Boats A Bobbing
I’m sitting on the jetty, feet dangling o’er the sea,
A view that’s so breathtaking, that it’s enveloped me.
The sunlight on the water, with facets shining bright.
I could sit forever absorbing this wondrous sight.
The little boats a bobbing out on the restless brine,
Their sails of rainbow colours are beautiful and fine.
Wind is gently blowing as they navigate to shore,
At one with the ocean, such adventuring in store.
I’m standing on the headland watching seagulls streak by,
There’s squawking and diving as they pulsate through the sky.
Always so hungry, forever searching for their meal,
No matter who’s food tempts them, they are ready to steal.
I’m resting on a boulder on the top of the cliffs.
Two rowing boats are proceeding I think they are skiffs.
Chasing to beat each other with their single man crew,
There is so much to observe, Ah! here comes a canoe.
A two-masted vessel, fore-and-aft rigged, a smart ketch
Sails into harbour seen above yellow broom and vetch.
Vibrant in its paintwork, she gives a scene oh so grand,
With all her keen crew, she is very expertly manned.
I’m on my way home now but it has been a great day.
The sea, sand and salty wind, with warm sun and cool spray.
My sleek hair is unkempt and my book I have not read,
As comings and goings kept me occupied instead.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Lake
The lake so grand, boats afloat
all sizes and shapes
pontoons, yachts, sails and fishing boat
people from all over and all ages
every wave so beautiful as the they stroll ashore
from white caps to rolling wave. the flow so endless
the boats flowing so gentling across the water
the fish swimming so free under the water
teasing the fishermen, steal the bait
the lake is the place to be on this fine day
God creation for all to enjoy
take the moment and view the lake
It so grand and so free
poem by Michael Peterson
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The Cliffs
They sing of the grandeur of cliffs inland,
But the cliffs of the ocean are truly grand;
And I long to wander and dream and doubt
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out and out.
To the northward far as the eye can reach
Are sandhill, boulder, and sandy beach;
But southward rises the track for me,
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out to sea.
Friends may be gone in the morning fair,
But the cliffs by the ocean are always there;
Lovers may leave when the wind is chill,
But the cliffs by the ocean are steadfast still.
They watch the sea and they ward the land,
And they warn the ships from the treacherous sand;
And I sadly think in the twilight hour
What I might have been had I known my power.
Where the smoke-cloud blurs and the white sails fill,
They point the ships to keep seaward still;
And I think—Ah, me!—and I think—Ah, me!
Of the wreck I’d saved had I kept to sea.
Oh! the cliffs are old and the cliffs are sad,
And they know me sane, while men deem me mad.
Oh! the cliffs are firm and the cliffs are strong,
And they know me right, while men deem me wrong.
And I sometimes think in the dawning gray,
I am old as they, I am old as they;
And I think, I think that in field and town
My spirit shall live till the cliffs come down.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Park Life
Situated in a city, where life is all race, race, race,
Hyde Park is a sea of calm, with a much slower pace.
Acres of parkland are shrouded in bright sunlight,
And it has to be said, it really is a wonderful sight.
A skater skilfully negotiates a long line of cones.
People sit texting and chatting on mobile phones.
A couple cool off in the waters of the Serpentine:
Oblivious to bystanders, their two bodies entwine.
Watching a grey squirrel, some folk stand and stare,
But for these cute creatures, some do not much care.
Upon the bandstand, students rehearse Shakespeare,
Adding a touch of culture to this lovely atmosphere.
At the ticket office, for the boats, there is a long queue:
The rowing boats and pedalos, folk are all dying to use.
A large flock of seagulls, so very skilful in their flight,
Are eager for food, and, over it, they very viciously fight.
Packs of pigeons peck around occupied wooden seats,
Hoping they will be thrown the odd tasty titbit to eat.
On the lake, six baby cygnets are bobbing about:
Nearby, their proud mother keeps a wary lookout.
People sit beneath the tall trees, glad of the shade,
Tucking into sandwiches, which they have made.
At the water's edge, people sit soaking their feet;
Drawn by the water's cooling effect in this heat.
Some folk like to sit alone under the tall trees to read;
They sit upon a soft carpet of grass, blossom and seed.
Hyde Park is a haven, where you can leave the city behind;
In this space, comfort for your soul you, very soon, will find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Deserted Island
This island is deserted
It is very hot
like the desert
with tons of sand
only theres trees
the trees sway in the breeze
like a cool wind blowing through the village
the water matches the sky here
It's clear blue
you can see everything right down to the sand
under the forever going ocean
there's coral and bright colored fish
it's as warm as
the hot sand under my feet and the summer sun
the isolation is unbelievable
it is unspeakable
the only movement is of the ocean and the trees
there is only me
this island is deserted
poem by Kristen Otto
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The Salty Sea
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
And if it were up to me,
I would stay there night and day,
While felling it's soft, sweet spray.
I would sit on the salty sea shore,
Watching the seagulls dip and soar.
I would sit on the sand, soft and white,
And stay 'till the sun was out of sight.
When the sea tide is low,
I will stay while it tickles my toes.
When the sea tide is high,
I will not bid it good-bye.
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
I wish it belonged just to me.
If I could hold my breathe forever,
I would never move, never!
So, on the sand I would lay,
And wait for the tide to take me away...
Oh, how I love the sea!
poem by Layla Stone
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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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A walk along the beach...
The sight of sunlight glinting on the water dazzling,
The sound of waves advancing softly on the sand,
The feeling of the suns warming kiss on my skin,
The cool dampness of the sand between my toes,
The gentle breeze moving through my hair,
Slipping across the water a yacht gliding silently,
The breeze filled sails carrying her to deeper waters,
Above me seagulls swirl singing their daily song,
Before diving down into the sea to snatch a fish,
The gentle breeze and warming sun feeding my soul,
The captivating pleasures of sight and sound so delightful,
I breathe in the wonderful scent of salt water that fills the air,
The intoxicating aroma of wildflowers thick along the cliffs,
A feeling of contentment fills every corner of my being,
As I walk along the beach I realise... Life is beauty...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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The Fisher's Widow
The boats go out and the boats come in
Under the wintry sky;
And the rain and foam are white in the wind,
And the white gulls cry.
She sees the sea when the wind is wild
Swept by a windy rain;
And her heart's a-weary of sea and land
As the long days wane.
She sees the torn sails fly in the foam,
Broad on the sky-line gray;
And the boats go out and the boats come in,
But there's one away.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Fully Rigged
Tall Ships that sail the ocean blue,
And ride the waves through calm and storm,
Are fully rigged, with a gallant crew,
Who have their duties to perform.
For starting on the upper decks,
They scrub the planks and coil the ropes,
And do a hundred vital checks,
With sextant, compass, and some telescopes.
With careful ease, they travel on,
And when they turn, veer to the west,
The Captain steers through every swell,
Though pitched and tossed o'er every crest.
So fine and gracious are these crafts,
Built with such care and made to last,
They're caressed by a gentle wind that wafts,
And their grace is something unsurpassed.
What a wondrous sight, these ships so tall,
With all their sails shown in full array,
And watching them all, they so enthral,
That their beauty takes my breath away.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Leaving Langside
Waves are dancing in the harbour,
spray is cool against my face;
life has worn away the armour
that once kept your mem’ry chained.
Cross the channel lights are flashing
through the night for sailors’ eyes;
seems I’ve sailed too many miles now
waiting for the sun to rise
We last met down here in sunlight
in the Mount Stewart public bar.
You were standing by the window
and the sun was o’er Belfast.
We’d lost love we thought was lasting
but could only say hello;
so we’d reached the final parting.
I knew as I watched you go.
Like some creature of the seasons,
these gales drive me here for you.
I’ve lost count of all the reasons;
now Langside seems empty too.
Seagulls ride the wind above me;
they can’t leave this foaming shore,
but I’m leaving here forever,
never leaving your front door.
Chorus
And these cliffs all know when winter’s due
bringing gales and tales of you
to this little town on Scotland’s shore
where you and I loved long ago.
Through My Sails
Still glaring from the city lights
Into paradise I soared
Unable to come down
For reasons Id ignored.
Total confusion,
Disillusion
New things Im knowin.
Im standing on the shoreline
Its so fine out there
Leaving with the wind blowing
But love takes care.
Know me, know me
Show me, show me
New things Im knowin.
Wind blowing through my sails
It feels like Im gone
Leaving with the wind blowing
Through my sails.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Of Dead Ships
A light from heaven flickers gently on the waves.
As a boat rocks merrily, above a sea of dead men’s graves.
Colours of the rainbows, spread fingers from the shore.
The sea is filled with beauty; it is also filled with lore.
Waves of blue, waves of green cause white waters on a rocky shore.
While the warming sun’s silvery gleam, heals any wanton sore.
Fishing boats, sails afloat, challenge the sparkling foam.
While everyman with heart lured by the sea, tries desperately not to roam.
The sea is my mistress, the sea is my light.
On a cold day’s darkness, the moon must guide me by night.
A sea full of temptation, a sea full of woe.
I set my sails a flight, to meet my friend or foe.
Dark storm clouds gather overhead, waves pound at my wooden boat.
I feel the cold salty shower, fighting wind and tide to keep afloat.
Rigging is now tangled, mast breaks leaving gnarled stump.
Oh, I curse you west wind and my broken water pump.
Water bailed with bucket, from never ending stream.
Oh, I curse the rudder, as it breaks from helm fast and clean.
I curse you mean sea, now I am cast a drift.
On my knees, I pray to heaven, for the wind to dropp and shift.
Days with no food and water, lie ahead of me.
I drift with tide and current, towards the Sargasso Sea.
A sea of weed entangled, around the entrails of dead ships.
Ships of great endurance, asleep on a green desert sit.
Brigand with barnacles galore lay wind beaten on its side.
I wonder what gauntlet, you oh dead ship did ride.
With guns blazing, from aft to fore.
Below your decks, what treasures do you store?
Ships of all shapes and sizes, the Sargasso has you trapped.
The sea of endless weed, never seen, nor ever mapped.
Into your great maw, I drift, helpless without wind.
Is this where I meet my maker?
For all that, I have sinned.
This is no stockade of refuge, no place I want to be.
In a boat without a sail, trapped in the Sargasso Sea.
Oh, let me steal from your great ships.
Wood to repair my sail, then please release me, from this land of bleached bones and windy wail.
Sea of a million raptures, that contains this floating hell.
Please, oh, please release me, from a place to which I fell.
I plead to you ole west wind, blow your saintly scorn.
Free me from this entangled weed, guide me to safe waters warm
Sky of a thousand clouds, darken as the night.
The scorn of the west wind has set my sails a flight.
My boat begins to rock, the bow dips and hails.
The west wind has answered my pleas, blown wind into my sails.
Boat held fast, by weeds tight grip.
I curse you Sargasso Sea, release my now strong boat.
Salty shower pelts my face, as from the weed my boat breaks free, from the Sargasso’s grip and dead ships of the sea.
Trade winds and currents strong, lead me from this sea of dead ships, to a refuge from the storm.
Lead me to still waters grip, so I may chart a way, back to my homeland.
That I may sail your sea, safely for another day.
Lead me back to my loved one, who keeps the fire warm.
So she will not climb widow’s wharf, or reap the widow’s mourn.
Lead me with your warm wind, each step along the way.
Lead me to her arms beckoning and warm, from which I promise I will not stray.
As for you sea of dead ships, you sail with legend and lore.
No more shall I sail with you, or break waters at your shore.
Once you had me firm within your grip, but I broke free of you,
and your sea of dead ships.
Thanks to the west wind that blew.
4 July 1978
poem by David Harris
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Torquay
The tide is now far out of reach, of the beach,
And so there are miles of sand, a sight so grand,
A lighthouse takes a stand, long time unmanned,
While seagulls veer and fly inland, up the strand.
Boats are following the tide, and smoothly glide,
And salty winds beat the distant waves, to the caves.
And I sit here on weathered rocks, without my socks,
Looking out across the sea, in a warm Torquay.
Along the curving promenade, the Med's displayed,
With luscious palms of green, which set the scene.
And rising up behind the bay, a strange jumbled array,
Of holiday apartments, most are let, with a kitchenette.
Here with their lists of guarantees, row's of neat, clean B & B's
Are waiting for rooms to be vacated, ready for those awaited,
With no fixed times for meals, for that is what appeals
To the weekly and fortnightly partakers, and early wakers.
And here I am dangling my toes, and writing some prose.
A better life than this, could not exist, it is sheer bliss.
But with the tide just on the turn, I think I'll now adjourn,
To tea and mouth-watering cakes, which Grandma makes.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Healing Wind
In this healing wind
all our scars of the
past are blown away,
torn away and scattered
around the earth,
and all our demons are
lifted and carried off
in the vortex of
the wind funnel
till there is nothing
left but these rocks
and the ocean,
and our hearts feel
at peace once more,
as our eyes
scan the distant horizon,
where the ocean
meets the night sky,
where the moon
hangs low, casting
its tremulous glow
upon the water.
In this healing wind
all our thoughts
are scattered in the
silent multitude of stars
that shine upon us
like new blossoms…
yes, I know we've been
through a lot
all these years,
and the loneliness
and the pain
seemed unbearable
at times,
but you don't have
to say a thing to me
right now,
because the healing wind
turned it all around,
gave us new hope
and new purpose
and new sails-
and breathing in
this cool night air,
we feel renewed
and alive again,
as we return
to what we always
knew as our home,
resting upon these
rocks, as the ocean
waves gently baptize
our feet.
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Watching the boats
as the wind changes course,
sails smoothly adjust...
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
At Hout Bay the fishing trawler sails out
while the rain pours down
like water out of God’s hosepipe
with engines roaring in the ears
and clouds of smoke hang over the boats
with every fisherman for a moment being caught
in a own world while fog whirl about the boats
that rocks up and down to the harbour mouth.
The waves crash, the sea foams and bubbles
and “my girlfriend has a good lover, ”
is sung by one while the trawler sets its course
on the look out for barracouta, cod and sea trout.
“Look at the shining bodies, tons of trout, they are running free, ”
a fisherman shouts against the wind that pulls and pulls on the boat.
“Salmon man, salmon” roars the tiller man back and walls of water
roll past and the boat turns to get fishing gear ready.
“My girlfriend has a good lover and he’s a gelded goat, ”
the tune goes on and something clatters down
drawing the attention of the fishermen and the water shines
and when the boat is full they tell jokes that they guffaw at.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Faceless Portrait
Never-ending paths seemed to be ending
At yet there was no indication
Of a destination, a fruitful conclusion.
Realizing this he said
Come, Let's try to locate
Our lines of fate on the wind's palms!
And then azure waters
Frozen still from the dawn of time
Reverberated into expanding circles on the surface.
When the yellowed desert-like womb of time
Saw the birth of the sprouting
Shoots of woe
He was busy
Watching from the sea shore
Sails of boats.
The burning sand on the rims of his eyes
Had become wet.
And then it happened
Sitting on the other side of the wall of ennui
He was caught savouring
The taste of wind.
From that day onwards
Hiding their faces in wraps of sorrows
People figure out the lines of his face
From a distance.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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A life on the ocean wave
A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest's roar!
Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; -
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We'll find far out on the sea.
The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!
poem by Epes Sargent
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Meals that I remember
At Camps bay the wind is blowing
and the waves leap and thrust
against the jetty,
where my eyes
roam over the big boats.
There’s a restaurant
that fries snook on the coals
and serve it with lemon slices.
My mouth still waters
when I think of Henk and Frikkie
each preparing a pot on the grill
and the aroma that makes
everyone much more hungry.
When I was ill on my birthday
and I and Lood fried stake and sausage
and I later ate it at work,
I knew how nice the food
from a braai really is.
Every meal that you prepare so deliciously,
surprises me with the things that you add
and I am like a king
when you are with me.
[Reference: Braai =>a Barbecue done in the South African way. Pot=>potjiekos. Something like a pot roasted stew. It’s prepared in a pot on a wood fire.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Towards the Sea
Warm sea salt and ocean's brine
Lifts dull spirits that contently reside
In the souls of broken pride
Rocking boats and clean white sails
Follow night's star's golden glares
To a place far, far away
Where grown youth can come to play
In one's faithful, soulful journey-
Now on the sea, there is no more yearning
We ourselves, mix into our own reality
As lone, but grateful submarines
Sinking low and diving deeper
Into a sea of equal dreamers
Towards the sea and ocean's way
Where there is no law to say
That this is what we do today
That this is what we have to face
In this sea of possibilities
Where the mind and body travel lightly
We all wait for tomorrow's wake
And towards the sea, we come to make
Future promises that we will lay
Down in stone and above the waves
And into what the sea cannot take
A simple life bound to it's way
poem by Taylor Coleman
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