He doesn't see water, otherwise he is a skilled swimmer.
Related quotes
Channel Swimmer
Well it's cold down here in the water
It's cold down here in the sea
Who'd be a channel swimmer?
Only a fool like me
I've greased my body
and I'm heading over the ocean
These two arms are the only locomotion
I need
See me swim and see me float
I don't need no motorboat
or a yacht to get me there
I'll do the breaststroke
and the backstroke
I'll do anything
I'll be swimming when you're all asleep
I'll be swimming when you're all awake
I'll do the sidestroke
the other sidestroke
I'll do the butterfly
But I ain't gonna crawl
on back to you, no way
I see your face in every breaker
I see your smile across the reef
I came across the sea to take you
Don't make me out to be a thief
You'll be dreaming when you're all asleep
But I'll be drowning when you're all awake
I did the breaststroke
I did my best stroke
I did everything
But I ain't good enough
'Cause it's cold down here in the water
It's cold down here in the sea
Who'd be a channel swimmer?
Only a fool like me
Who'd be a channel swimmer?
Only a fool like me...
would forget he can't swim
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Because
Just because you did
Doesn't mean that you should
Just because you can
Doesn't mean that you could
Just because you are able
Doesn't mean you would
Just because you sat
Doesn't mean you should‘ve stood.
Just because you spoke
Doesn't mean that you thought
Just because you looked
Doesn't mean that you sought
Just because you argued
Doesn't mean that you fought
Just because you dreamed
Doesn't mean that you wished not.
Just because you cried
Doesn't mean that you wept
Just because you had
Doesn't mean that you kept
Just because you cleaned
Doesn't mean that you swept
Just because you said yes
Doesn't mean that you accept.
Just because you gathered
Doesn't mean that you own
Just because you gave up
Doesn't mean that you were alone
Just because you saw
Doesn't mean that you were shown
Just because you expiate
Doesn't mean you should atone.
Just because your old
Doesn't mean that you have flaws
Just because you won
Doesn't mean you have to applause
Just because you waited
Doesn't mean that you paused
Just because you were you
Doesn't mean anything, because.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When water reaches up to the nose, the calf is a swimmer.
Being a swimmer and spending time in the water does not make you a fish.
Art of Water
whether lot, whether little
whether cold, whether hot
whether thirst, whether not
water is always needed
whether clean, whether dirty
in the land, in the ocean
whether flood, whether dry
water is always problem
rain river, static puddle
hidden in the desert, moist in the forest
frost on mountain, vapor to clouds
water is everywhere
playable, making war
doesn't have taste, doesn't have color
you can live or you can die
water is sign of life
the element, the anomaly
build energy, fill the body
the circle, the reflection
water is word of power
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Swimmer and a Crocodile
He wants to cross the river
But the ferryman is nowhere
The notice says Crocodiles and beware!
Swimmer in a clue.
An old crocodile came
And tears in its eyes.
'I was watching since in the morning
And I am so sorry,
Believe me I am a different one
Always help others
And if you don't mind
I can give you a ride
Before it gets dark.'
'I too scare of darkness
And I love rides but not in a rough weather uncle.'
Swimmer replied.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today, a skilled manager makes more than the owner. And owners fight each other to get the skilled managers.
quote by Mikhail Khodorkovsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Swimmer
IN dog-days plowmen quit their toil,
And frog-ponds in the meadow boil,
And grasses on the upland broil,
And all the coiling things uncoil,
And eggs and meats and Christians spoil.
A mile away the valley breaks
(So all good valleys do) and makes
A cool green water for hot heads' sakes,
And sundry sullen dog-days' aches.
The swimmer's body is white and clean,
It is washed by a water of deepest green
The color of leaves in a starlight scene,
And it is as white as the stars between.
But the swimmer's soul is a thing possessed,
His soul is naked as his breast,
Remembers not its east and west,
And ponders this way, I have guessed:
I have no home in the cruel heat
On alien soil that blisters feet.
This water is my native seat,
And more than ever cool and sweet,
So long by forfeiture escheat.
O my forgiving element!
I gash you to my heart's content
And never need be penitent,
So light you float me when breath is spent
And close again where my rude way went.
And now you close above my head,
And I lie low in a soft green bed
That dog-days never have visited.
'By the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread:'
The garden's curse is at last unsaid
What do I need of senses five?
Why eat, or drink, or sweat, or wive?
What do we strive for when we strive?
What do we live for when alive?
And what if I do not rise again,
Never to goad a heated brain
To hotter excesses of joy and pain?
Why should it be against the grain
To lie so cold and still and sane?
Water-bugs play shimmer-shimmer,
Naked body's just a glimmer,
Watch ticks every second grimmer:
Come to the top, O wicked swimmer!
poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Retirement Of Ian Thorpe
I heard on the radio in the sports news today
That Ian Thorpe the great swimmer has give competitive swimming away
A winner of nine Olympic medals five of them gold
Of his greatness in story and song we've been told
Australia's greatest ever swimmer if not the World's best
He was never found to be wanting when put to the test
But at twenty four years he said enough for me
At the World Championships and the Olympics him we'll never more see
At the prime of his life one might say a young man
But at top competitive swimming top swimmers do not have a long span
In the World of swimming he is an all time great
And his world Championship and Olympic victories Aussies did celebrate
A world renowned swimmer since he was a boy
And life after competitive swimming may he now enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forbidden 13
Somebody digs a well
Someone else’s eyes water
Eels travel miles to
Mate at mid sea
And certain fish
Swim upcurrent
But Lena, the
Champion swimmer
Drowned in
Shallow waters
poem by Prathibha Nandakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those who are skilled in combat do not become angered, those who are skilled at winning do not become afraid. Thus the wise win before they fight, while the ignorant fight to win.
quote by Kongming (Zhuge Liang)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vote bank policy
Are you below poverty line
Take 30 kilos rice / wheat
Take five hundred rupees
Take Indra awas house
Take Khadi cloth
We are for you
Give us your valuable vote.
And what more?
We do not want to make you skilled
And what is the value of that
And we are not here
To skilled you in some trade.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On Wading Into Deeper Waters
Grains of sand,
Under your feet;
Slipping often,
Gives a feel
Of squirming worms
-Instability:
When in water
That’s quite deep!
Drops of water
Make the ocean,
And the lakes
And seas we see.
When once in it,
You can’t stay long;
Your lungs warn you
The need to rise!
Little fishes
Passing by,
Try to nibble
Your legs new-found;
For the swimmer,
Things are fine;
For the novice
-a watery grave!
Neck-deep water
All around,
Makes your head reel
In the noon sun;
And you know not
To where it flows:
A feeling of
Slipping beneath!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-1-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Identity of Images (Identité des images)
I am fighting furiously with animals and bottles
In a short time perhaps ten hours have passed one
after another
The beautiful swimmer who was afraid of coral wakes
this morning
Coral crowned with holly knocks on her door
Ah! coal again always coal
I conjure you coal tutelary genius of dreams and my
solitude let me let me speak again of the beautiful
swimmer who was afraid of coral
No longer tyrannize this seductive subject of my
dreams
The beautiful swimmer was reposing in a bed of lace
and birds
The clothes on a chair at the foot of the bed were
illuminated by gleams the last gleams of coal
The one that had come from the depths of the sky and
earth and sea was proud of its coral beak and great
wings of crape
All night long it had followed divergent funerals toward
suburban cemeteries
It had been to embassy balls marked white satin gowns with
its imprint a fern leaf
It had risen terribly before ships and the ships had not
returned
Now crouched in the chimney it was watching for the
waking of foam and singing of kettles
Its resounding step had disturbed the silence of nights
in streets with sonorous pavements
Sonorous coal coal master of dreams coal
Ah tell me where is that beautiful swimmer the swimmer
who was afraid of coral?
But the swimmer herself has gone back to sleep
And I remain face to face with the fire and shall remain
through the night interrogating the coal with wings of
darkness that persists in projecting on my monotonous
road the shadow of its smoke and the terrible
reflections of its embers
Sonorous coal coal pitiless coal
poem by Robert Desnos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As a man can drink water from any side of a full tank, so the skilled theologian can wrest from any scripture that which will serve his purpose.
Sonnet XXXIV
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest-
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea)
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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