Erie waters
A dash of yellow sand,
Wind-scattered and sun-tanned;
Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand;
And, creeping close to these
Long shores that lounge at ease,
Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou'-western breeze.
A sky of blue and grey;
Some stormy clouds that play
At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away,
Just leaving in their trail
Some snatches of a gale;
To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail.
O! wind so sweet and swift,
O! danger-freighted gift
Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift,
We laugh in your wild face,
And break into a race
With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Port Stanley
Lines composed on an excursion to port Stanley, 1883.
In winter time 'tis sad and dreary
For to gaze on stormy Erie,
But here in summer time this port
It is fashionable resort,
For then it is always cheery
For to gaze upon lake Erie.
Or on the steamer you can sail,
All independent of the gale.
Or here the youth can ply the oar
And view the fast receding shore,
And be happy with his dearie
On the bosom of lake Erie.
No one here need ever weary
On the borders of lake Erie,
With quadrille parties at Stanley
And games and sports all so manly,
Or bathe in waves with friends near thee,
You fear not storms of lake Erie.
poem by James McIntyre
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Ebb-Tide
NOW the vexed clouds, wind-driven, spread wings of white,
Long leaning wings across the sea and land.
The waves creep back bequeathing to our sight
The treasure-house of their deserted sand,
And where the nearer waves curl white and low,
Knee-deep in swirling brine the slow-foot shrimpers go.
Pale breadth of sand, where clamorous gulls confer,
Marked with broad arrows by their planted feet;
White rippled pools, where late deep waters were
And ever the white waves marshalled in retreat
And the grey wind in sole supremacy
O'er opal and amber cold of darkening sky and sea.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Song my Paddle Sings
West wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west
The sail is idle, the sailor too ;
O! wind of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow!
I have wooed you so,
But never a favour you bestow.
You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.
I stow the sail, unship the mast :
I wooed you long but my wooing's past ;
My paddle will lull you into rest.
O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep,
By your mountain steep,
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep!
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed ;
My paddle is plying its way ahead ;
Dip, dip,
While the water flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.
And oh, the river runs swifter now ;
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!
And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.
Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel.
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.
We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead!
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Fisher Child's Lullaby
THE wind is out in its rage to-night,
And your father is far at sea.
The rime on the window is hard and white
But dear, you are near to me.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The little boat rocks in the cove no more,
But the flying sea-gulls wail;
I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,
For sight of a home set sail.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
Ay, lad of mine, thy father may die
In the gale that rides the sea,
But we'll not believe it, not you and I,
Who mind us of Galilee.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Sea-Fever
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
poem by John Masefield (1916)
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Sunset On The Beach
Warm wind blows on my skin,
waves splash as I splash my fin.
Warm blue water of the ocean,
fish swim around me in motion.
I stare up at the setting sun,
clouds of yellow, pink, purple
wrapped into clouds swirling into one.
A lonely pelican flies by,
as more clouds cross the sky.
I see lovers walk through sand,
each holding each other hands.
Then waves become white with force,
I realize I’ve stayed my course,
leaving before rain starts to pour,
I say “goodbye sunset” as I transform and walk to shore.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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My Soul is Awakened
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë
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The Surfer
He thrust his joy against the weight of the sea;
climbed through, slid under those long banks of
foam--
(hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns in the face stinging).
How his brown strength drove through the hollow and coil
of green-through weirs of water!
Muscle of arm thrust down long muscle of water;
and swimming so, went out of sight
where mortal, masterful, frail, the gulls went wheeling
in air as he in water, with delight.
Turn home, the sun goes down; swimmer, turn home.
Last leaf of gold vanishes from the sea-curve.
Take the big roller’s shoulder, speed and serve;
come to the long beach home like a gull diving.
For on the sand the grey-wolf sea lies, snarling,
cold twilight wind splits the waves’ hair and shows
the bones they worry in their wolf-teeth. O, wind blows
and sea crouches on sand, fawning and mouthing;
drops there and snatches again, drops and again snatches
its broken toys, its whitened pebbles and shells.
poem by Judith Wright
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When
I dwell in the western inland,
Afar from the sounding sea,
But I seem to hear it sobbing
And calling aloud to me,
And my heart cries out for the ocean
As a child for its mother's breast,
And I long to lie on its waters
And be lulled in its arms to rest.
I can close my eyes and fancy
That I hear its mighty roar,
And I see its blue waves splashing
And plunging against the shore;
And the white foam caps the billow,
And the sea-gulls wheel and cry,
And the cool wild wind is blowing,
And the ships go sailing by.
Oh, wonderful, mighty ocean!
When shall I ever stand,
Where my heart has gone already,
There on thy gleaming strand!
When shall I ever wander
Away from the inland west,
And strand by thy side, dear ocean,
And rock on thy heaving breast?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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At The Ship’s Rail
The blue sea bends to the ship
Like a dancer with skirts of lace—
Wide diaphanous laces that curl and dip
In the ardent wind's embrace.
Little rainbows dash at the play
And die of joy in the sun;
While over and under, the long bright day,
The sparkling footsteps run.
Lovely, melodious
Is the sound of the dance on the sea.
Softly the white robes trail and toss
Over blue waves that flee.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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28 Wind Poems
Wind chimes play not on time... but when the Spirit moves.
The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent*
*
The wind weaves many white caps so quickly for the blue sea
*
Mother Wind moves the water rocker
to and fro on the stormy sound's deeps. On the boatcradle by lapping
waves she is softly lulled to sleep.
*
Will, your winded wings will win.
*
Clouds' whitewaterweave covered the sky.. and yet
everywhere there was a patch of blue.. it was a different
hue... here aqua.. there cerulean... or teal or indigo
*
The east wind blowing westward marries the falling rain
turning her attention elsewhere
*
Crosswinds quilt the Connecticut River ever so slightly
but stil the waters flow to the sea.
*
As gauzy veils lie on the shoulders of the slender, as avalanche
clouds pour through tall firs, as morning mist
rolls through ship masts, do monsoon clouds flow
over the peaks of the Himalayas
*
Froggie croaks on his rock dais encircled by dizzy daisies
throughout summer days. The wind makes them wave in applause.
*
The wind has blown away the cloud cover..
and he pond's reflection from grey to blue clover
*
Spirit Wind when talking with wind chimes
strikes not on the hour nor at the 'right' time
================================= ===
poem by Saiom Shriver
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By the Sea
In a hammock by the sea
As I lay there under a tree
The waves flow with tender ease
As the wind blows through the trees
Ocean waves a calming sound
So serene and tranquil it is found
An endless ocean it may seem
Where eyes meet the horizon, is like a dream
And along the horizon, clouds do part
As the artist sketches a perfect art
Deep blue water and the tides go by
The ships that sail and sea-gulls fly
The dolphins dance to the morning light
The flying fish just caught my sight
The divers dive to the coral reef
In search of pearls, they must keep
The mermaids dip and dance along
Under the moonlight, as they sing a song
The sight so pleasant to the eye
As they rock me to a lullaby.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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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
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On a stormy sea
When the waves of the sea
became bigger and the wind
started to blow at storm strength,
the boat didn’t sail anymore
and it rocked in the waves
bobbing up and down in the water.
The men were afraid of death
while the Christ
walked on the stormy sea between the waves,
scared to sink and afraid of drowning
and also of seeing a ghost
appearing on the water,
but His calm voice brought serenity
to the wind, waves, sea and men on the boat.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The storm that hangs threatening
From Margate beach
I see a ship sailing past,
with people that are
dots on it.
The summer sun is hot and high
but there’s a strong wind
that swishes over the sea
and waves that like white spectre horses,
curl and twist and rise foaming
and shattering
fall to death against rocks and the beach
On the horizon grey clouds hang ominous,
where a storm is rising
and the sky breaks the water.
I am caught up in a life
that is broken into pieces
and I wonder when
the storm is going to overwhelm me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Moody sky Sensitive sea
the moods of sky
the quirks of sea
The sky with its emotions
how the sensitive sea reflects?
The sky is all to itself
immersed in loneliness
so clear with thoughts
Blue without the blues
The sea is now blue
the silent waves rubbing the shores
watching the lonely sky
reaching out to it on the horizon
Soldiers of war, the dark black clouds
covering the blue sky
colouring the blue sea black
darkness rules!
The clouds so near, engulfing the sea
loud and stormy
ferocious waves
All in black, All in black!
poem by Sudarkodi Nagarethinam
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Still You
There's a stream through a glen
Where wild apples grow
It runs down to old cliffs
Where foxes and deer
Watch the wild waters foam
White upon winter shores
And I know it's still you
In the waves on the shore
In the stream through the glen
Still you in the moonlight
Where apple blossom glows
And sweet breezes still blow
On the braes by that stream
In cool morning dew
There's a world fresh and free
and still time to dream
of the old and the new
to remember what's true
And I know it's still you
In the waves on the shore
In the stream through the glen
Still you in the moonlight
Where apple blossom glows
And sweet breezes still blow
Now the stream calls me home
And in its wild song
There's a lost harmony
And here in this glen
By the moon's rise and fall
I know where I belong
And it's with you, still with you
By the waves on the shore
By the stream through the glen
With you in the moonlight
Where apple blossom glows
And sweet breezes still blow
where I'm with you, still with you
Clouds and Waves
Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-
"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
I ask, "But how am I to get up to you ?"
They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
The folk who live in the waves call out to me-
"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the everything-
how can I leave her and go?"
They smile, dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Little March Girl
Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart,
There she is passing, the girl of my heart;
See where she walks like a queen in the street,
Weather-defying, calm, placid and sweet.
Tripping along with impetuous grace,
Joy of her life beaming out of her face,
Tresses all truant-like, curl upon curl,
Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl.
Hint of the violet's delicate bloom,
Hint of the rose's pervading perfume!
How can the wind help from kissing her face,--
Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace?
But still serenely she laughs at his rout,
She is the victor who wins in the bout.
So may life's passions about her soul swirl,
Leaving it placid,--my little March girl.
What self-possession looks out of her eyes!
What are the wild winds, and what are the skies,
Frowning and glooming when, brimming with life,
Cometh the little maid ripe for the strife?
Ah! Wind, and bah! Wind, what might have you now?
What can you do with that innocent brow?
Blow, Wind, and grow, Wind, and eddy and swirl,
But bring her to me, Wind,--my little March girl.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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