Cargoes
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Turnbuckles
Sometimes I think of the cargo holds on ships
with the metal covers secured by turnbuckles
to protect cargo in stormy seas
Even if the bow noses into towering waves
the covers hold and the ship won't sink
nor will the cargo shift
Then I read some of the posts that have
turnbuckles keeping secrets battened down
so that nothing leaks
There the metaphor fails in its comparison
because gossip and innuendo have a way
of eluding lock and key
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Liner She's A Lady
The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds --
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e gives 'er all she needs;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun',
They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an' down!
Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard;
Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old --
Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!
The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face,
An' if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace:
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e's always 'andy by,
But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they've got to load or die.
The Liner she's a lady, and 'er route is cut an' dried;
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e always keeps beside;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that 'aven't any man,
They've got to do their business first, and make the most they can!
The Liner she's a lady, and if a war should come,
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e'd bid 'er stay at home;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide!
'E'd 'ave to up an' fight for them, for they are England's pride.
The Liner she's a lady, but if she wasn't made,
There still would be the cargo-boats for 'ome an' foreign trade.
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, but if we wasn't 'ere,
'E wouldn't have to fight at all for 'ome an' friends so dear.
'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard;
Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old --
'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To get to know people, you have to eat a full donkey's cargo of salt together.
Just Like Larry
I'd like to jettison your medicine
back to where you came from
you keep your bell and edison
away from my grandson
stand son on your own bone
don't forget the home that you come from
don't let them say your name wrong
just like larry I'll take it to the hoop
make one false move in one fell swoop
and then I pass it to the trigger man
bow down to the sound if you still can
131-XHD
I got my beautiful dutiful cargo 250
plenty of misshalls and plenty of cat calls
and I can attest to the rest of the best stalls
but never have I ever made a match with sickness
look both ways and dispatch with a quickness
gimme some roy and gimme some speed
gather all around to the world and read on
til you get to the part that's righteous
it's an unbearable likeness
131-XHD
I got my beautiful dutiful cargo 250
song performed by by Dispatch from Who Are We Living For?
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Palm-Tree
Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm?
Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm?
A ship whose keel is of palm beneath,
Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath,
And a rudder of palm it steereth with.
Branches of palm are its spars and rails,
Fibres of palm are its woven sails,
And the rope is of palm that idly trails!
What does the good ship bear so well?
The cocoa-nut with its stony shell,
And the milky sap of its inner cell.
What are its jars, so smooth and fine,
But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine,
And the cabbage that ripens under the Line?
Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm?
The master, whose cunning and skill could charm
Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm.
In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft,
From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed,
And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft!
His dress is woven of palmy strands,
And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands,
Traced with the Prophet's wise commands!
The turban folded about his head
Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid,
And the fan that cools him of palm was made.
Of threads of palm was the carpet spun
Whereon he kneels when the day is done,
And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one!
To him the palm is a gift divine,
Wherein all uses of man combine,--
House, and raiment, and food, and wine!
And, in the hour of his great release,
His need of the palm shall only cease
With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace.
'Allah il Allah!' he sings his psalm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm;
'Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coming In To Harbour
Well I dreamed I saw you sailing in upon a sleek white schooner
You were slipping over shallow water
You were coming into harbour, you were coming into harbour
With the wind in all your sails
You were carrying a cargo that was richer than riches
More gold than gold and much more real than real
New born babe in your arms and his cool blue eyes gazed up
Yes his cool eyes gazed upon a fresh world, one yet to be made
I was standing on the shoreline looking out over the sea
And I saw your white sail appearing on the horizon
I was standing on the shoreline just looking out over the sea
And I saw your white sail appearing on the horizon
You were coming into harbour, you were coming into harbour
In the bright light, the bright light, longer than the 20th century
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad of Bolivar
Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again,
Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain:
Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away --
We that took the ~Bolivar~ out across the Bay!
We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails;
We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo shifted;
We put out from Sunderland -- met the winter gales --
Seven days and seven nights to the Start we drifted.
Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white as snow,
All the coals adrift adeck, half the rails below,
Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray --
Out we took the ~Bolivar~, out across the Bay!
One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us by;
Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle short;
Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead fly;
Left the ~Wolf~ behind us with a two-foot list to port.
Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul;
Clanging like a smithy-shop after every roll;
Just a funnel and a mast lurching through the spray --
So we threshed the ~Bolivar~ out across the Bay!
'Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when she'd break;
Wondered every time she raced if she'd stand the shock;
Heard the seas like drunken men pounding at her strake;
Hoped the Lord 'ud keep his thumb on the plummer-block.
Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked with coal;
Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart and soul;
Last we prayed she'd buck herself into judgment Day --
Hi! we cursed the ~Bolivar~ knocking round the Bay!
O her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still --
Up and down and back we went, never time for breath;
Then the money paid at Lloyd's caught her by the heel,
And the stars ran round and round dancin' at our death.
Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between;
'Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it green;
'Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at play --
That was on the ~Bolivar~, south across the Bay.
Once we saw between the squalls, lyin' head to swell --
Mad with work and weariness, wishin' they was we --
Some damned Liner's lights go by like a long hotel;
Cheered her from the ~Bolivar~ swampin' in the sea.
Then a grayback cleared us out, then the skipper laughed;
"Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell -- rig the winches aft!
Yoke the kicking rudder-head -- get her under way!"
So we steered her, pulley-haul, out across the Bay!
Just a pack o' rotten plates puttied up with tar,
In we came, an' time enough, 'cross Bilbao Bar.
Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, we
Euchred God Almighty's storm, bluffed the Eternal Sea!
Seven men from all the world, back to town again,
Rollin' down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain:
Seven men from out of Hell. Ain't the owners gay,
'Cause we took the "Bolivar" safe across the Bay?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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London River
Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail once more,
Cruising round the waterside with the Peter at the fore!
Half a score o' sailormen the sea will never drown -
Seven days in open boats a-drifting up and down! -
Out to find another ship and sail from London Town!
Half a score o' sailormen broke and on the rocks,
Linking down Commercial Road, tramping round the Docks,
Half a score o' sailormen, torpedoed twice before,
Once was in the Channel chops, once was off the Nore,
Last was in the open sea five hundred mile from shore!
Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail again -
And her cargo's all aboard her, and it's blowing up for rain!
Half a score o' sailormen that won't come home to tea -
For she's dropping down the river with the Duster flying free -
Down the London River on the road to the open sea!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cargo
As we get poorer,
We accept any gift, grant, loan or help with a glee;
But my words have different sounds to different people.
Is it rumours when you dig up a dead body from the mud?
Iniquity upon iniquity to the cultures of man;
For many people are killed in cold blood and we say nothing.
People drees nicely to churches but,
They are still the workers of iniquity;
Like a conflict of a dream after commodities.
How do we overcome our debts?
You are very young and gifted,
You are very young and talented,
You are very young and educated,
But you are broke without a clue.
Of the hustle and bustle,
Who do i blame when the sun rises?
From a parcel to a luggage before the cargo is sent,
Like the kind of human activities all around us.
What a world that we live in!
When we always expect something from someone;
Iniquity upon iniquity to the cultures of man;
Like the cargo at the harbour.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peacocks
Gold, silver, ivory, apes and peacocks;
I write that you may read,
And maybe, one day it will change your hearts!
For, there are many rules on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Thaw
Overhead-passes spit contemptuously at passing cars.
Power lines emerge from dripping silver cocoons.
Black bark peeks through the ice like worn silver plate.
Pine trees, released of their white cargo lift up their arms like schoolboys at recess.
Winter’s dirty secrets are revealed.
February 2003
poem by Jane Brunton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roll Along Home!
I though I heard the old man say -
'Aye, aye, roll along home! -
Bound home for old England we're sailing to-day -
Heave up the anchor and roll along home!
The pilot's aboard and the capstan is manned,
Blue Peter's a-waving farewell to the land,
For after long waiting our orders have come
To heave up the anchor and roll along home -
Roll - roll along home!'
The sails they are bent and the cargo is stowed -
Aye, aye, roll along home! -
And far will her way be and lonely her road -
Shake out the topsails and roll along home!
Yes, long is the road through the storm and the shine
That brings me back home to you, true love of mine;
No longer I'll wander, no further I'll roam,
But shake out my topsails and roll along home -
Roll - roll along home!'
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nr 9
Saw her first a few months ago
Spacing in vienna - oversea cargo
Saw her in the mirror
She has a stupid name
Maybe Im too honest
Friendly in an arrogant way
Saturday evening she gave me her number
Ive lost it already she awakens my hunger
Saw her in the mirror
She has a stupid name
Maybe Im too honest
Friendly in an arrogant way
Saw her first a few months ago
Spacing in vienna - oversea cargo
Saw her in the mirror
She has a stupid name
Maybe Im too honest
Friendly in an arrogant way
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We recognize that it is not only inbound but also outbound (cargo) that can pose a risk as well.
quote by Asa Hutchinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marrying off a daughter is like loading cargo on a ship.
Invocation to the Mad Queen
I would you were the hollow ship
fashioned to bear the cargo of my love
the unrelenting glove
hurled in defiance at our blackest world
or that great banner mad unfurled
the poet plants upon the hill of time
or else amphora for the gold of life
liquid and naked as a virgin wife.
Yourself the prize
I gird with Fire
The Great White Ruin
Of my Desire.
I burn to gold
fierce and unerring as a conquering sword
I burn to gold
fierce and undaunted as a lion lord
seeking your Bed
and leave to them the
burning of the dead.
poem by Harry Crosby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And let us be frank, the security threats that emanate from our ports come from foreign cargo.
quote by Dana Rohrabacher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. Speaker, Delaware River's regional ports handle approximately 58 million tons of cargo yearly.
quote by Robert Brady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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