Sea Canaries
The small white whales in packs of pods
keep their pacts with us, the fated beasts.
They wail their songs and the water wavers,
and we who signed them waive our rights
to have them. Here is where they belong,
all right, and here is where I leave them:
their pale, bountiful bodies to the sea.
I see a pail of fish and I would rather
feed on palm wood than palm one up
to shed it to those seabirds. To bate the brink
of bygone beauty, I bring no bait. A thatch shed
on the shore would keep me closer. O idol
of the gulls and wingèd seagirls and idle guitar
players, paddle deep and far off from my kind
who peddle our wares like love-me-kindly petals.
Related quotes
Heart turn to Tilapia
Joh gave Mou small
roasted tilapia fish
Small as it’s
Mou rejected tilapia in greed
And threw it in to river
fat and savoury soaked Mou palm
Mou looked and smelled his palm
He licked his palm
‘’why you throw fish away
And you lick your hand’’
Joh asked
‘’I am not licking but washing ‘’
‘’why don’t you use water’’
‘’my tongue can clean better than water’’
Mou said
What irony
poem by David Aoloch Bion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
A mouse that removes the palm-nut that turns out to be the bait of a trap, would already have known that the palm-nut does not ripen on the ground.
Child of the Dawn
In the small hours of the morning, I sat alone, outside
on a bench that smelled of wood and the old women
that sat there Sunday afternoons to watch the children
playing at the park. I ran my hand against
the smooth wood, a splinter lodging itself into my palm.
I winced and looked into the trees at just the right
instant. The sun was rising behind the branches
like a fish rising through seaweed. Hesitant.
As if afraid of what the water will do to it.
My friend broke into a smile as it was greeted by the pink
and soft orange sky around it, soon giving way to perfect blue.
A pure, motionless blue that went on forever, never
faltering, never ashamed to be the 'sad color'
that was simply a mistake of the People. It knew itself
to mean happiness and beauty. The beauty of the world.
The day dragged on, but it was a nice blue sky day
as the Child of the Dawn traveled across it.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Joy And Sorrow
As a fisher-boy I fared
To the black rock in the sea,
And, while false gifts I prepared.
Listen'd and sang merrily,
Down descended the decoy,
Soon a fish attack'd the bait;
One exultant shout of joy,--
And the fish was captured straight.
Ah! on shore, and to the wood
Past the cliffs, o'er stock and stone,
One foot's traces I pursued,
And the maiden was alone.
Lips were silent, eyes downcast
As a clasp-knife snaps the bait,
With her snare she seized me fast,
And the boy was captured straight.
Heav'n knows who's the happy swain
That she rambles with anew!
I must dare the sea again,
Spite of wind and weather too.
When the great and little fish
Wail and flounder in my net,
Straight returns my eager wish
In her arms to revel yet!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Birds
the birds, sparrows and robins
and some herons
are flying on the blue sky
you watch them
a robin comes near you
and makes a stare
the white heron glides
past your face and flies
away without much ado
a sparrow feeds on your palm
and after all the grains are
consumed it goes its way
north and finally the kingfisher
which is late tries to give
you its catch, a small fish.
you see the difference
and then you go south,
i mean, the difference,
towards another direction,
that one that gives and not
the one that takes,
the one that thinks about
others
and not more about oneself.
you are supposed to be that
a giver not a taker.
one bird has shown you
with a very small fish and
that was enough to feed
you in another long and lonely
journey: south.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fish Deeper, says HE
Rainy days chill makes me lazy here in my cabin
Only croaks of frogs, I hear, singing with no rhythm,
Snails crawl on the ground; earthworms are visible in my garden
Used them as baits, to the river I went for some fishing.
Yet water running from slopes makes the river cold
No fish on surface, they swim deep and avoid,
I stayed hours while singing 'Raindrops Keeps Fallin' in my Head'
But nay, no fish eats my bait; can I just shoot them, instead?
Sam said true, 'Fish deep, fear not to plunge deep
Fulfillment is gained; why not face your fear,
Swim and play, water is enticing, dear
Water holds fun and lots from it to keep! '
I like to catch fish, though I cannot swim deep
Neither kill a fish, take off its intestines and gills,
Scaling it, cook and eat it in zest
I'd prefer catching fish and throw it back, I guess!
Hmn...I think I prefer it as a sport than feed
Yet I have naughty thoughts as I do the deed,
If my man was here, he may join me as we catch fish
Ha ha! Can we make love before we eat the main dish? (Wink)
poem by InNer WhisPers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Change the world with turning the palm
Change the world with turning the palm
Turning upside
Turning downside
Changing the world is not as hard as you think
Turning outside
Turning inside
Changing the world could be as easy as turning palm
Palm is opened
Palm is closed
Clap! Clap! Clap! The astonishing sound heard
Palm is hailed
Palm is hugged
When all people do it together
Yes, we can make a different
Change the world with turning the palm
Hide away smile
Erase away tears
Changing the world with a slight change of mind
The fate is cast
The fate unknown
Changing the world by turning others opinion
Palm is embracing
Palm is praying
Crack! Crack! Crack! A flicker of hope seen
Palm is waved
Palm is offered
When all people do it sincerely
Yes, we can change the world
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hit Me With A Rock
When I was a little boy
(when I was just a boy)
And my mother would call my name
(when I was just a boy)
Shed say I had to be in the house by seven
(when I was just a boy)
But Id stay out late at night
(when I was just a boy)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, I know shed hit me, shed hit me
Shed sit me on her knees and whip me
Oh, shed hit me with a rock
Shed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Shed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Shed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
And when I was grown to be a man
(grown to be a man)
The minute the boss would call my name
(grown to be a man)
And say I had to be in the office by seven
(grown to be a man)
Im a constipated man
(grown to be a man)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, my bossd hit me, hed hit me
Hed tie me to a chair and whip me
Oh hed hit me with a rock
Hed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Hed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Hed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
When I was grown to be president
(was the president)
The minute the congressd call my name
(was the president)
And said some papers had to be signed by thursday
(had to be signed by thursday)
Id fly away to pakistan
(was the president)
And the second that Id get back home
Oh, I know theyd hit me, theyd hit me
With leather and chains theyd whip me
Oh, theyd hit me with a rock
Theyd whip me with a rock, oh baby
Theyd hit me. (hit me with a rock)
Theyd hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
Hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
Theyd hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
Yah yah yah yah yah yah
(hit me with a rock)
(hit with a rock)
Ow, whaddaya doin to me, get away from me
(hit with a rock, oh baby)
(hit with a rock)
(hes gettin hit with a rock)
(hes gettin hit with a rock, oh baby)
(hit with a rock)
Wait a minute, hold it
I think hes dead
Lets leave
Lets get out of here, man
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Pepples and Fish
dark nights the moonlight is bright,
the sea crashes onto the shore,
with the sounds,
from beneath,
the sea bed,
is full of fish,
whales and sharks,
coral's and pepples,
seaweed and love,
can bring the ocean,
Pepples And Fish
to life
poem by Sharron Stephenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Song Of Exile
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air;
no bird here can sing as well
as the birds sing over there.
We have fields more full of flowers
and a starrier sky above,
we have woods more full of life
and a life more full of love.
Lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
my homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Such delights as my land offers
Are not found here nor elsewhere;
lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Don't allow me, God, to die
without getting back to where
I belong, without enjoying
the delights found only there,
without seeing all those palm-trees,
hearing thrush-songs fill the air.
poem by Antônio Gonçalves Dias
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Palm Of Your Hand
In the palm of your hand
you hold my heart.
Cradle it gently, my love
so it will never fall apart.
In the palm of your hand
you hold my love.
Carress it tenderly forever
and always place it above
everything that you touch.
Hold my hand
in the palm of your hand
so that I may always feel
that the sifting grains of sand
in the hourglass of time
will never be able to steal
these precious moments away.
Let them be able to stay
always in the palm of your hand.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Picaro
Picaro signed its breath across the lines
Ash earthen fallen hurdles into dust
A sigh sign blown into whirls of time
Read off the palm read off the palm
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
3. Singing Whales
Singing whales I hear your song
Deep down low where you belong
Tunes my mind cannot unravel
Many miles your songs will travel
Singing whales send out your sound
In the oceans where you’re found
Tons of blubber sifting krill
Hunting as you move at will
Singing whales all wet and shiny
Giant sounds heard by those tiny
Sounds that hold a hidden charm
To help all restless souls stay calm
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Subway Wind
Far down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut,
The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut,
Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door
To give their summer jackets to the breeze;
Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar
Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;
Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift
Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,
Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift
Lightly among the islands of the deep;
Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white
That lend their perfume to the tropic sea,
Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night,
And the Trades float above them fresh and free.
poem by Claude McKay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
water in the well
with my palm I skim the pail
to catch stars one by one—
when in the night you visit
I scatter them before you
tanka by Vasile Smărăndescu from Fire Pearls: Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart (2006), translated by Dana Dima
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
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
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
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
Vote! | Copy!
A Monologue To Sadness
you touch me and i shiver and i feel so shaken
i am like a building of light materials
bamboo-like, i feel that i am falling
to the ground, you're an earthquake
my clouds are heavy and i am about to rain.
i hold things on a grip, like bolt and screw, not giving
up, not letting go, you're sadness
and i am your favorite object, a pebble to your palm,
a flower to your hair,
a hand gripped by the hand of another,
'why do you always go with me? ' i am a nobody.
'i love you', you answer me.
I want to run away, i want to have the feet of a gazelle.
and you become the wind behind me.
I shed tears, i never expect to be weak, and then you give up on me.
' i miss you' i send you flying kisses.
' Hypocrite' she says. She packs up her clothes.
'Be happy! ' my last words.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Fated Sky
Dedicated to the aviators of two major wars.
They flew across a fated sky
in wings of wood.
Never knowing if
they would fly another day.
Their life expectancy
was not very great
as they winged away at dawn
to start another day.
It was not only other warbirds
they had to worry about,
but ground forces
as they shot at them from below.
However, they are remembered
as brave and courageous men.
Who dared a fated sky
in their wings of wood.
18 March 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!