O ship of the body-ship of the soul-voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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