All Knowledge . . .
I know more about flowers,
And Pat knows about ships.
'Schooner' and 'barquentine'
Are words of note on his lips.
Even 'schooner, barque-rigged'
Has meaning for him. And yet
I don't believe he knows
Hearts' ease from mignonette.
And whenever the daffodils,
Like visiting golden dames,
Honour our humble flat,
He has to ask their names.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Related quotes
The Oyster Schooner
W'at's all dem bell a ringin' for, a can
hear dem ev'ry w'ere?
W'at's bring de peop' togeder on de w'arf at
Trois Rivieres,
Dat happy crowd is look so glad, w'y are dey
comin' dere?
O! de reason dey're so happy w'ile dey're
waitin' dere to-day
Is becos de oyster schooner she's sailin' up de
bay
An' de caraquette an' malpecque will quickly
melt away
Affer she was t'row de anchor on t'ree reever.
For w'y dey mak' de fuss lak dat, an' nearly
broke deir neck,
Ain't dey got de noder oyster more better dan
malpecque
Or caraquette, dat leetle wan from down be-
low Kebeck?
Wall! ax de crowd dat question w'ile dey're
waitin' dere to-day
So glad to see La Belle Marie sailin' up de bay,
An' dey 'll drown you on de water, so you 'll
know about de way
She was t'rowin' out de anchor on T'ree
Reever
Dere's ole Joe Lachapelle, he's blin', can
hardly see at all,
He's bring de man got wooden leg call Jimmie
Sauriol,
An' bote dem feller jomp aroun' lak mooshrat
on de fall,
For dey know de schooner 's comin', she's
sailin' up de bay,
An' de reason she don't hurry w'ile dey 're
waitin' dere to-day,
Is becos she's full of oyster, will quickly pass
away
W'en dat schooner t'row de anchor on T'ree
Reever.
We've trottin' race las' winter, an' circus on
de spring,
Wit' elephan' an' monkey too, all playin' on
de ring,
But beeger crowd she's comin' now, for w'y?
it 's differen' t'ing,
For dey 're waitin' on dat schooner, she's
sailin' up de bay
Dey smell de malpecque oyster an' caraquette
to-day
An' O! ba gosh, dey 'll eat dem! it's alway
be de way
W'en dat schooner t'row de anchor on T'ree
Reever.
'She's comin' in -she's comin' in,' jus'lis-
sen to de cry!
'Get out de line an' hol' her fas', for fear
she's passin' by,
For if dere 's sometíng happen now, de peop'
will surely die.'
Affer waitin' on dat schooner, she 's sailin' up
de bay
Lak de sparrow on de wood-pile watchin' all
de day,
But dey got her safe enough now, she 'll never
sail away
Till dem oyster she was finish on T'ree Reever.
'All aboar'-comment câ va, Captinne Beli-
veau?
We're glad to see you back again from Cara-
quette below,
But we 're sorry you don't hurry, w'en you got
such nice car-go.'
So dey ketch dat oyster schooner she's sailin'
up de bay,
Dey ketch her an' dey hol' her till de oyster 's
gone away
An' she's two foot out de water La Belle
Marie nex' day
Affer she was t row de anchor on T'ree Reever.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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Daffodils
Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils - but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please,
For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!
And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy
The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!
My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?
If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go,
And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams shine
Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Beacon Fires Upon The Shore
Silent shadow ships
still sail saline seas
spent storm reborn
unobserved
phantom minstrels
unrecorded
uncharted spectres
ink fading entries
in official antique ledger.
Oh resurgent resurrection joy
forthwith lamp-lit weather
watching fleet flying fully rigged
schooner clipper windjammer
cut saline tacking windward course
through grinding salt-spitting teeth
of fabled force-ten gale or savage storm
while attempting to round Cape Horn
voyages echo through maritime history.
Sailing silent on upon
a roaring time forgotten
rough weathered livelihood
soul-sucking feared maelstorm
romantic raging to hot doldrum
breeze wind wave ebb ocean
as forthcoming future ships
on maiden voyage will sail on
upon all event variant seas.
From calm through tempest gales
horizonless beautified seas
retain unique unfathomed mysteries
as spatial spectral ships journey on
into illimitable port passing history.
From wrecks to profit salvage
from sinking to lay-ups or cut-ups
voyages turn into new history
into spectrum maritime mystery.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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One could drive a prairie schooner through any part of his argument and never scrape against a fact.
quote by David F. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brides
Brides.
Silk worms spewed me a suit fit for a king
Wore it at a wedding where I coveted
Another man’s bride
The worms came, ate my fine suit, they
Had found me unworthy; naked walked
through the park of autumnal leaves.
By daybreak I sat on a stone by the sea
And didn’t hear the cockerel crew, a mermaid
Beckoned for me to join her.
We swam to an island not marked by maps
In the bay I saw my old schooner called May,
De-rigged now and unable to sail
Cured of my vanity, worms spewed me
Another fine suit; by not looking back I walked
On water to a wedding in Paris.
poem by Jan Oskar Hansen
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The Schooner
The Schooner
On the flatland between the vales I could see the sea, had been
walking uphill for a long time now, after the plain it was downhill
and the way to the coast was easy enough only it was getting
cold and I wore a light navy uniform. (had been on furlough)
Then I saw a protestant house of worship, but it was there on its
own no other houses to be seen not even a lone light from a farm.
A window was open and since it was also getting dark I was tired
I climbed in and rested on a pew.
Fell asleep, awoke and heard organ music the church was full of
matelotes singing psalms. The pastor spoke about sin, redemption
and god’s glory, then his flock silently left. Dawn, I saw a magnificent
sunrise, continued my walk to coast.
In a morning open café I told a girl behind the counter where I had
slept, she looked confused as far as she knew the church was
torn down years ago since it was haunted, as it was built of planks
of a schooner that ran aground with loss of all hands.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Close to the Edge
My father was a sailor
He was always off the shore,
And I’d watch his sailboat ‘Ransom’
As it gaff-rigged past our door,
And he told me – ‘When you’re old enough
I’ll show you where they dwell,
The mermaids, with their necklaces,
Made out of cockleshells!
Then out on the verandah
He would stare straight out to sea,
Where the sun meets the horizon
Then he’d sit me on his knee,
And he’d tell me tales of Morgan,
Tales of Captain Kidd and Co.,
When they roamed the Caribbean
In the days of long ago.
He would sail out in the summer,
He would sail out in the fall,
He would sail to the horizon
In the mist, and through a squall,
And he always took his bo’sun
‘Shifty’ Dick, who trimmed the sail,
Drank the ‘Ransom’ dry of whiskey,
Lashed his wrist, hard to the rail.
Then one winter, storm capped waters
Beat unceasing on our shore,
And my mother lit the lantern
Kept a vigil by the door.
But the ‘Ransom’ kept its secrets
Never came to shore again,
And my father joined the history
Of all seafaring men!
I grew and took my lessons
In a little trailer-sail,
When my mother wasn’t watching;
She would cry, and she would wail:
‘Don’t you ever let me catch you,
Staring, looking at the sea,
It’s enough I lost your father…’
‘Never fret! You won’t lose me! ’
For years I watched them leaving,
All the magic sailing boats,
Some were worth a clear million,
While some could barely float!
I watched as they sailed out, and then
I watched on their return,
But some were lost forever,
Sunk – Exploded - Overturned!
I bought a gaff-rigged schooner,
It had seen far better days,
But I patched it and I painted it,
I called it the ‘Sea Haze’;
I took it out with friends -
We didn’t venture out too far -
But learnt to jib, and trim the sail,
To run along the shore!
Then finally I headed out
To where it all began,
Beyond the far horizon
Where the ‘Ransom’ cut and ran,
The clouds began to gather
And the shades began to steal,
The waves broke on the forward deck
And I clung to the wheel.
The storm clouds that had gathered
Opened up and thundered rain,
It beat upon the masthead, and it
Lashed the sagging main,
It soaked my tiny cabin and it
Churned the heaving sea,
The waves on the horizon
Lay in wait out there, for me!
I sailed right through some warp of space
Or time, or so it seemed,
For then it was I caught a sight
Out there – a Quinquereme!
The rows of oars were stilled, I saw,
But some unholy moan,
Broke through the madness of the storm
And chilled me to the bone!
And then I saw a Galleass,
And then I saw a tramp,
To port there was a Brigantine
To starboard there, a lamp!
A single lamp to light the way
I took my bearings then,
No sign of a horizon there,
I sailed toward the end!
The sea, it fell away just there
And all I saw was space,
The ancients said the earth was flat,
My heart began to race.
A thousand ships lay still out there
A Cruiser, Barque, a Dredge!
They’d sailed in space there since the day
They sailed right off the edge!
The ‘Sea Haze’ raced along a line
Just inches from dismay,
I turned the wheel to head back home,
To live another day,
And then I saw the ‘Ransom’ turning
Slowly in the sky,
While ‘Shifty’ Dick, still tethered,
Floated wide and still and dry!
The ‘Sea Haze’ sits at anchor still
Just out from my back door,
She sank a dozen years ago,
Sat down, hard on the shore.
I never stare out at the sea,
The sea I thought I knew,
For who’d believe the earth was flat?
That’s right! – Not even you!
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Collision in the English Channel
'Twas on a Sunday morning, and in the year of 1888,
The steamer "Saxmundham," laden with coal and coke for freight,
Was run into amidships by the Norwegian barque "Nor,"
And sunk in the English Channel, while the storm fiend did roar.
She left Newcastle on Friday, in November, about two o'clock,
And proceeded well on her way until she received a shock;
And the effects of the collision were so serious within,
That, within twenty minutes afterwards, with water she was full to the brim.
The effects of the collision were so serious the water cduldn't be staunched,
So immediately the "Saxmundham's" jolly-boat was launched;
While the brave crew were busy, and loudly did clatter,
Because, at this time, the stem of the steamer was under water.
Then the bold crew launched the lifeboat, without dismay,
While their hearts did throb, but not a word did they say;
They they tried to launch the port lifeboat, but in that they failed,
Owing to the heavy sea, so their sad fate they bewailed.
Then into the jolly-boat and lifeboat jumped fifteen men in all,
And immediately the steamer foundered, which did their hearts appal,
As the good ship sank beneath the briny wave,
But they thanked God fervently that did them save.
Oh! it was a miracle how any of them were saved,
But it was by the aid of God, and how the crew behaved;
Because God helps those that help themselves,
And those that don't try to do so are silly elves.
So the two boats cruised about for some time,
Before it was decided to pull for St. Catherine;
And while cruising about they must have been ill,
But they succeeded in picking up an engineer and fireman, also Captain Milne.
And at daybreak on Sunday morning the men in the lifeboat
Were picked up by the schooner "Waterbird" as towards her they did float,
And landed at Weymouth, and made all right
By the authorities, who felt for them in their sad plight.
But regarding the barque "Nor," to her I must return,
And, no doubt, for the drowned men, many will mourn;
Because the crew's sufferings must have been great,
Which, certainly, is soul-harrowing to relate.
The ill-fated barque was abandoned in a sinking state,
But all her crew were saved, which I'm happy to relate;
They were rescued by the steamer "Hagbrook" in the afternoon,
When after taking to their boats, and brought to Portland very soon.
The barque "Nor" was bound from New York to Stettin,
And when she struck the "Saxmundham," oh! what terrible din!
Because the merciless water did rush in,
Then the ship carpenters to patch the breach did begin.
But, alas! all their efforts proved in vain,
For still the water did on them gain;
Still they resolved to save her whatever did betide,
But, alas! the ill-fated "Nor" sank beneath the tide.
But thanks be to God, the major part of the men have been saved,
And all honour to both crews that so manfully behaved;
And may God protect the mariner by night and by day
When on the briny deep, far, far away!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Full face veil
Like the ghost of a schooner
Sails through our town
We fear and want her banned
A Muslim woman shopping.
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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Spring Delirium
Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.
Hail bloom of golden promise! Hail!
These trumpets sing of hope.
To mock grim Winter's weakening flail
And shame the misanthrope.
All hail! And hail again, for luck.
Hence, cold and clammy doubt!
Come, Spring! Come, honey-bee and suck;
Into this heady nector tuck!
The daffodils are out!
Spring for the young? Ah, foolish claim.
Spring burgeons for the old,
To touch old hearts again with flame
And oust the creeping cold.
So, as each golden cup now spills
Its gladness all about,
I, freed again of age's ills,
Grow dilly with the daffodils.
The daffodils are out!
Yet, am I old? Who said I'm old?
Ah, Spring's sweet alchemy!
Gaze now upon me and behold
A recharged battery.
I waggle my rheumatic knees
And, as the years I flout,
Hot blood incontinently flees
Along my hardening arteries
The daffodils are out!
Birds call; the buds grow fat; I sing
A daft, delicious lay.
Prim primulas are carpeting
My somewhat wobbly way.
Oh, vernal verve! September's spree!
I laugh! I sing! I shout!
With dragonfly and drunken bee
I go right off my rocker. Gee!
The wotsernames are out!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Washed Ashore In Ages Past
two weeks later a leg
washed ashore
to be buried at
Charleston cemetery
New Zealand
to be buried as
presumably
the partial remains
of an ancestor
who drowned
needlessly
while attempting
to tow a schooner
through narrow
tidal rocky entrance
heroic rescue
of drowning man
none attempted
doomed to failure
a life lost legend
a drowned memory
leg of lost meaning
half history forgotten
until this brief epitaph
to family I do restore
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Gardener
WITHIN this garden space are set
Sweet mignonette and violet,
Sunk in rich mould; at dawn and night
Their leaves dew-wet.
Who set them in the kindly loam
Lies buried 'neath the clover-foam
Of alien meadows, far away
From his loved home.
If it be glory thus to pass
For Honour's sake, and 'neath the grass
Red-wounded lie, then he, in truth,
Great glory has.
Yet, blossoms that he loved and set! —
Sweet mignonette, sweet violet —
Not Honour's self, nor Glory's crown,
Can stay regret.
'Twixt bud of leaf and fall of leaf,
Why should Fate in an hour so brief
Wreck flower and flower, and nurse alone
The cypress — Grief?
He is not gone — not all of him;
For trees have memories; leaf and limb
Shall breathe his name, and grateful flowers
At twilight dim.
For like these blooms, he left behind
Some fragrance, subtle and refined —
A memoried sweetness that shall haunt
Tree, flower and wind.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Captain Kennedy
I am a young mariner headed to war
Im thinkin bout my family and what it was for
Theres water on the wood and the sails feel good
And when I get to shore I hope that I can kill good.
My father was a sailor named captain kennedy
He lost his wooden schooner to the germans on the sea
Exploded on the water for everyone to see
And humiliate that american captain kennedy.
I saw him in nassau in 1971
His strength was failin but he still ran a run
He worked til his fingers wore to the bone
To buy that wooden schooner and sail on his own.
He was known in the islands as hundred foot iron
That steel hull freighter was passin its time
And time flew by faster with life on the sea
And the days grew shorter for captain kennedy.
I am a young mariner headed to war
Im thinkin bout my family and what it was for
Theres water on the wood and the sails feel good
And when I get to shore I hope that I can kill good.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wreck of the Schooner Samuel Crawford
'Twas in the year of 1886, and on the 29th of November,
Which the surviving crew of the "Samuel Crawford" will long remember,
She was bound to Baltimore with a cargo of pine lumber;
But, alas! the crew suffered greatly from cold and hunger.
'Twas on December 3rd when about ten miles south-west
Of Currituck light, and scudding at her best;
That a heavy gale struck her a merciless blow,
Which filled the hearts of the crew with fear and woe.
Then the merciless snow came down, hiding everything from view,
And as the night closed in the wind tempestuous blew;
Still the brave crew reefed the spanker and all the sails,
While not one amongst them with fear bewails.
Still the gallant little schooner ploughed on the seas,
Through the blinding snow and the stormy breeze;
Until it increased to a fearful hurricane,
Yet the crew wrought manfully and didn't complain.
But during the night the wind it harder blew,
And the brave little schooner was hove to;
And on the morning of December the 4th the wind died out,
But it rent the schooner from stem to stern without any doubt.
And the seas were running mountains high,
While the poor sailors, no doubt, heaved many a sigh;
Because they must have felt cold, and the schooner sprung a leak,
Still they wrought while their hearts were like to break.
Then the wind it sprang up in terrific fury again,
But the crew baled out the water with might and main;
But still the water fast on them did gain,
Yet the brave heroes disdained to complain.
On the morning of December the 4th she was scudding before a hurricane,
And the crew were exhausted, but managed the poop to gain;
And the vessel was tossed like a cork on the wave,
While the brave crew expected to meet with a watery grave.
And huge beams and pine planks were washed overboard,
While Captain Tilton looked on and said never a word;
And the crew likewise felt quite content,
Until the fore-and-aft rigging overboard went.
Then loudly for help to God they did cry,
And to their earnest prayer He did draw nigh;
And saved them from a watery grave,
When help from Him they did crave.
Poor souls they expected to be engulfed every hour,
And to appease their hunger they made dough with salt water and flour;
And made a sort of hard cake placed over a griddle hole,
To satisfy their hunger, which, alas! is hard to thole.
And two of these cakes each man got per day,
Which the poor creatures devoured in a ravenous way;
Along with a little fresh water to wash it down,
Which they most thankfully praised God for and didn't frown.
And on the 10th of December when they had burned their last light,
The ship "Orinoco" bound for New York hove in sight;
And they were rescued safely and taken on board,
And they thanked the Captain, and likewise the Lord.
Then the Captain of the "Orinoco" ordered her to be set on fire,
Which was quickly done as he did desire;
Which caused the rescued crew to stare in amaze,
And to take the last look of their schooner in a blaze.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Foreign Country
A foreign country
The flat was on the third floor, three flights of wooden stairs
deep groves from generation of people walking up and down.
In the living room I sat down. Had been away for long no one at
home. The autumn wind blew, the house swayed and creaked
like an old schooner meeting the Atlantic swells.
A simple living room, a few family pictures and an amateur
painting of a row boat in a fjord, boathouse, blue sky and sea,
a far hazy silhouette of a mountain range. The painting was
ominous by its deadness. I got up went down the same stairs;
I had entered, the past and those I knew had gone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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In The Shallows
AMONG the shallows where the sand
Is golden and the waves are small,
I love to lie, and to my hand
How many little treasures fall!
What shells and seaweed grace the shore,
What happy birds on happy wings,
And for companions, what a store
Of humble, happy, living things!
Yet the sea's depths are also mine,
And in the old days I used to dive
Into the caves, where corals shine
And where the shimmering mer-folk live.
I am the master of the sea
In deeps where fairy flowers uncurl;
That treasure-house belongs to me,
Those amber halls, those stairs of pearl.
But now thereto I go no more,
Because of all the argosies,
Deep sunk upon the ocean floor,
Where all the world's lost treasure lies.
Where loveless laughter curls the lips
Of wild sea creatures at their sport
About the bones of noble ships,
My ships, that never came to port.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Sea Gypsy
I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.
There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.
I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.
poem by Richard Hovey
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Spring Flowers ~ Daffodils & Jonquils
Brightest flowers of early spring
Daffodils and Jonquils
Shout seasonal joy aloud
These lovely flowers always bring
Sunshine that never will
Be dimmed by veil of cloud
With trumpets lifted to face the sun
And petals opened wide to drink
Those warming rays
Daffodils and Jonquils imply fun
Encouraging mankind to think
Of brighter days
Daffodils and Jonquils seek the sun
As it travels along
Days that are lengthening
Seeing them proves Spring has begun
And that before long
We will be summering
poem by Mary Havran
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Summer in the Bay
The bay of Cascais is empty today no ships at anchors
the sea azure and flickers of illusive gold coins sought
by those who seek an endless summer.
The town is oddly tame, from my vantage point I see
swimming pools, they look as delicate, clear tears of
a child who wanted to read clouds formation on a sky
blue as the sea. He often looks up, sees elephants,
castles and grazing sheep, today there is nothing but
ennui, it makes him sad. He wonders if sky and sea
once were one and was torn apart by a petulant god
who wanted to swim, sail and fish for his own delight.
Look, white clouds from the east, and afar he sees
a Russian schooner sail into the bay, it has red sails
and will cast anchor at sunset.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Restless
Theres a kind of a restless feeling and it pulls me from within
It sets my senses reeling and my wheels begin to spin
In the quietude of winter you can hear the wild geese cry
And I will always love that sound until the day I die
Theres a plain and a simple answer to each and every quest
From every quiet dance who might be a special guest
In a movie made for tv or a late night interview
You might even find them on the young and the restless too
Do ya get that restless feelin when you hear a whistle blast
Like an echo from the past
Of an old engine flyin down a road thats ironcast
The lake is blue, the sky is gray, the leaves have turned to gold
The wild goose will be on her way, the weathers much too cold
When the muskie and the old trout too have all gone down to rest
We will be returning to the things that we love best
Do ya get that restless yearning when you think about your dad
And the scrimshaw that he had
Of an old schooner rovin neath a sky thats ironclad
Theres a kind of a restless feeling and it catches you off guard
As we gaze off at the distance through the trees in my back yard
I can feel that restless yearning of those geese as off they roam
Then trade that for a warm bed and a place I can call home
Will ya get that restless yearning when you hear the wicked blast
Of a spectre from the past
Of a cold diesel rollin down a road thats built to last
Still I get that restless feelin when I hear a whistle blast
See an image from the past
Of an old schooner flyin down a sky thats overcast
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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