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There's no earthly way of knowing
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction they are going!
There's no knowing where they're rowing,
Or which way they river's flowing!
Not a speck of light is showing,
So the danger must be growing,
For the rowers keep on rowing,
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing...
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sea
That smoth’rin’ grindin’ brew that lashes stane,
That kisses stane, that hurls and smashes stane
Beguiles us whiles beside the slidin’ tide
Whar millions sook her bounty
As if entitled tae the ride
That sweetly swishin’ wine that cayries life
That tends tae still, that neutralises, strife
Begets oor cow’rin’ awe by tow’rin’ swell
Wud kill us wi’ her beauty
Wud snuff us wi’ hurtlin’ hell
That witchin’, trancin’ sang that tempts us in
That builds vast ships and cleanses suff’rin’ sin
It drags us snagged intae fell funn’lin’ rips
That race bitchin’ through her bulk
Burstin’ whiles on placid lips
That mindless warrin’ and sparrin’ wi’ earth
Her mirrorin’ the sun and massive berth
Her thrash o’ attitudes an’ shades o’ thra’n
Tae the tunes o’ vicious wun
A’ churn in the heart o’ man.
Rowing
A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plactic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn't work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched-
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,
I wore rubies and bought tomatoes
and now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I'd say,
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyebal,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life,
the absurdities of the dinner table,
but there will be a door
and I will open it
and I will get rid of the rat insdie me,
the gnawing pestilential rat.
God will take it with his two hands
and embrace it.
As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.
quote by Isaac Asimov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Row, Row, Row The Boat
Row, row, row the boat,
gently down the stream
of consciousness, and take close note
of things of which you dream
when working gallingly in galleys,
Ben Hur, condemned to row
until the spirit market rallies,
or falls like Jericho.
Slave, slave, slave, keep writing:
wait not for liberation,
and don’t feel crucified while fighting
lack of inspiration.
Be resurrected when unconscious,
keep jester juices flowing,
on auto-pilot, serving Pontius,
rowing, rowing, rowing.
David West, who is printing the galleys of my forthcoming book Legal Friction: Law, Narrative and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel, sent me an e-mail today which read:
And keep in mind Jack Hawkins’ famous advice to the galley slaves in Ben Hur: “You are all condemned men. We keep you alive to serve this ship. So row well, and live.”
9/23/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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When It Falls, It Falls All Over You
Selling papers on the corner,
I saw a man yesterday.
I asked him if hed wanna
Tell me what made him this way.
He said, when its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He used to pick his friends.
They left him in the end.
An easy thing to lose,
The right to pick and choose.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He said he left his wife,
The back-bone of his life.
Another came along,
But now I guess shes gone.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
I think I used to see
That old man on tv,
Can you be the same?
It seems like such a shame.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
The world he thought he knew,
Has better things to do.
As I went on my way
I thought I heard him say:
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rowing Song
Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining, is it snowing
Is a hurricane a–blowing
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of Hell a–glowing
Is the grisly reaper mowing
Yes, the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing.
poem by Roald Dahl
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Illusions
As a mist gathers
on the ocean
the sun warms
you blush.!
a tide sweeps in
hitting the shore
your face in the
waves
you smile.!
the sun brightly
shines
in the heat
you melt.!
A breeze grabs a
leaf
whirls it away
you fly.!
a violent storm
gathers in the
clouds
you float away.
poem by Heather Burns
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Spit on the Stane, and it will be wet at the last.
The Trench
It was once assumed
We stood at the same spot
By and by
The earth caved in
Surreptitiously
And there emerged
A widening trench
We now stand
A trench apart
The trench patiently gathers
All the emotions slipped into it
In the nights it sings
To wake me up
The open space echoes
With the ballads sung
To bring a smile or two
On my damp cheeks…
Wipes away my cheek
As it goes on singing
All that it gathers
From the passers-by
I smile
But somehow
There’s some difference!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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I have been out again on the river, rowing. I find nothing new.
quote by Fanny Kemble
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A boat doesn't go forward if each one is rowing their own way.