The Bell Buoy
They christened my brother of old--
And a saintly name he bears--
They gave him his place to hold
At the head of the belfry-stairs,
Where the minister-towers stand
And the breeding kestrels cry.
Would I change with my brother a league inland?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
In the flush of the hot June prime,
O'er sleek flood-tides afire,
I hear him hurry the chime
To the bidding of checked Desire;
Till the sweated ringers tire
And the wild bob-majors die.
Could I wait for my turn in the godly choir?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
When the smoking scud is blown--
When the greasy wind-rack lowers--
Apart and at peace and alone,
He counts the changeless hours.
He wars with darkling Powers
(I war with a darkling sea);
Would he stoop to my work in the gusty mirk?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not he!
There was never a priest to pray
There was never a hand to toll,
When they made me guard of the bay,
And moored me over the shoal.
I rock, I reel, and I roll--
My four great hammers ply--
Could I speak or be still at the Church's will?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
The landward marks have failed,
The fog-bank glides unguessed,
The seaward lights are veiled,
The spent deep feigns her rest:
But my ear is laid to her breast,
I lift to the swell--I cry!
Could I wait in sloth on the Church's oath?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
At the careless end of night
I thrill to the nearing screw;
I turn in the clearing light
And I call to the drowsy crew;
And the mud boils foul and blue
As the blind bow backs away.
Will they give me their thanks if they clear the banks?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not they!
The beach-pools cake and skim,
The bursting spray-heads freeze,
I gather on crown and rim
The grey, grained ice of the seas,
Where, sheathed from bitt to trees,
The plunging colliers lie.
Would I barter my place for the Church's grace?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
Through the blur of the whirling snow,
Or the black of the inky sleet,
The lanterns gather and grow,
And I look for the homeward fleet.
Rattle of block and sheet--
"Ready about-stand by!"
Shall I ask them a fee ere they fetch the quay?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
I dip and I surge and I swing
In the rip of the racing tide,
By the gates of doom I sing,
On the horns of death I ride.
A ship-length overside,
Between the course and the sand,
Fretted and bound I bide
Peril whereof I cry.
Would I change with my brother a league inland?
(Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Silver Birch
O SILVER one, O silver one,
Above the valley of the Bane:
O stem with snow-water agleam,
And glistening limbs, and trails of pearl.
The sun has sent a slanting kiss:
Red fire and gold, his arrows burn:
Now that he aims a shaft at thee,
Red fire and gold to silver turn!
When I am spent with the ways of men.
I'll wash my hands in melting snow:
And live with thee among the oaks,
And watch the river swirl below.
But I must ever be travelling
From sea to sea, from shoal to shoal:
Farewell ! O still and beautiful,
I would thy valley were my goal!
poem by Herbert Asquith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love is the rock of youth and the shoal of old age.
How Can These Be
I saw the donkeys made paces
And saw some seals that made a trip
Woodpeckers were in a descent
An ascension the larks did make
In a movement were the moles
and twenty woodcocks made a fall
They did not move a wing or foot,
and in their places just stayed put
The rooks are birds so wonderful,
they make buildings without a tool
When the platipi make a pile,
on top each other do not climb
When the leopards made a leap,
an inch they did not lift their feet
If a group of fish a shoal we call,
sometimes there's no fish in a shoal
I saw the curs in cowardice,
they were not meek and they were fierce
The walk of snipe that I have seen,
were not on foot but in the air
They said the choughs made chatterings,
but I did not hear anything
A group of apes, shrewdness we call,
but they're not shrewd, no, not at all
A knot is made by several toads,
with or without a length rope
I saw a cartload of monkeys,
but never did the cart exist
A tiger can't make an ambush,
but many can, I wonder why
The rattlesnakes do a rhumba,
without a leg, I wonder how
Twenty-one foxes in a leash
How can these be, don't let yourself
be driven crazy, off your wits
For though these seem improbable
Under those animal groupings
These all can be and possible
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A dragon will be teased by a shrimp in a shoal water; a tiger will be bullied by a dog on a treeless plain.
What's in a Group Name
Why are fish uneducated
When they frequently go to school
If shoal we call a group of fish,
Sometimes there's no fish in a shoal
Starfish, silverfish, cuttlefish
Under what grouping shall they fall
A group of apes shrewdness we call
But they're not shrewd, no, not at all
How to measusre a leopards' leap
Is it by dozen or by feet?
There's one thing common in between
The tiny legumes and the whales
The little legumes can make a pod
The leviathans also can
A group of bears can make a sloth
But many sloths can't make a bear
Herons and bitterns make a siege
Though enemy they do not have
A group of cattle is called a herd
A herd of swan, crane and curlew?
A funny thing, but that I've heard
Not only geese can make a skein
But also thread, silk, wool and yarn
A skein of thread up in the air
Is still a skein, no matter where
A skein of geese high up above
Becomes a gaggle when they land
Why do Platipi make a pile
When they can't even make a fire
Or whenever they make a pile
On top each other do not climb
A group of wildfowl I starved
With or without food they are plump
They said the choughs made chatterings
But I did not hear anything
The rooks are birds so wonderful
They make buildings without a tool
But the name rook is a misnomer
Gambler nor cheats, they are neither
Snipes in a walk that I have seen
Were not on foot but in the air
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Parody Of Daffodils
A parody of daffodils
I wander'd lonely as a shark,
That roams the ocean deep and wide,
When all at once I saw a shoal,
Of little fishes trying to hide,
Around the rocks, beneath the reef,
Quivering with fear as they saw my teeth.
Continuous as the stars that shine,
Reflecting on the ocean’s swell,
They darted from their hiding place,
I rushed amongst them, jaws like hell,
And sent them to their watery graves,
Whilst above me rolled the waves.
poem by Lucy Arron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mother's Memory
There is one bright star in heaven
Ever shining in my night;
God to me one guide has given
Like the sailor's beacon light,
Set on every shoal of danger
Sending out its warning ray
To the homebound weary stranger
Looking for the land-locked bay.
In my farthest, wildest wand'rings
I have turned me to that love,
As a diver, neath the water,
Turns to watch the light above.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pentecost
Better a jungle in the head
than rootless concrete.
Better to stand bewildered
by the fireflies' crooked street;
winter lamps do not show
where the sidewalk is lost,
nor can these tongues of snow
speak for the Holy Ghost;
the self-increasing silence
of words dropped from a roof
points along iron railings,
direction, in not proof.
But best is this night surf
with slow scriptures of sand,
that sends, not quite a seraph,
but a late cormorant,
whose fading cry propels
through phosphorescent shoal
what, in my childhood gospels,
used to be called the Soul.
poem by Derek Walcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fisherman of Wexford
THERE is an old tradition sacred held in Wexford town,
That says: 'Upon St. Martin's Eve no net shall be let down;
No fishermen of Wexford shall, upon that holy day,
Set sail or cast a line within the scope of Wexford Bay.'
The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no one could tell;
And no one ever questioned, but the people kept it well.
And never in man's memory was fisher known to leave
The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's Eve.
Alas! alas for Wexford! once upon that holy day
Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of the Bay.
The fishers and their families stood out upon the beach,
And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth they might not reach.
Such shoal was never seen before, and keen regrets went round—
Alas! alas for Wexford! Hark! what is that grating sound?
The boats' keels on the shingle! Mothers! wives! ye well may grieve,—
The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin s Eve!
'Oh, stay ye!' cried the women wild. 'Stay!' cried the men white-haired;
'And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers never dared.
No man can thrive who tempts the Lord!' 'Away!' they cried: 'the Lord
Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's reward.'
And scoffingly they said, 'To-night our net shall sweep the Bay,
And take the Saint who guards it, should he come across our way!'
The keels have touched the water, and the crews are in each boat;
And on St. Martin's Eve the Wexford fishers are afloat!
The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the land,
On dark faces in the fishing-fleet and pale ones on the strand,
As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward the cries
Of kneeling wives and mothers with uplifted hands and eyes.
' Oh Holy Virgin! be their guard! ' the weeping women cried;
The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats cleave through the tide,
As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, in a line
The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phosphor-lighted brine.
Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers! All your prayers they sorely need
To save them from the wrath they've roused by their rebellious greed.
Oh! white-haired men and little babes, and weeping sweethearts, pray
To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford Bay!
The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the nets are thrown,
The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing sea-wind's moan:
Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for some return,
To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed to mourn.
But ah! the Wexford fishermen! their nets did scarcely sink
One inch below the foam, when, lo! the daring boatmen shrink
With sudden awe and whitened lips and glaring eyes agape,
For breast-high, threatening, from the sea uprose a Human Shape!
Beyond them,—in the moonlight,—hand upraised and awful mien,
Waving back and pointing landward, breast-high in the sea 'twas seen.
Thrice it waved and thrice it pointed,—then, with clenched hand upraised,
The awful shape went down before the fishers as they gazed!
Gleaming whitely through the water, fathoms deep they saw its frown,—
They saw its white hand clenched above it,—sinking slowly down!
And then there was a rushing ' neath the boats, and every soul
Was thrilled with greed: they knew it was the seaward-going shoal!
Defying the dread warning, every face was sternly set,
And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul the net.
But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, —God-fearing men were they,—
They cut their lines and left their nets, and homeward sped away;
But darkly rising sternward did God's wrath in tempest sweep,
And they, of all the fishermen, that night escaped the deep.
Oh, wives and mothers, sweethearts, sires! well might ye mourn next day;
For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of Wexford Bay!
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Song Of Singing
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
And glinting little minnows leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove--
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing as you will, O singers all
Who sing because you _want_ to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
Or tree-toad by the trickling spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough--
Sing! every living, loving thing--
Sing any song, and anyhow,
But Sing! Sing! Sing!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The heart I desire...
As angels dance across a star filled sky,
And loves melodious symphony beckons,
The wings of dragons have raised loves banners,
Shimmering high into the night sky,
Like a shoal of flat fish gliding across a sapphire sea,
Swathed heavily in the sparkling jewels of angels,
Yet once again I gaze upon this spectacle alone,
Has my inner poet abandoned me?
Downed his tools and deserted me in my time of need?
Shall I ever tempt the heart I desire from her hiding place? ...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Olympian Sonnet Of Sorts
Today, the torch has taken to the Thames
the eyes of all the world, wend this day.
So soon, we'll treasure such Olympic gems
as athletes in their prime will have their say.
For those whose lives have centered on this goal
begin to reap or weep as fate dictates.
Each fish will wish to stand out from the shoal,
(not like in Nature, gambling with their fates?)
The fastest, strongest, most possesed of skill
whose daily training tortures were endured
to sacrifice the years they never will
regain, but see the future they've secured.
The backers and the sponsors will ensure-
today, there's no such thing as...amateur..; ¬)
poem by Hola Mentirosa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Men on t v ware lip stick
Men on t v ware lip stick
But when I do it they call me queer
Men in church ware long black dresses
But when I ware one they call me queer
Men on the football field slap each other
On the buttocks
But when I do it they call me queer.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Rigged the Darned Sails and Waiting for the Boisterous Wind!
A 'shoal' boat is one which has a shallow keel, sometimes the keel is winged. This boat is easier to turn and has less inertia. It also can sail in shallower water. However, in heavy weather it may not be as stable as a deep water boat and may capsize more easily.
A Mermaid would be much preferable
For my single cabin?
As she knows the sea well
But do not know how she tangles
With a warm heart of a Man
That's hotter than an Oven?
Sometimes I think the lonesome is better than anything
As you could cry louder than the Ocean
And nobody bothers?
to my fellow seafarer/poet oskar in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet XII
Like as a dryad, from her native bole
Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge,
To a slow river at whose silent verge
Tall poplars tremble and deep grasses roll,
Come thou no less and, kneeling in a shoal
Of the freaked flag and meadow buttercup,
Bend till thine image from the pool beam up
Arched with blue heaven like an aureole.
See how adorable in fancy then
Lives the fair face it mirrors even so,
O thou whose beauty moving among men
Is like the wind's way on the woods below,
Filling all nature where its pathway lies
With arms that supplicate and trembling sighs.
poem by Alan Seeger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The North Sea Patrol
1914-18 -- Sea Warfare
Where the East wind is brewed fresh and fresh every morning,
And the balmy night-breezes blow straight from the Pole,
I heard a Destroyer sing: "What an enjoya-
ble life does one lead on the North Sea Patrol!
"To blow things to bits is our business (and Fritz's),
Which means there are mine-fields wherever you stroll.
Unless you've particular wish to die quick, you'll a-
void steering close to the North Sea Patrol.
"We warn from disaster the mercantile master
Who takes in high Dudgeon our life-saving role,
For every one's grousing at Docking and Dowsing
The marks and the lights on the North Sea Patrol."
[Twelve verses omitted.]
So swept but surviving, half drowned but still driving
I watched her head out through the swell off the shoal,
And I heard her propellers roar- "Write to poor fellers
Who run such a Hell as the North Sea Patrol!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Memory Basket
The basket of memories
had started growing heavy
on my wizened hands.
The apples therein
looked as fresh as ever
Every fresh dropp of tear
added to their tone
Every latest spill of blood
improved their colour.
Few more yards on that
dimpled sandy shoal.
I can see the end
half clear; half blurred.
Somewhere I have to stop.
The roaring waves looked kindly
at me.
The evening sand under my feet
felt lukewarm.
The dusking Sun flashed his
last parting grin.
My only worry;
can I carry my basket till end
and......... beyond?
poem by Sathya Narayana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Atlantis
In that ocean.
Wide eyed and deeper in your gaze,
And bluer than the bright that's in the cave.
There is a city,
Came out from you, Atlantis
In ruins, sunken below the waves
But in the city,
Where there is no one.
What's the point of being free, eh?
When there is nothing there to tie me down,
Oh, no more here.
The bluest city,
Covered in coral and coral,
On sea chests,
And sealed Jamaician tales.
There is nobody
To count the soldiering meandering whales,
With a shoal of herring amongst the sails.
But in the city,
Where there is no one.
What's the point of being free, eh?
When there is nothing there to tie me down,
Oh, no more here.
There is the city Atlantis.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet III: Love's Testament
O thou who at Love's hour ecstatically
Unto my heart dost evermore present,
Clothed with his fire, thy heart his testament;
Whom I have neared and felt thy breath to be
The inmost incense of his sanctuary;
Who without speech hast owned him, and, intent
Upon his will, thy life with mine hast blent,
And murmured, “I am thine, thou'rt one with me!”
O what from thee the grace, to me the prize,
And what to Love the glory,—when the whole
Of the deep stair thou tread'st to the dim shoal
And weary water of the place of sighs,
And there dost work deliverance, as thine eyes
Draw up my prisoned spirit to thy soul!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
William Blake
THIS is the place. Even here the dauntless soul,
The unflinching hand, wrought on; till in that nook,
As on that very bed, his life partook
New birth, and passed. Yon river's dusky shoal,
Whereto the close-built coiling lanes unroll,
Faced his work-window, whence his eyes would stare,
Thought-wandering, unto nought that met them there,
But to the unfettered irreversible goal.
This cupboard, Holy of Holies, held the cloud
Of his soul writ and limned; this other one,
His true wife's charge, full oft to their abode
Yielded for daily bread the martyr's stone,
Ere yet their food might be that Bread alone,
The words now home-speech of the mouth of God.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!