Nostalgia
Surrounding mountains are like virgins.
Sun is far away.
The birds are flying to their nests
when the Sun goes down.
All the ships cast off to their own destinations
and the Harbour is quiet as a widow.
A seagull rests on an isolated crane
and waiting for a fishing boat to come.
Evening star peeps
Moon is far away
I finished my work and returned to my billet
thinking of my loved ones.
Where are they now?
They too very far away.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
One Day
People will touch and talk perhaps easily,
And loving be natural as breathing,
And warm as sunlight;
And people will untie themselves,
As string is unknotted,
Unfold and yawn and stretch and spread
Their fingers;
Unfurl, uncurl, like seaweed returned
To the sea.
And work will be simple and swift
Like a seagull flying;
And play will be casual and quiet
Like a seagull sitting.
And the clocks will stop, and no - one
Will wonder or care or notice.
And people will smile without reason,
Even in the winter
Even in the rain.
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Day Dream
One day people will touch and talk perhaps
easily,
And loving be natural as breathing and warm as
sunlight,
And people will untie themselves, as string is unknotted,
Unfold and yawn and stretch and spread their fingers,
Unfurl, uncurl like seaweed returned to the sea,
And work will be simple and swift
as a seagull flying,
And play will be casual and quiet
as a seagull settling,
And the clocks will stop, and no one will wonder
or care or notice,
And people will smile without reason,
Even in winter, even in the rain.
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Sad Heart of a Lover
Beneath a huge mountain like an ant,
He watches the birds where they fly in the twilight sky towards their nests.
A single star gossips with the Moon.
And he hears their secret croon.
Who comes to chat with him?
Only the darkness peeps to his untidy room.
He dreams the day of betrayal that she left the village like yesterday.
Why the morning star visits so early?
No, it's as usual.
The midday is very warm like an oven.
And the teary eyes always there never leaves him alone.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Love Poem #1
I really like
To write you
A love poem
Someday
One that
Looks like the
Shadow of
A young man
Fishing out
To the sea
And spreads
His net and
Paddles his
Way around
A school of
Fish and then
He waits
For a while
Dreaming
Only about
You
Then he
Sees a seagull
Encircling
Above his
Head flying
Over him
And then
Hovers
On the side
Of his
Boat like
Looking for a
Fish
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song of Solitude
A Park full of trees very quiet
and a bench isolated
waiting for someone to
come and have a chat please.
A single Star in the sky hurriedly
searching the wailing Moon.
A drizzle comes with a nocturne of a Dragonfly.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evening arrives
Sun
Tired of shining
Throughout
The day
Decides to hide
Behind
The mountains
Far away
Tells the birds
To go back
To the nests
Invites the moon
To rule the night
Stars
Twinkling with him
Heat and light
Decreases
After a long day
Evening arrives
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Across The Red Sky
Across the red sky two birds flying,
Flying with drooping wings.
Silent and solitary their ominous flight.
All day the triumphant sun with yellow banners
Warred and warred with the earth, and when she yielded
Stabbed her heart, gathered her blood in a chalice,
Spilling it over the evening sky.
When the dark plumaged birds go flying, flying,
Quiet lies the earth wrapt in her mournful shadow,
Her sightless eyes turned to the red sky
And the restlessly seeking birds.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Pulicate Lake (Chennai)
A rollicking trip on a boat
we had through the Pulicate Lake.
The nests cast all along the creek
warn the boat-men take care.
Men, women and children
dip in and come up the water,
with pulsating trout in their palms
and dropp into the slinging bags and creels.
The weak and the old in loin-cloths
are holding the fishing-rods,
and peering at the wood pulp with eager
to lug up the unwary dab.
Some dogs are emerging out in knee-deep water,
with struggling dace between the teeth.
We looked at the scene with pity
though we had fried fish to crunch at lunch.
Oh dear! They're stone statues not birds
waiting to pick up the misled fish!
The scent of coastal stuff from my friends
drove away the shrimps from our way.
Ah! Some baskets and towels too swirl around
to catch the lusty wealth of the sea.
Never these fish roaming in the lake
could go back to the estuary.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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I'm Thinking
The pen is gripped between my fingers.
The tension grows, an idea lingers,
And yet somehow it’s stuck.
I’m thinking, ‘just my luck’!
The pen is starting to want to play,
Upon the paper, and have its say.
And yet there’s no feedback.
I’m thinking, ‘I’m off track’!
The pen is tapping away frustrated,
The owner’s now infuriated.
And yet one shall still strive.
I’m thinking, ‘it must arrive’!
The pen is gyrating all about,
There’s something definite coming out.
And yet, a nervous time.
I’m thinking, ‘will it rhyme? ’,
The pen is slowing, and it will stop.
It’s done its writing and needs to flop.
And yet, this work of art,
I’m thinking, ‘is from the heart’!
The pen has finished its job and rests.
It has done well, its achieved its best.
And yet, it will do more,
I’m thinking. ‘That’s for sure’!
The pen - has run out of ink.
I think!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Free
Birds flying free
where can you be going?
I just wish knowing
would help me be free.
Flying south in winter,
no more cold for you.
Ample berries on the trees
under skies so blue.
Flying north in summer
where the nests you'll build
where twigs and feathers
will do fine
'til your nest is filled.
Birds flying free
never will there be
escape from the landscape
like yours, for me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Seagull Flying On A Dimming Horizon
just that, what do you have to say more about it
just that
a white seagull flying towards a dimming horizon
a ship sailing away
the sun receding towards the other side
deep down the sea and then gone
just that, do not ever say that the seagull is heading home or running away
that is not so, there is no basis for such a personal conclusion
or just another imagination of your own loneliness by
association of that
white seagull flying towards a certain darkness
the ship turning to a dot dissolving on a horizontal line in front of you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boat In Spring On Ruoya Lake
Thoughtful elation has no end:
Onward I bear it to whatever comes.
And my boat and I, before the evening breeze
Passing flowers, entering the lake,
Turn at nightfall toward the western valley,
Where I watch the south star over the mountain
And a mist that rises, hovering soft,
And the low moon slanting through the trees;
And I choose to put away from me every worldly matter
And only to be an old man with a fishing-pole.
poem by Qiwu Qian, translated by Witter Bynner
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Dark Harbour
The lights are shining down upon broken stones and fishing boats
In the amber haze reflections reach for the night that’s crowding close
And on the hill the old hotel is watching over all
And I think I hear a voice I know
From somewhere down among the waves that kiss the harbour wall
The revellers all come and go at the Crown and Harbour House
There’s a solitary violin in the distance drifting down
And from the south a quarter moon is watching over all
And I think I see a face I know
Beneath me in the rippling images that rise and fall
And I’m thinking of so many things
of all the roads that led me on
and all the words I’ve wasted on
dreams that take us nowhere
when all that ever mattered
was waiting for me here
The outside world in silence waits beyond the edge of night
for the pilgrims on the glory road that most of us walk blind
And in the air the promises that kept us driving on
And I think I hear a song I know
In the old dance hall I held you close; by morning I was gone
Now it’s Hogmanay and bitter cold, but nobody seems to care
In the amber night below the lights there is music everywhere
And from the harbour deep and dark it’s time to turn for home
And I think I hear the bells ring out
From somewhere o’er the Auld Lang Synes that echo round the shore
I’ve been thinking of so many things
of all the roads that led me on
and all the words I’ve wasted on
dreams that take us nowhere
when all that ever mattered
was waiting for me here
31 10 11
Sail Away
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off,
and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Harvest Moon
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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All That I Know
All we are
Is part
Of everything
It's out of our control
And I'll say
All you need to know
Is anything
That's happening is happening
All the ships in the ocean
Outside my window
Under the moon
All the lights in the harbour
Keep me from sleeping
Keep me from dreaming
Oh no
All that I know
All we are
Is part
Of everything
It's out of our control
And I'll say
All you need to know
Is anything
That's happening is happening
All the ships in the ocean
Outside my window
Under the moon
All the lights in the harbour
Keep me from sleeping
Keep me from dreaming
Keep the light on in the window
For the time that I am gone
And when this all is over
You will never be alone
Keep your head up
So you know
When you wake up
I'll be home
All the ships in the ocean
Outside my window
Under the moon
All the lights in the harbour
Keep me from sleeping
Keep me from dreaming
Oh no
All that I know
It's everything I know
song performed by by Get Up Kids from On A Wire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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song - Crammag Light
The winter winds are blowin in from Ireland ‘cross the sea
I’m waiting on the pierhead here just watching seagulls wheel
The light is going down now and I’m thinking of the night
When you sailed out from this harbour wall down past Crammag light
The years have passed so slowly since I watched you sail away
I wonder if you’re on the waves still fishing night and day
The tourists have all gone now and I’m by the fireside
In the flames I see you sailing off down past Crammag light
(chorus)
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
The harbour bell is silent now but seabirds on the wing
Are calling out to everywhere, above the breaking waves
But the only song that I can hear is the song the winter sings
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
Remember when we stood upon the cliff at logan head
The sea was like a mill pond and the sun was setting red
The herring boats were drifting southwards on the flooding tide
In the distance we could see the moon over Crammag light
The waves are running high towards the fishpond cottage wall
And all the sea is empty now as darkness starts to fall
The Sanderlings are crying for another day that’s gone
To the south of Laggantulloch, Crammag’s light has just come on
(chorus)
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
The harbour bell is silent now but seabirds on the wing
Are calling out to everywhere, above the breaking waves
But the only song that I can hear is the song the winter sings
Oh Johnny are you never coming back to Logan Bay
I’ve heard the talk about the ghost that haunts the waters here
They say that when the sun goes down his fishing boat appears
In winter’s gales and breaking waves, or so the legends say,
In the sweeping light from Crammag, heading north for Logan Bay
I Loved A Man that Loved to Fish
I loved a man that loved to fish.
He’d go down to the waters and cast his rod like a penny for a wish.
What he thought, whatever what- if he played, I’d love to know
For when he was away fishing his face was a glow.
Wishing away he’d sit all day and night,
Wading his patience against the twilight.
Patience was his tool
He’d tire his fish like the destructive heart of a fool.
With a gentle cast, not too high or low, his shinny fly would lure
Then his fish would run and he’d ignore.
After it was caught he’d throw it back for another man’s game
Or catch it again tomorrow, they were all the same.
I loved a man that loved to fish
And in his shadow I ran waiting to be his wish.
(Bernadette Bridges 9/08)
poem by Bernadette Bridges
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Havana Moon
Chant...
Me all alone
Jug of rum
Me stand and wait for the boat to come
Is lonely night is quiet the dark
The boat she late its 12 o clock
Me watches the tide easin in
Is low the moon and high the wind
Havana moon
Havana moon
Me all alone
Me open the rum
Is long the wait for the boat to come
American girl come back to me
Sail way across the sea
We dock in new york the buildings high
We find a home up in the sky
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me still alone me drinkin the rum
Begin to think that the boat no come
American girl she tell a lie
She say till then, but she mean goodbye
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me lay down alone, no good the rum
Me fall asleep and the boat she come
The girl she look till come the dawn
She weep and she cry
Return for home
The whistle blow me open my eyes
Bright the sun blue the sky
Me grab me shoes, me jump and me run
Me see the boat head for horizon
Havana moon is gone da rum
The boat she sail me love she gone
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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