Related quotes: ''Tis a woeful yarn,' said...

The Lost Colonel

''Tis a woeful yarn,' said the sailor man bold
Who had sailed the northern-lakes
'No woefuler one has ever been told
Exceptin' them called 'fakes.''

'Go on, thou son of the wind and fog,
For I burn to know the worst!'
But his silent lip in a glass of grog
Was dreamily immersed.

Then he wiped it on his sleeve and said:
'It's never like that I drinks
But what of the gallant gent that's dead
I truly mournful thinks.

'He was a soldier chap-leastways
As 'Colonel' he was knew;
An' he hailed from some'rs where they raise
A grass that's heavenly blue.

'He sailed as a passenger aboard
The schooner 'Henery Jo.'
O wild the waves and galeses roared,
Like taggers in a show!

'But he sat at table that calm an' mild
As if he never had let
His sperit know that the waves was wild
An' everlastin' wet!-

'Jest set with a bottle afore his nose,
As was labeled 'Total Eclipse'
(The bottle was) an' he frequent rose
A glass o' the same to his lips.

'An' he says to me (for the steward slick
Of the 'Henery Jo' was I):
'This sailor life's the very old Nick
On the lakes it's powerful dry!'

'I says: 'Aye, aye, sir, it beats the Dutch.
I hopes you'll outlast the trip.'
But if I'd been him-an' I said as much
I'd 'a' took a faster ship.

'His laughture, loud an' long an' free,
Rang out o'er the tempest's roar.
'You're an elegant reasoner,' says he,
'But it's powerful dry ashore!''

'O mariner man, why pause and don
A look of so deep concern?
Have another glass-go on, go on,
For to know the worst I burn.'

'One day he was leanin' over the rail,
When his footing some way slipped,
An' (this is the woefulest part o' my tale),
He was accidental unshipped!

'The empty boats was overboard hove,
As he swum in the 'Henery's wake';
But 'fore we had 'bouted ship he had drove
From sight on the ragin' lake!'

'And so the poor gentleman was drowned
And now I'm apprised of the worst.'
'What! him? 'Twas an hour afore he was found
In the yawl-stone dead o' thirst!'

poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes

How’s My Boy?

“HO, Sailor of the sea!
How’s my boy—my boy?”
“What’s your boy’s name, good wife,
And in what good ship sail'd he?”
“My boy John— He that went to sea—
What care I for the ship, sailor?
My boy's my boy to me.
“You come back from sea,
And not know my John?
I might as well have ask’d some landsman
Yonder down in the town.
There ’s not an ass in all the parish
But he knows my John.

“How’s my boy—my boy?
And unless you let me know
I’ll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,
Brass buttons or no, sailor,
Anchor and crown or no!
Sure his ship was the ‘Jolly Briton’”—
“Speak low, woman, speak low!”
“And why should I speak low, sailor,
About my own boy John?
If I was loud as I am proud
I’d sing him over the town!
Why should I speak low, sailor?”
“That good ship went down.”

“How’s my boy—my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor?
I was never aboard her.
Be she afloat or be she aground,
Sinking or swimming, I’ll be bound,
Her owners can afford her!
I say, how’s my John?”
“Every man on board went down,
Every man aboard her.”
“How’s my boy—my boy?
What care I for the men, sailor?
I’m not their mother—
How’s my boy—my boy?
Tell me of him and no other!
How ’s my boy—my boy?”

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Good Ship Capitilism

The cry's of the poor rise up from the sea of oppression
And still the waves grow higher
The ship sails relentlessly on into the golden horizon
And now the sea is on fire

Wont you turn the ship around they cry
And the sharks draw near
This ship's to big to turn around
And the golden horizon would surely disappear

Ah, how great its been since we threw those
people overboard
So much more for you and I, and yours and mine
So much more for us to hoard

It was all ours anyway, those people
did nothing for what they had
Oh look, the sharks are starting to devour
Ah well thats just to bad

They should have learned to swim faster and stronger,
who do they think they were anyway
living here amongst us for nothing
without even as much as paying there way

Everything we have on this boat is ours
we didn't go to all that trouble just to give it away
Those who are left, if they work even harder
Its just possible we might let them stay

It has been reported to us that we
don't have as much as we might
What! post a lookout immediately
and see if those overboard are still in sight

Captain, they've been sighted
but are caught in a storm
Yes yes yes never mind all that, man the boats
where else are we going to get even more from

Ahoy there you poor and afflicted ones
would you like to come into our boats
Come on, give it all up, don't hold back
yes we will even take your coats

And the ship sailed on and the small boats screamed
Oh my God, don't leave us here in the sea
The afflicted ones will overcome us
And in the sea WE will be

Be quiet, do you think you could stay on this ship
and sail on forever free.
This ship's not about you or yours
This ship's about ME, ME, ME!

Sign on today for the good ship Capitalism
Get your tickets from Romney and Paul Ryan
But if you become sick there'll be no room for you
We throw overboard the sick and the dying

poem by Frank McEleny
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The Ghosts of the Sea

The ghosts of the sunken ships remember the fog,
Reminiscent of the danger of a wild, mad dog.

Hidden it the darkness it came into the night,
everyone aboard the sailing ship became affright.

They lost their way in that thick cloud as they fell the rhythm of the waves,
They could hear the water as it crashed against the shore and the caves.

Before the sailor knew it they were in the sea among the rolling, foaming crests,
The deep sea was calling them as the waves broke across their breasts.

The high seas had taken another ship as it lay battered among the rocks, moving
slowly with tide,
Softly they could hear the whispering of the fog as it spoke to the ocean wide.

The ghosts of the sea beckon as the ocean becomes a sheet of glass,
The fog has lifted and the ghosts for the deep invite the ships who would dare pass.

poem by Ron Dawson
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Big Wind

Where were the greenhouses going,
Lunging into the lashing
Wind driving water
So far down the river
All the faucets stopped?—
So we drained the manure-machine
For the steam plant,
Pumping the stale mixture
Into the rusty boilers,
Watching the pressure gauge
Waver over to red,
As the seams hissed
And the live steam
Drove to the far
End of the rose-house,
Where the worst wind was,
Creaking the cypress window-frames,
Cracking so much thin glass
We stayed all night,
Stuffing the holes with burlap;
But she rode it out,
That old rose-house,
She hove into the teeth of it,
The core and pith of that ugly storm,
Ploughing with her stiff prow,
Bucking into the wind-waves
That broke over the whole of her,
Flailing her sides with spray,
Flinging long strings of wet across the roof-top,
Finally veering, wearing themselves out, merely
Whistling thinly under the wind-vents;
She sailed until the calm morning,
Carrying her full cargo of roses.

poem by Theodore Roethke
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An Almost Broken Glass Bottle

For a while now I've been afraid to say or show how I feel, so instead I go around telling people I'm tough, pretending to be made of steel

All of my feelings I shoved into a bottle made of glass, and as I shoved this glass bottle inside myself I prayed these feelings wouldn't last

The more of my feelings I shoved into it the fuller my glass bottle got, the only problem is once I started to shove all my feeling into it, I didn't know how to stop

Even if you were to ask me if I was okay I'd put on a smile and say I'm fine, even though deep down inside I know I'm lying

So here we are present day and despite my efforts to stop it, my glass bottle and I have started to crack and I know any minute now both of us are going to snap

No matter how much I wish it wasn't so, no matter how much all together I wish my glass bottle and I would stay, I know deep down that my almost broken glass bottle is any second gonna give way

poem by Tiger Lily Love
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The sea within

My world
static now.
I am dead to everything
except the sound of the sea
that is within me.
No more calm
but raging with a storm,
the angry waves lashing
against the high cliffs.
But the sea is deep,
down in my heart.
None can witness
the tumult from outside,
the impregnable stoical exterior
bearing no sign of the inner trepidation.

A voice calls out to me
above the howling sound of the sea.
Slowly I raise my head
and see myself, calm and intrepid.
Am I the weary sailor
waiting to be washed ashore
after my ship sinks?
My spirit will no longer languish
but ready to override
the storm than wait for it to subside.
For I love the song of the sea
that is in me,
the soft murmur
when it is calm and when the billows roar.
The heart recognizes in them the melodies
and whispers the both tones.

poem by Aimanu Begum
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The Wreck of the Steamer Mohegan

Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
And I'll relate a terrible tale of the sea
Concerning the unfortunate steamer, Mohegan,
That against the Manacles Rocks, ran.

'Twas on Friday, the 14th of October, in the year of ninety-eight,
Which alas! must have been a dreadful sight;
She sailed out of the river Thames on Thursday,
While the hearts of the passengers felt light and gay.

And on board there were 133 passengers and crew,
And each one happier than another seemingly to view;
When suddenly the ship received some terrible shocks,
Until at last she ran against the Manacles Rocks.

Dinner was just over when the shock took place,
Which caused fear to be depicted in every face;
Because the ship was ripped open, and the water rushed in,
It was most dreadful to hear, it much such a terrific din.

Then the cries of children and women did rend the air,
And in despair many of them tore their hair
As they clung to their babies in wild despair,
While some of them cried- 'Oh, God, do Thou my babies spare!'

The disaster occurred between seven and eight o'clock at night,
Which caused some of the passengers to faint with fright;
As she struck on the Manacles Rocks between Falmouth and Lizard Head,
Which filled many of the passengers' hearts with dread.

Then the scene that followed was awful to behold,
As the captain hurried to the bridge like a hero bold;
And the seamen rushed manfully to their posts,
While many of the passengers with fear looked as pale as ghosts.

And the poor women and children were chilled to the heart,
And crying aloud for their husbands to come and take their part;
While the officers and crew did their duty manfully,
By launching the boats immediately into the sea.

Then lifebelts were tied round the women and children
By the brave officers and gallant seamen;
While the storm fiend did laugh and angry did roar,
When he saw the boats filled with passengers going towards the shore.

One of the boats, alas! unfortunately was swamped,
Which caused the officers and seamens' courage to be a little damped;
But they were thankful the other boats got safely away,
And tried hard to save the passengers without dismay.

Then a shriek of despair arose as the ship is sinking beneath the wave,
While some of the passengers cried to God their lives to save;
But the angry waves buffetted the breath out of them,
Alas, poor sickly children, also women and men.

Oh, heaven, it was most heartrending to see
A little girl crying and imploring most piteously,
For some one to save her as she didn't want to die,
But, alas, no one seemed to hear her agonizing cry.

For God's sake, boys, get clear, if ye can,
Were the captain's last words spoken like a brave man;
Then he and the officers sank with the ship in the briny deep,
Oh what a pitiful sight, 'tis enough to make one weep.

Oh think of the passengers that have been tempest tossed,
Besides, 100 souls and more, that have been lost;
Also, think of the mariner while on the briny deep,
And pray to God to protect him at night before ye sleep.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Admiral's Ghost

I tell you a tale to-night
Which a seaman told to me,
With eyes that gleamed in the lanthorn light
And a voice as low as the sea.

You could almost hear the stars
Twinkling up in the sky,
And the old wind woke and moaned in the spars
And the same old waves went by.

Singing the same old song
As ages and ages ago,
While he froze my blood in that deep-sea night
With the things he seemed to know.

A bare foot pattered on deck;
Ropes creaked; then-all grew still,
And he pointed his finger straight in my face
And growled, as a sea-dog will.

'Do 'ee know who Nelson was?
That pore little shrivelled form
With the patch on his eye and the pinned-up sleeve
And a soul like a North Sea storm?

'Ask of the Devonshire men!
They know, and they'll tell you true;
He wasn't the pore little chawed-up chap
That Hardy thought he knew.

'He wasn't the man you think!
His patch was a dern disguise!
For he knew that they'd find him out, d'you see,
If they looked him in both his eyes.

'He was twice as big as he seemed;
But his clothes were cunningly made.
He'd both of his hairy arms alright!
The sleeve was a trick of the trade.

'You've heard of sperrits, no doubt;
Well there's more in the matter than that!
But he wasn't the patch and he wasn't the sleeve,
And he wasn't the laced cocked-hat.

'Nelson was just-a Ghost!
You may laugh! But the Devonshire men
They knew that he'd come when England called,
And they know that he'll come again.

'I'll tell you the way it was
(For none of the landsmen know) ,
And to tell it you right, you must go a-starn
Two hundred years or so.

* * * * * * *

'The waves were lapping and slapping
The same as they are today;
And Drake lay dying aboard his ship
In Nobre Dios Bay.

'The scent of foreign flowers
Came floating all around;
'But I'd give my soul for the smell o' the pitch, '
Says he, 'in Plymouth Sound.

''What shall I do, ' he says,
'When the guns begin to roar,
An' England wants me, and me not there
To shatter 'er fores once more? '

'(You've heard what he said, maybe,
But I'll mark you the p'ints again;
For I want you to box your compass right
And get my story plain.)

' 'You must take my drum', he says,
'To the old sea-wall at home;
And if ever you strike that drum, ' he says,
'Why, strike me blind, I'll come!

''If England needs me, dead
Or living, I'll rise that day!
I'll rise from the darkness under the sea
Ten thousand miles away.'

'That's what he said; and he died;
An' his pirates, listenin' roun'
With their crimson doublets and jewelled swords
That flashed as the sun went down.

'They sewed him up in his shroud
With a round-shot top and toe,
To sink him under the salt-sharp sea
Where all good seamen go.

'They lowered him down in the deep,
And there in the sunset light
They boomed a broadside over his grave,
As meaning to say 'Good night.'

'They sailed away in the dark
To the dear little isle they knew;
And they hung his drum by the old sea-wall
The same as he told them to.

* * * * * * *

'Two hundred years went by,
And the guns began to roar,
And England was fighting hard for her life,
As ever she fought of yore.

''It's only my dead that count, '
She said, as she says today;
'It isn't the ships and it isn't the guns
'Ull sweep Trafalgar's Bay.'

'D'you guess who Nelson was?
You may laugh, but it's true as true!
There was more in that pore little chawed-up chap
Than ever his best friend knew.

'The foe was creepin' close,
In the dark, to our white-cliffed isle;
They were ready to leap at England's throat,
When-O, you may smile, you may smile;

'But-ask of the Devenshire men;
For they heard in the dead of night
The roll of a drum, and they saw him pass
On a ship all shining white.

'He stretched out his dead cold face
And he sailed in the grand old way!
The fishes had taken an eye and his arm,
But he swept Trafalgar's Bay.

'Nelson-was Francis Drake!
O, what matters the uniform,
Or the patch on your eye or your pinned-up sleeve,
If your soul's like a North Sea storm? '

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Pour Me A Glass

Once upon a time I was sitting by,
A bottle of wine and all I knew was i,
I was gonna sip it down in a little while,
I drink it glass for glass but theres no reason why,
The bottle of wine has a taste so fine,
It makes feel good, it makes me blow my mind,
I cannot stop pour me another glass,
I would if I could, but now I need it fast,
I lost my friends, nobody holds my hand,
Like a lonley stranger in a long lost land,
I felt the feelings no one ever has,
Bartender, pour me a glass!
Chorus:
Pour me a glass, pour me a glass of a bottle wine...
Im drinking, Im not drinking, I cant tell you why,
How it started, how it ends but I do deny,
That I wanna ruin my life but now I wanna dive,
Into the silent ocean where there is no cry,
For hope, for me that I cannot see,
But if I faced the facts and go inside of me,
I would see myself, my own reality,
I would see myself, my own insanity,
Scared to move another step ahead,
I would lose the strength so I will fast forget,
What I do to myself, why dont you take a guess,
Bartender, pour me a glass!
Chorus...

song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Popeye The Sailor Man

(kinky friedman & panama red)
My heart is on my sleeve,
Do you still believe ?
Are you listenin to the tide roll in, watchin ships at sea ?
When I come sailin home again will you be there for me,
There for me ?
Treasure ships of yore
Grace the ocean floor
Columbus sailed for italy, columbus sailed for spain.
Columbus sailed a wishin well, columbus died in chains,
Died in chains.
I dont pretend to know every answer
To everything that life may ask of me.
Hey, Im popeye the sailor man
Im popeye the sailor man
Hey, popeye the sailor man
And I sail the lonely sea eternally.
My true love calls to me from far across the sea.
She says, red skies in the mornin
Sailor take warnin
Sail with me tonight
Sailors delight, sailors delight.
I dont pretend to know every answer
To everything that life may ask of me.
Hey, Im popeye the sailor man
Popeye the sailor man,
Popeye the sailor man
And I sail the lonely sea eternally.
She said, popeye the sailor man
Popeye the sailor man
Oh, popeye the sailor man
Sail on home to me, come sail with me.

song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bottom Of The Glass

You think that you have found a way to ease your troubled mind
You fill a glass, then drink it down and fill it one more time
Well, the wine will flow and the pain will go but the spell will never last
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Well, the bottom of the glass is just as empty as your life
You know it holds no secret way to help you in your strife
But for a while youre in another world and you wake up in the past
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
...glass
That bottle there is not your friend when its gone it leaves you cold
The strength it gives you slips away for its something you cant hold
Your hands will shanke and then youll take another from the flask
But youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass

song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bottom Of The Glass

song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The beating of the waves...

The waves beat on the sand before it,
Crashing in with a roar and splash,
Owning the beach for its self
It owns nothing else then the open space
That reaches to end of the earth
Into ports, rivers and lakes
The water an unmatched force,
Taking and living life
In the shallows to the deep

Coated in scenic colours,
In blue and greens and gold
Majestic and effortless,
The waves sweep in on the beach,
Engulfing anything that floats,
Moving with the wind,
Nothing is more powerful,
Unpredictable,
Then the rising waves of the seas

poem by Melissa Coventry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.

'Til we had sailed on every course
That wit or will could still devise
While biting tongue and sharp retort
Became the language of our lives.

At every turn, a shallow reef
To wreck the hopes that we had shared,
Each tack would bring us near to grief
Each luff would leave us near despair.

But then you spied some promised ground
And took the boat on that same shore
That we had left together, once
Though never to return, we swore.

The ship of state rolled drunkenly,
I could not steer, nor go ashore
And so each watched the other weep
For you would cry, and I implore.

'Til you rowed back to join the ship
But we were fast upon some reef,
And soon you turned to carp and wit
To speed you on your long retreat.

A thousand times you made that trip,
A thousand times from ship to shore
But now the tide's exposed the rip,
There's nothing left to journey for.

And you may live your life ashore
While I attend some new design,
Our ship of state once went to war -
I burned her to the waterline.

20 September 1989

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Seabolt's Volunteers

They towed the Seabolt down the stream,
And through the harbour’s mouth;
She spread her wings and sailed away
To seek the sunny South.

But, ah! she met with storm on storm
Ere half her course had run;
And all her masts were torn away,
And all her boats save one.

The good old ship had settled far
Beneath her cargo line,
Her riven sides were drinking deep
The draughts of ocean brine.

There gathered round the only boat
The women pale with fear,
And trembling little ones, who clung
To those who held them dear.

Then spoke the captain, brave and true,
His voice rose o’er the roar;
“The boat will save us all but five,
She cannot float with more!”

And backward from the side he stepped—
(He had been born at sea)
“Now who will seek in ocean’s depths
A sailor’s grave with me?”

Then up there stepped a merchant stout,
His face was brown and tan:
“I’ll volunteer to stay on board,
For I’m an Englishman!”

Then spoke a gallant gentleman,
A lover of romance:
“Remain I for the ladies’ sake,
For I’m a son of France!”

And next there spoke a Highlander:
“Go search the wide world round,
You’ll find no spot where on the earth
A Scotsman is not found!”

And then there spoke a lad to whom
Killarney’s lakes were dear:
“It won’t be said that Ireland found
No place of honour here!”

The boat pushed from the vessel’s side
Amid the ringing cheers;
And now beneath Old Ocean sleep
The Seabolt’s volunteers.

poem by Henry Lawson
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