The Ship-Builders
THE sky is ruddy in the east,
The earth is gray below,
And, spectral in the river-mist,
The ship's white timbers show.
Then let the sounds of measured stroke
And grating saw begin;
The broad-axe to the gnarlëd oak,
The mallet to the pin!
Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast,
The sooty smithy jars,
And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,
Are fading with the stars.
All day for us the smith shall stand
Beside that flashing forge;
All day for us his heavy hand
The groaning anvil scourge.
From far-off hills, the panting team
For us is toiling near;
For us the raftsmen down the stream
Their island barges steer.
Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke
In forests old and still;
For us the century-circled oak
Falls crashing down his hill.
Up! up! in nobler toil than ours
No craftsmen bear a part:
We make of Nature's giant powers
The slaves of human Art.
Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,
And drive the treenails free;
Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam
Shall tempt the searching sea!
Where'er the keel of our good ship
The sea's rough field shall plough;
Where'er her tossing spars shall drip
With salt-spray caught below;
That ship must heed her master's beck,
Her helm obey his hand,
And seamen tread her reeling deck
As if they trod the land.
Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak
Of Northern ice may peel;
The sunken rock and coral peak
May grate along her keel;
And know we well the painted shell
We give to wind and wave,
Must float, the sailor's citadel,
Or sink, the sailor's grave!
Ho! strike away the bars and blocks,
And set the good ship free!
Why lingers on these dusty rocks
The young bride of the sea?
Look! how she moves adown the grooves,
In graceful beauty now!
How lowly on the breast she loves
Sinks down her virgin prow!
God bless-her! wheresoe'er the breeze
Her snowy wing shall fan,
Aside the frozen Hebrides,
Or sultry Hindostan!
Where'er, in mart or on the main,
With peaceful flag unfurled,
She helps to wind the silken chain
Of commerce round the world!
Speed on the ship! But let her bear
No merchandise of sin,
No groaning cargo of despair
Her roomy hold within;
No Lethean drug for Eastern lands,
For poison-draught for ours;
But honest fruits of toiling hands
And Nature's sun and showers.
Be hers the Prairie's golden grain,
The Desert's golden sand,
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,
The spice of Morning-land!
Her pathway on the open main
May blessings follow free,
And glad hearts welcome back again
Her white sails from the sea!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Where Lies the Land to Which the Ship Would Go?
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face,
Link'd arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace;
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we go.
On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave,
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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Where Lies the Land to Which Yon Ship Must Go?
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face,
Link'd arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace;
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we go.
On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave,
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.
Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough from Mari Magno or Tales on Board
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Homeland Africa
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Down the ocean a ship comes sailing through the waves
Filled with hundreds of men they take as slaves
Just long for their true homeland africa
And to be saved they want to be free
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
They are tired of waiting for a brand new day
Some of them sing and chant some of them pray
And some men got a little tired too
No one knows if the journey pay
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead Ship Of Harpswell
What flecks the outer gray beyond
The sundown's golden trail?
The white flash of a sea-bird's wing,
Or gleam of slanting sail?
Let young eyes watch from Neck and Point,
And sea-worn elders pray,--
The ghost of what was once a ship
Is sailing up the bay.
From gray sea-fog, from icy drift,
From peril and from pain,
The home-bound fisher greets thy lights,
O hundred-harbored Maine!
But many a keel shall seaward turn,
And many a sail outstand,
When, tall and white, the Dead Ship looms
Against the dusk of land.
She rounds the headland's bristling pines;
She threads the isle-set bay;
No spur of breeze can speed her on,
Nor ebb of tide delay.
Old men still walk the Isle of Orr
Who tell her date and name,
Old shipwrights sit in Freeport yards
Who hewed her oaken frame.
What weary doom of baffled quest,
Thou sad sea-ghost, is thine?
What makes thee in the haunts of home
A wonder and a sign?
No foot is on thy silent deck,
Upon thy helm no hand;
No ripple hath the soundless wind
That smites thee from the land!
For never comes the ship to port,
Howe'er the breeze may be;
Just when she nears the waiting shore
She drifts again to sea.
No tack of sail, nor turn of helm,
Nor sheer of veering side;
Stern-fore she drives to sea and night,
Against the wind and tide.
In vain o'er Harpswell Neck the star
Of evening guides her in;
In vain for her the lamps are lit
Within thy tower, Seguin!
In vain the harbor-boat shall hail,
In vain the pilot call;
No hand shall reef her spectral sail,
Or let her anchor fall.
Shake, brown old wives, with dreary joy,
Your gray-head hints of ill;
And, over sick-beds whispering low,
Your prophecies fulfil.
Some home amid yon birchen trees
Shall drape its door with woe;
And slowly where the Dead Ship sails,
The burial boat shall row!
From Wolf Neck and from Flying Point,
From island and from main,
From sheltered cove and tided creek,
Shall glide the funeral train.
The dead-boat with the bearers four,
The mourners at her stern,--
And one shall go the silent way
Who shall no more return!
And men shall sigh, and women weep,
Whose dear ones pale and pine,
And sadly over sunset seas
Await the ghostly sign.
They know not that its sails are filled
By pity's tender breath,
Nor see the Angel at the helm
Who steers the Ship of Death!
. . . . .
'Chill as a down-east breeze should be,'
The Book-man said. 'A ghostly touch
The legend has. I'm glad to see
Your flying Yankee beat the Dutch.'
'Well, here is something of the sort
Which one midsummer day I caught
In Narragansett Bay, for lack of fish.'
'We wait,' the Traveller said;
'serve hot or cold your dish.'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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When My Ship Comes In
No sun on the rockies, not even the light of day
I feel that old cabin fever coming on
But I know where Ill be when lady luck finally blows my way
Shell put the wind in my sails and Ill be gone
It wont be long before my ship comes in
Gonna sail right out of colorado
Catch a ride on a warm trade wind to puerta no-one-knows
Shell find me waiting when my ship comes in
Gonna board and go whichever way the wind blows
Ill be off to find myself once again in puerta no-one-knows
When my ship comes in
Maybe Im only dreaming but it sure seems real
Somehow the wind doesnt chill quite to the bone
Or could it just be the fever Im running on an uneven keel
Not losing sight of why Im up here alone
Chorus
It wont be long before my ship comes in
Shell find me waiting when my ship comes in
It wont be long before my ship comes in
Shell find me waiting when my ship comes in
When my ship comes in
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the Great Gray Ships Come In
To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o’er mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free,
And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry, each to each, “’Tis the Mother who calls! Be still!”
Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home!
And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest;
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is “Peace! Thank God for peace.”
Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go,—
How, when the stirring summons smote on her children’s ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, “Here!”
For the soul of the soldier’s story and the heart of the sailor’s song
Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country’s God!
Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship to the harbor’s lip and sink her across the strait:—
But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the haven’s gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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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Aboard At A Ship's Helm
ABOARD, at a ship's helm,
A young steersman, steering with care.
A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,
An ocean-bell--O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-reefs ringing,
Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place.
For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's admonition,
The bows turn,--the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her
gray sails,
The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds
away gaily and safe.
But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship! 10
O ship of the body--ship of the soul--voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Sargasso Sea
I stand on the deck of my ship
stranded in uncharted seas
wondering where the west wind
will be carrying me.
Will it be to some treasure island,
but from the dark clouds forming
will it be to some distant doom,
or will be to the Sargasso Sea.
The sea of weed unmapped
where many good ships and men
from have failed to homeward sail.
The wind is bellowing my sails
as my wooden ship begins to creak.
Oh how I long for sight of land
and a way back home.
Each wave smacks again the hull
with a dragon’s roar.
My ship reels roughly in the waters
as lightning crackles above my head.
The sky is now as black as pitch
and the wind whips spray into my face.
The dark clouds of torment drive my ship and me.
Will be to a watery grave or still waters calm.
Only the ticking hours of time will reveal when it is right.
Now I must ride with the storm
and wherever it is taking me.
I can only pray to my lord for help
to deliver me from that dreaded Sargasso Sea.
I fear no foreign lands only a sea unknown to me.
The storm of torment bellows,
restlessly through day and night,
but I am not a sailor to give up without a fight.
I curse the wind to leave my ship and me alone.
It ignores my curses and carries me further on.
Even the moon and stars are afraid to show their light,
but I stand firm upon my deck
to see the sunlight in the morn.
I curse some more
as the west wind hammers at an open cabin door.
Slowly the lightening fades
and the dark clouds dissipate overhead.
The west wind runs out of breath
as the sun glitters on the waters
that wander over watery graves.
The sea becomes placid
no more raging foam,
a gentle breeze arises
so I can chart my way home.
27 July 2009
Author’s Note.
The Sargasso Sea is one of the great myths and legends of the sea. Ancient mariners used to talk about it entangling around ships so that they could not move and remained stranded there. Countless stories and poems have been written about it, each embellishing it more. I, myself written two poems about it, the first being Sea Of Dead Ships.
The truth is that Sargasso is Gulf Weed, is a brown seaweed that forms thick floating masses in the tropical Atlantic waters.
DVH
poem by David Harris
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The Flying Dutchman
The blue water stretches
as far as visibility allows to see
and there’s fog
rising white before the storm
out of the water.
The dusk becomes grey
and the sea from blue to dark black
while the night
darker than ink, as only companion
folds over the old ancient ship.
It’s Van der Decken standing as tiller man
behind the big wheel
and forever he steers the ship
on the journey that she goes.
Always cursing
his loud voice thunders
like lightning falling around him
for sailors to tend the sails right
and sails are hoisted crunching, groaning and trembling
with strong ropes
and the ship jumps
over the smashing waves.
Like a phantom
the Flying Dutchman appears
with white sails like a wraith
over the horizon
where it sails before a storm with speed.
The ship becomes lager
as the storm wind
brings her closer
and you hear her creak
against the power of the wind.
There’s thunder bolts blinding suddenly
and sea birds flies screeching
out in front of her,
while Van der Decken’s skeleton
drills his men powerless
to set the sails right
that is vibrating against the wind.
“How long still Lord, ”
echoes against the sea and sky,
without a answer
ever coming
and suddenly the ship is gone
as if it disappeared in the naught.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Voyage Of The Good Ship Union
1862
'T is midnight: through my troubled dream
Loud wails the tempest's cry;
Before the gale, with tattered sail,
A ship goes plunging by.
What name? Where bound?--The rocks around
Repeat the loud halloo.
--The good ship Union, Southward bound:
God help her and her crew!
And is the old flag flying still
That o'er your fathers flew,
With bands of white and rosy light,
And field of starry blue?
--Ay! look aloft! its folds full oft
Have braved the roaring blast,
And still shall fly when from the sky
This black typhoon has past!
Speak, pilot of the storm-tost bark!
May I thy peril share?
--O landsman, there are fearful seas
The brave alone may dare!
--Nay, ruler of the rebel deep,
What matters wind or wave?
The rocks that wreck your reeling deck
Will leave me naught to save!
O landsman, art thou false or true?
What sign hast thou to show?
--The crimson stains from loyal veins
That hold my heart-blood's flow
--Enough! what more shall honor claim?
I know the sacred sign;
Above thy head our flag shall spread,
Our ocean path be thine!
The bark sails on; the Pilgrim's Cape
Lies low along her lee,
Whose headland crooks its anchor-flukes
To lock the shore and sea.
No treason here! it cost too dear
To win this barren realm
And true and free the hands must be
That hold the whaler's helm!
Still on! Manhattan's narrowing bay
No rebel cruiser scars;
Her waters feel no pirate's keel
That flaunts the fallen stars!
--But watch the light on yonder height,--
Ay, pilot, have a care!
Some lingering cloud in mist may shroud
The capes of Delaware!
Say, pilot, what this fort may be,
Whose sentinels look down
From moated walls that show the sea
Their deep embrasures' frown?
The Rebel host claims all the coast,
But these are friends, we know,
Whose footprints spoil the 'sacred soil,'
And this is?--Fort Monroe!
The breakers roar,--how bears the shore?
--The traitorous wreckers' hands
Have quenched the blaze that poured its rays
Along the Hatteras sands.
--Ha! say not so! I see its glow!
Again the shoals display
The beacon light that shines by night,
The Union Stars by day!
The good ship flies to milder skies,
The wave more gently flows,
The softening breeze wafts o'er the seas
The breath of Beaufort's rose.
What fold is this the sweet winds kiss,
Fair-striped and many-starred,
Whose shadow palls these orphaned walls,
The twins of Beauregard?
What! heard you not Port Royal's doom?
How the black war-ships came
And turned the Beaufort roses' bloom
To redder wreaths of flame?
How from Rebellion's broken reed
We saw his emblem fall,
As soon his cursed poison-weed
Shall drop from Sumter's wall?
On! on! Pulaski's iron hail
Falls harmless on Tybee!
The good ship feels the freshening gales,
She strikes the open sea;
She rounds the point, she threads the keys
That guard the Land of Flowers,
And rides at last where firm and fast
Her own Gibraltar towers!
The good ship Union's voyage is o'er,
At anchor safe she swings,
And loud and clear with cheer on cheer
Her joyous welcome rings:
Hurrah! Hurrah! it shakes the wave,
It thunders on the shore,--
One flag, one land, one heart, one hand,
One Nation, evermore!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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When The Ship Comes In
(dylan)
Oh the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be a breezin
Like the stillness in the wind
For the hurricane begins
The hour when the ship comes in
Oh the seas will split
And the ship will hit
And the shoreline sands will be shaken
Then the tide will sound and the wind will pound
And the morning will be breakin
Oh the fishes will laugh
As they swim out of the path
And the seagulls theyll be smilin
And the rocks on the sand
Will proudly stand
The hour that the ship comes in
And the words they use
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they are spoken
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And be buried at the bottom of the ocean
Verse 2
A song will lift as the main sail shifts
And the boat drifts onto the shoreline
And the sun will respect every face on the deck
The hour when the ship comes in
Then the sands will roll out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a touchin
And the ships wise men will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Flag
I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
Or tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were but
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I know I left too much mess
And destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "It's over"
Then I'm sure that that makes sense
But I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
all that was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Coarse Morning
OH the yellow boisterous sea,
The surging, chafing, murderous sea!
And the wind-gusts hurtle the torn clouds by,
On to the south through a shuddering sky,
And the bare black ships scud aloof from the land.
'Tis as like the day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
The ship that was blown on the sunken sand—
And he coming back to me!
Oh the great white snake of foam,
The coiling, writhing, snake of white foam,
Hissing and huddering out in the bay,
Over the banks where the wrecked ship lay,
Over the sands where the dead may lie deep!
There are some in the churchyard loam,
Some two or three the sea flung to our keep:
Their mothers can sit by a grave to weep,
But my son never came home.
Never, never, living or dead—
Oh, never, Willie, living or dead,
Could you keep your word and come back to me!
Oh, my darling! As like this day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
When the ship came rounding the head,
Close to the haven and close to the sand.—
And their graves are long green that were tossed to land.
Ah, 'Sure to come back,' he said!
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Said The Wind
'Come with me,' said the Wind
To the ship within the dock
'Or dost thou fear the shock
Of the ocean-hidden rock,
When tempests strike thee full and leave thee blind;
And low the inky clouds,
Blackly tangle in thy shrouds;
And ev'ry strained cord
Finds a voice and shrills a word,
That word of doom so thunderously upflung
From the tongue
Of every forked wave,
Lamenting o'er a grave
Deep hidden at its base,
Where the dead whom it has slain
Lie in the strict embrace
Of secret weird tendrils; but the pain
Of the ocean's strong remorse
Doth fiercely force
The tale of murder from its bosom out
In a mighty tempest clangour, and its shout
In the threat'ning and lamenting of its swell
Is as the voice of Hell,
Yet all the word it saith
Is 'Death.''
'Come with me,' sang the Wind,
'Why art thou, love, unkind?
Thou are too fair, O ship,
To kiss the slimy lip
Of the cold and dismal shore; and, prithee, mark,
How chill and dark
Shew the vast and rusty linkings of the chain,
Hoarse grating as with pain,
Which moors thee
And secures thee
From the transports of the soft wind and the main.
Aye! strain thou and pull,
Thy sails are dull
And dim from long close furling on thy spars,
But come thou forth with me,
And full and free,
I'll kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, till they be
White as the Arctic stars,
Or as the salt-white pinions of the gulf!'
'Come with me,' sang the Wind,
'O ship belov'd, and find
How golden-gloss'd and blue
Is the sea.
How thrush-sweet is my voice; how dearly true
I'll keep my nuptial promises to thee.
O mine to guide thy sails
By the kisses of my mouth;
Soft as blow the gales,
On the roses in the south.
O mine to guide thee far
From ruddy coral bar,
From horizon to horizon thou shalt glimmer like a star;
Thou shalt lean upon my breast,
And I shall rest,
And murmur in thy sails,
Such fond tales,
That thy finest cords
Will, syren-like, chant back my mellow words
With such renew'd enchantment unto me
That I shall be,
By my own singing, closer bound to thee!'
'Come with me,' sang the Wind,
'Thou knowest, love, my mind,
No more I'll try to woo thee,
Persuade thee or pursue thee,
For thou art mine;
Since first thy mast, a tall and stately pine
Beneath Norwegian skies,
Sang to my sighs.
Thou, thou wert built for me,
Strong lily of the sea!
Thou cans't not choose,
The calling of my low voice to refuse;
And if Death
Were the sole, sad, wailing burthen of my breath,
Thy timbers at my call,
Would shudder in their thrall,
Thy sails outburst to touch my stormy lip;
Like a giant quick in a grave,
Thy anchor heave,
And close upon my thunder-pulsing breast, O ship,
Thou would'st tremble, nor repine,
That being mine,
Thy spars,
Like long pale lights of falling stars,
Plunged in the Stygian blackness of the sea,
And to billowy ruin cast
Thy tall and taper mast,
Rushed shrieking headlong down to an abyss.
O ship! O love! if Death
Were such sure portion, thou could'st not refuse
But thou would'st choose
As mine to die, and call such choosing bliss;
For thou for me
Wert plann'd from all eternity!'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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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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Jonah
We sail into a calm sea
and are far away from land
when that heavy storm unleashes
with its fury,
but below in the hold I am sleeping
and when I wake
I hear men running up and down
and then one bows over me
with a bright oil lamp in his hands
and the ship jerks with every wave
that slaps against it and others breaking over it
and a hand is stretched out to me
and I am pulled to my feet.
On deck I see thunderbolts
falling everywhere around us and the wind
howls as if it’s mad
and the tiller man shouts pray man pray
and maybe your god will hear you
as we have already prayed and pleaded
and this ship will just now
break under us, into pieces
and the ship creaks, shudders
and tumbles up and down
when the captain asks for a dice
and the lot falls on me
and with the howling wind
and lightings resounding
and the sea that foams wildly
I am thrown into the water
and while I sink and think that now
I am going to drown, I pray and beg for help
and a big fish swallows me,
a really big thing
and then I think that now I am in real jeopardy,
then God takes his decision
and it chucks me out
at Nineveh
I see the light.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tom Deadlight
Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,--
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,
For I've received orders for to sail for the
Deadman,
But hope with the grand fleet to see you
again.
I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail
aback, boys;
I have hove my ship to, for the strike
soundings clear--
The black scud a'flying; but, by God's blessing,
dam' me,
Right up the Channel for the Deadman I'll
steer.
I have worried through the waters that are
called the Doldrums,
And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye
grope--
Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the
mist, lads:--
_Flying Dutchman_--odds bobbs--off the
Cape of Good Hope!
But what's this I feel that is fanning my cheek,
Matt?
The white goney's wing?--how she rolls!--
't is the Cape!--
Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is
mine, none;
And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape.
Dead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won't do to go by;
But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky
t' other night.
Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the
Deadman;
And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon
near right.
The signal!--it streams for the grand fleet to
anchor.
The captains--the trumpets--the hullabaloo!
Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your
shank-painters,
For the Lord High Admiral, he's squinting
at you!
But give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over;
Jock, let's have your flipper, it's good for to
feel;
And don't sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth,
boys,
And don't blubber like lubbers when I turn
up my keel.
poem by Herman Melville
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Ship Of Fools
Went to see the captain, strangest I could find,
Laid my proposition down, laid it on the line.
I wont slave for beggars pay, likewise gold and jewels,
But I would slave to learn the way to sink your ship of fools.
Ship of fools on a cruel sea, ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.
Saw your first ship sink and drown, from rockin of the boat,
And all that could not sink or swim was just left there to float.
I wont leave you drifting down, but woh it makes me wild,
With thirty years upon my head to have you call me child.
Ship of fools on a cruel sea, ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.
The bottles stand as empty, as they were filled before.
Time there was and plenty, but from that cup no more.
Though I could not caution all, I still might warn a few:
Dont lend your hand to raise no flag atop no ship of fools.
Ship of fools on a cruel sea, ship of fools sail away from me.
It was later than I thought, when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.
It was later than I thought when I first believed you,
Now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Cruiser
HERE 's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.
Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!
Comes a vessel out of the dock
Fresh and spry as a fighting-cock,
Feathered with sails and spurred with steam,
Heading out of the classic stream.
Crew of a hundred all aboard,
Every man as fine as a lord.
Gay they look and proud they feel,
Bowling along on even keel.
On they float with wind and tide,--
Gain at last the old ship's side;
Every man looks down in turn,--
Reads the name that's on her stern.
'Twenty-nine!--Diable you say!
That was in Skipper Kirkland's day!
What was the Flying Dutchman's name?
This old rover must be the same.
'Ho! you Boatswain that walks the deck,
How does it happen you're not a wreck?
One and another have come to grief,
How have you dodged by rock and reef?'
Boatswain, lifting one knowing lid,
Hitches his breeches and shifts his quid
'Hey? What is it? Who 's come to grief
Louder, young swab, I 'm a little deaf.'
'I say, old fellow, what keeps your boat
With all you jolly old boys afloat,
When scores of vessels as good as she
Have swallowed the salt of the bitter sea?
'Many a crew from many a craft
Goes drifting by on a broken raft
Pieced from a vessel that clove the brine
Taller and prouder than 'Twenty-nine.
'Some capsized in an angry breeze,
Some were lost in the narrow seas,
Some on snags and some on sands
Struck and perished and lost their hands.
'Tell us young ones, you gray old man,
What is your secret, if you can.
We have a ship as good as you,
Show us how to keep our crew.'
So in his ear the youngster cries;
Then the gray Boatswain straight replies:--
'All your crew be sure you know,--
Never let one of your shipmates go.
'If he leaves you, change your tack,
Follow him close and fetch him back;
When you've hauled him in at last,
Grapple his flipper and hold him fast.
'If you've wronged him, speak him fair,
Say you're sorry and make it square;
If he's wronged you, wink so tight
None of you see what 's plain in sight.
'When the world goes hard and wrong,
Lend a hand to help him along;
When his stockings have holes to darn,
Don't you grudge him your ball of yarn.
'Once in a twelvemonth, come what may,
Anchor your ship in a quiet bay,
Call all hands and read the log,
And give 'em a taste of grub and grog.
'Stick to each other through thick and thin;
All the closer as age leaks in;
Squalls will blow and clouds will frown,
But stay by your ship till you all go down!'
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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