The Flower Boat
The fisherman's swapping a yarn for a yarn
Under the hand of the village barber,
And her in the angle of house and barn
His deep-sea dory has found a harbor.
At anchor she rides the sunny sod
As full to the gunnel of flowers growing
As ever she turned her home with cod
From George's bank when winds were blowing.
And I judge from that elysian freight
That all they ask is rougher weather,
And dory and master will sail by fate
To seek the Happy Isles together.
poem by Robert Frost
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Social Isobars
I think they should do weather forecasts,
for heavy social-pressure:
who's talking to whom,
and who is under the weather.
It would be much nicer,
under sunny summer skies.
The only time we celebrate,
is when someone dies.
So come on, rouse yourself,
and ease the social chill.
Don't just take a sip,
or dropp the simple pill.
Talk to your neighbour,
tell him or her a yarn.
Just remember -
it's the social cloth we darn.
poem by Daniel Norton Smith
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A Fisherman
The sunset hues
colour the sky red
at evening tide
predicting fair weather
for the day ahead.
No storm clouds
to follow me
as I set my sails
on my great fishing boat
for my journey out to sea
with sun and fair winds
to follow me.
A fisherman is my life
with the sail and sea my home.
Free to do what I do best
fish the bounty of the sea.
At dusk, I rest
and wait for the morning fair.
A fisherman is my life,
something I’ll always be
until the day comes along
to visit Davy Jones locker,
but until then I’ll roam free
wherever the fair wind takes me.
No landlover me
as the sea is my home
and where I always want to be,
watching whales and dolphins play
and the gulls for company.
17 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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Ultima Thule: Elegiac
Dark is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor
Motionless lies the sea, under its curtain of cloud;
Dreamily glimmer the sails of ships on the distant horizon,
Like to the towers of a town, built on the verge of the sea.
Slowly and stately and still, they sail forth into the ocean;
With them sail my thoughts over the limitless deep,
Farther and farther away, borne on by unsatisfied longings,
Unto Hesperian isles, unto Ausonian shores.
Now they have vanished away, have disappeared in the ocean;
Sunk are the towers of the town into the depths of the sea!
All have vanished but those that, moored in the neighboring
roadstead,
Sailless at anchor ride, looming so large in the mist.
Vanished, too, are the thoughts, the dim, unsatisfied longings;
Sunk are the turrets of cloud into the ocean of dreams;
While in a haven of rest my heart is riding at anchor,
Held by the chains of love, held by the anchors of trust!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Finding Dory [Cuddle Party]
Ellen DeGeneres (voice)
from Finding Dory (2016)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Conviction
Who has tested the waters that cannot say
that he has been tossed around?
Stormy seas take a toll on our lives
and pound us into the ground.
We steer our ships into the gales
with the winds blowing full force.
We try to avoid the consequences
by attempting to change course.
But sometimes it's not that easy to do
if the wind's not at your back.
And so it is that so many find
they're off the beaten track.
It's then we become discouraged
and wonder what we should do?
It's never an easy decision
and maybe you'll think you are through.
But somehow many gather strength
from fair-weather winds that blow.
They search their hearts and let misery leave
and move along with the flow.
They find conviction from deep within
and defy the stormy seas
and slowly they pick themselves up again
and sail along with the breeze.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Prevailing Winds
Every day the increasing winds
make themselves known.
Their whistling in the trees I see
seem to have grown
stronger in intensity,
bolder everyday.
And I wonder what the flowers think
that are blooming this month of May?
Their little colorful heads
try to hold their ground.
But the winds are fiercly blowing
and their heads are turned around.
They lean towards the left first
and then towards the right.
Then something magical happens.
It becomes night.
It's like someone waved a wand
and made the winds cease.
Now those delicate flowers of May
finally feel at peace.
But peace will be short-lasting
for the winds will come again.
I know this wind has got to stop.
The flowers are asking when?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Full Sail
Full sail full sail
Steady as you go
The wind will blow
Set sail at frisco bay
In a fog cold and gray
Clear sailing, day after day
Full sail full sail
Now the air is still
We lay adrift
Come upon a sea of trouble
Till the winds of change shift
My course is set
Theres no turning back
But theres no goin anywhere yet
Full sail full sail
Waiting for the wind to blow
The wind will blow
Does the silence of the sea
Sound warning of a storm ahead
Whispers of the breeze
Stir and disappear
To soft to hear
Whats in store for me
Adventure on the high seas
Put the childhood dream to the test
Find the measure of the man
Follow the sun heading west
Full sail
Steady as you go
Steady as you go
Full sail
Waiting for the wind to blow
The wind will blow
Hey full sail
Mmmm mmmmm
Hey full sail
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Local on The 8's
Local on the 8’s
Weather for Trenton metro area
Current temp.87°F
Humidity.99%
Precipitation. Lots
7 day forecast
Sun. H=88°F L=79°F. Sunny
Mon. H=45°F L=32°F. Really crappy day
Tus. H=60°F L=50°F. Ok
Wend. H =45°F L=0°F. Rain
Thurs. H= 67°F L=71°F. Partly cloudy
Fri. H=80°F L=77°F. Sunny
Sat. H= 88°F L=84°F. Hot
Weather forecast provided by weather channel, sponsored by TD bank
poem by Greg Miele
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Oh! Can it be?
Oh! Can it be? Said the blue bird to the bee,
That you are poking holes in the air is what I do see;
No! Said the bee, It's just my warning alarm to let you know,
Come too close, and you will get the point, that is so.
Oh! Can it be, said the bird to the cat below?
You have such claws, they look to sharp, you know,
Said the cat, to the bluebird on the fence just near,
These claws are sharp, for birds who show no fear;
Oh can it be? Said the cat, to the large bulldog there,
You don't see to want with me your food to share;
Then the dog said to the cat, Touch my bone you'll be cat nip,
Go eat your whiskers, go away, or I will make of you egg flip.
Oh! Can it be? Said the dog, to the large horse in the stable,
Are you a grand racing horse, or is that just a fable?
Neigh, nay, just here to help the farmer to plough,
But; if you get too cheeky, I will kick to the cow.
Oh! Can it be? Said the horse to the cow, near the barn
Is it true, mrs white the lamb, can give a good yarn?
Of course she said, to nick the large horse, it's true,
Mrs White, can certainly give a yarn with a nice dye,
But if you say neigh in stead of yea, I'll know you tell a lie.
The moral of this poem, is do not be a stick beak,
Or someone may be rude ad call you a lousy freak;
And don't go stirring and spreading any rumor,
Or you may have the joke on you, and that's no humor.
poem by Margaret Haig
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The Web
Two old spinsters
Sitting in the barn,
One used candlewick
The other used yarn,
One wore a bonnet
With a white lace trim,
The other bobbed her hair
With a dragonfly pin.
They spun and they spun
‘Til the bobbins were full,
They'd squeeze out the knots
Put a twist in the wool,
They spun through the day
And on through the night
And glared at each other
If it didn't look right.
While up in the beams
Of the barn overhead
Two spinsters were spinning out
A gossamer thread,
They stared on down
With their little black eyes
And they spun round the bonnet
And the red dragonfly.
The webs floated down
Were glued to each face
With the spinsters spinning
At a frantic pace.
The wheels stopped spinning
With a sudden click-clack
As the spinsters stared
At those eyes, so black.
As the next day dawned
They came to the barn,
The men and the children
Of that little old farm,
The spinsters were spun
In a giant cobweb,
As they sat, eyes staring -
They were stone cold dead!
13 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Jasmine Flower Seller
A boy ran
Towards a van,
Holding out his hand
Full of fragrant
Jasmine flowers
Strung on a thread.
A lady beckoned
And began to haggle
Over the price.
The boy said
Five stings
For Rupees ten.
She pushed away
His hand,
The boy
Lost his balance,
And fell.
Tears welled up
In his eyes,
As he saw the wheels,
Crush his hope
Of a square meal.
The drizzle
Had turned to a shower.
The road was covered
With crushed flowers.
The boy had perhaps
Come from a distant village,
To earn an honest wage.
We spend thousands
Over what we fancy
On discount sales
Happy we have got
A bargain.
Why do we haggle
Over pennies?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Journey From School And To School
O what a joyous joyous day
Is that on which we come
At the recess from school away,
Each lad to his own home!
What though the coach is crammëd full,
The weather very warm;
Think you a boy of us is dull,
Or feels the slightest harm?
The dust and sun is life and fun;
The hot and sultry weather
A higher zest gives every breast,
Thus jumbled all together.
Sometimes we laugh aloud, aloud,
Sometimes huzzah, huzzah.
Who is so buoyant, free, and proud
As we home travellers are?
But sad, but sad is every lad
That day on which we come,
That last last day on which away
We all come from our home.
The coach too full is found to be;
Why is it crammëd thus?
Now every one can plainly see
There's not half room for us.
Soon we exclaim, O shame, O shame,
This hot and sultry weather,
Who but our master is to blame
Who packed us thus together!
Now dust and sun does every one
Most terribly annoy;
Complaints begun, soon every one
Elbows his neighbour boy.
Not now the joyous laugh goes round,
We shout not now huzzah;
A sadder group may not be found
Than we returning are.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Turning 30 was when my parents both got cancer and were fighting it and beat it, but their mortality started to get to me. Everything wasn't as hunky-dory like it was.
quote by Darren Aronofsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Skies In July
We are now well in to the month of July,
But above my head, there's a leaden sky.
For days on end, it has constantly rained,
And I must say that it's a right old pain.
Every time that I step out of my door,
The Heavens open and it begins to pour.
This awful weather is getting me down:
My once sunny smile has turned to a frown.
When it rains, it rains nearly all the day long;
For the middle of summer, it feels so wrong.
In July, we should be getting long days of sun,
But, so far, this month, we've had hardly none.
I hate these days which are dreary and dull;
With this wet weather, there is hardly a lull.
It was on the radio, that I heard one morning,
Half of Britain had severe weather warnings.
Around the sodden streets, everyone rushes.
Packed to full capacity, are our local buses.
I dare not leave home without my coat.
Very soon, I'll be needing to buy a boat!
Like many others, I don't mind confessing,
That I find this weather pretty depressing.
I want this weather to be over and done:
Rain every single day, is certainly no fun.
They say that sunny weather is on its way,
And I'm really looking forward to that day.
Let us all hope that, for the rest of July,
We'll see some sun and bright blue skies.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Spinner
Oh, what was it he meant
By his question as he went?
'I am making a loom,
'T will be up in April's bloom;
If you think it may be,
Spin for me!'
Oh, what shall I believe?
Does he think himself to weave?
And the yarn that I spin,
Lo, he thinks to weave it in?
And so soon as the Spring
Flowers shall bring?
And he laughed when he'd done;
Oh, he is so full of fun.
Dare I trust all my skein
To so young and wild a swain?-
May God help to bind in
All I spin!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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A Tale of the Sea
A pathetic tale of the sea I will unfold,
Enough to make one's blood run cold;
Concerning four fishermen cast adrift in a dory.
As I've been told I'll relate the story.
T'was on the 8th April on the afternoon of that day
That the village of Louisburg was thrown into a wild state or dismay,
And the villagers flew to the beach in a state of wild uproar
And in a dory they found four men were cast ashore.
Then the villagers, in surprise assembled about the dory,
And they found that the bottom of the boat was gory;
Then their hearts were seized with sudden dread,
when they discovered that two of the men were dead.
And the two survivors were exhausted from exposure, hunger, and cold,
Which used the spectators to shudder when them they did behold;
And with hunger the poor men couldn't stand on their feet,
They felt so weakly on their legs for want of meat.
They were carried to a boarding-house without delay,
But those that were looking on were stricken with dismay,
When the remains of James and Angus McDonald were found in the boat,
Likewise three pieces or flesh in a pool or blood afloat.
Angus McDonald's right arm was missing from the elbow,
and the throat was cut in a sickening manner which filled the villagers hearts with woe,
Especially when they saw two pieces of flesh had been cut from each thigh,
'Twas then the kind-hearted villagers did murmur and sigh.
Angus McDonald must have felt the pangs of hunger before he did try
to cut two pieces of fiesh from James McDonald's thigh,
But, Oh heaven! the pangs of hunger are very hard to thole,
And anything that's eatable is precious unto an hungry soul.
Alas it is most pitiful and horrible to think
That with hunger christians will each other's blood drink
And eat each other's flesh to save themselves from starvation;
But the pangs or hunger makes them mad, and drives them to desperation.
An old American soldier that had passed through the Civil War,
Declared the scene surpassed anything he's seen by far,
And at the sight, the crowd in horror turned away,
which no doubt they will remember for many a day.
Colin Chisholm, one of the survivors was looking very pale,
Stretched on a sofa at the boarding-house, making his wail:
Poor fellow! his feet was greatly swollen, and with a melancholy air,
He gave the following account of the distressing affair:
We belonged to the American fishing schooner named "Cicely",
And our captain was a brave man, called McKenzie;
And the vessel had fourteen hands altogether
And during the passage we had favourable weather.
'Twas on March the 17th we sailed from Gloucester on the Wednesday
And all our hearts felt buoyant and gay;
And we arrived on the Western banks on the succeeding Tuesday,
While the time unto us seemed to pass merrily away.
About eight O'clock in the morning, we left the vessel in a dory,
And I hope all kind christians will take heed to my story;
Well, while we were at our work, the sky began to frown,
And with a dense fog we were suddenly shut down
Then we hunted and shouted, and every nerve did strain,
Thinking to find our schooner but, alas! it was all in vain:
Because the thick fog hid the vessel from our view,
And to keep ourselves warm we closely to each other drew.
We had not one drop of water , nor provisions of any kind,
Which, alas soon began to tell on our mind;
Especially upon James McDonald who was very thinly clad,
And with the cold and hunger he felt almost mad.
And looking from the stern where he was lying,
he said Good bye, mates, Oh! I am dying!
Poor fellow we kept his body thinking the rest of us would be saved,
Then, with hunger, Angus McDonald began to cry and madly raved.
And he cried, Oh, God! send us some kind of meat,
Because I'm resolved to have something to eat;
Oh! do not let us starve on the briny flood
Or else I will drink of poor Jim's blood.
Then he suddenly seized his knife and cut off poor Jim's arm,
Not thinking in his madness he'd done any harm;
Then poor Jim's blood he did drink and his flesh did eat,
Declaring that the blood tasted like cream, and was a treat.
Then he asked me to taste it, saying It was good without doubt,
Then I tasted it, but in disgust I instantly spat it out;
Saying, if I was to die within an hour on the briny flood,
I would neither eat the flesh nor drink the blood.
Then in the afternoon again he turned to me,
Saying, I'm going to cut Jim's throat for more blood d'ye see;
Then I begged of him, for God's sake not to cut the throat of poor Jim,
But he cried, Ha! ha! to save my own life I consider it no sin.
I tried to prevent him but he struck me without dismay
And cut poor Jim's throat in defiance of me, or all I could say,
Also a piece of flesh from each thigh, and began to eat away,
But poor fellow he sickened about noon, and died on the Sunday.
Now it is all over and I will thank all my life,
Who has preserved me and my mate, McEachern, in the midst of danger and strife;
And I hope that all landsmen of low and high degree,
Will think of the hardships of poor mariners while at sea.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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My Ships
If all the ships I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Ah well! the harbor could not hold
So many sails as there would be
If all my ships came in from sea.
If half my ships came home from sea,
And brought their precious freight to me,
Ah, well! I should have wealth as great
As any king who sits in state,
So rich the treasures that would be
In half my ships now at sea.
If just one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown,
For if the others all went down
Still rich and proud and glad I’d be,
If that one ship came back to me.
If that one ship were down at sea,
And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,
With glory, honor, riches, gold,
The poorest soul on earth I’d be
If that one ship came not to me.
O skies be calm! O winds blow free--
Blow all my ships safe home to me.
But if thou sendest some awrack
To never more come sailing back,
Send any--all that skim the sea--
But bring my love-ship home to me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Fisherman jim's kids
Fisherman Jim lived on the hill
With his bonnie wife an' his little boys;
'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will -
Naught we reck of your cold and noise!"
For happy and warm were he an' his,
And he dandled his kids upon his knee
To the song of the sea.
Fisherman Jim would sail all day,
But, when come night, upon the sands
His little kids ran from their play,
Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands;
Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high,
He'd hear'em - you bet - above the roar
Of the waves on the shore!
Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay
As the sun went down in a cloudy sky,
And never a kid saw he at play,
And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry.
In his little house he learned it all,
And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head -
"The fever!" they said.
'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim,
With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes,
A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him
An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries
He had heerd so often upon the sands;
For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore -
Till they spoke no more.
But Fisherman Jim lived on and on,
Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea;
As a man will live when his heart is gone,
Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly,
Till once in those years they come an' said:
"Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick -
Go to him, quick!"
Then Fisherman Jim says he to me:
"It's a long, long cruise-you understand -
But over beyont the ragin' sea
I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand
Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore,
Just as they used to - ah, mate, you know! -
In the long ago."
No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die;
For all night long he seemed to see
His little boys of the days gone by,
An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me!
An' just as the mornin' sun come up -
"They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried,
An' so he died.
poem by Eugene Field
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Kiddie Land
Bright colors
Big letters
Sunny weather
Nothing better
Fun rides
Big slides
Bright lights
Bliss all night
Winning prizes
Special surprises
Decent prices
Tour advice
Family fun
Lots of sun
Something for everyone
It only just begun
Long day
Full of play
Go home with big smiles
Sit down rest awhile
poem by Khai Ramsey
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