Here, Sailor
WHAT ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning?
Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the channel, a perfect
pilot needs?
Here, sailor! Here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot,
Whom, in a little boat, putting off, and rowing, I, hailing you,
offer.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
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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The Ship Of Earth.
'Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold,
I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!
'The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky,
But all the deck is wet with blood and stains the crystal red.
A pilot, GOD, a pilot! for the helm is left awry,
And the best sailors in the ship lie there among the dead!'
poem by Sidney Lanier
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The Auster Blows
Above the pilot cutter I hoe, to strike amain
of her I think - sea gulls aloft
our ship is land-locked enters the port again
th' Auster blows ever soft.
my lady in memory, a perty thing to chase
I board her up, on soul's edge
her kind smile cuns the pilot, aptly to trace
in sea-waters known to allege.
Christmas 's close, bells, boat keeps 'er luff,
she goes steady on same point
I recall a tear and a scarf, and then a laugh,
winter 't was, with the anoint.
Ship sails steady, bears up, and quartening,
fore course, she goes lasking in fog
my peppermint's on the moors, ship's driving
be end to end, for that egg-nog.
I kiss her face, as she expected, was me afore,
she 's my Christmas strike of truth,
I pick her up, she laughs, eyes shine to ore,
and a sweet kiss I offer on her tooth.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Accident Prone
Accident Prone Pilot.
The ship was going up river to unload
containers full of scooters and tractors;
rain upland water level higher than usual.
There is an overpass across the river and
the ship´s bridge and communication mast
collided with it. It took a month to repair
damage to the ship and she was ready to
sail down the river, out to deep sea again.
There had been no rain for rain for a month
water level was lower than usual.
Going under the bridge was a piece of cake,
nervous pilot and anxious captain smiled,
but then the ship shuddered and got stuck in
the mud.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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Serenade
THE western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Ægean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover's vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman's toy,
They never know the lover's pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.
O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady's lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?
No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine away! away!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Row, Row, Row The Boat
Row, row, row the boat,
gently down the stream
of consciousness, and take close note
of things of which you dream
when working gallingly in galleys,
Ben Hur, condemned to row
until the spirit market rallies,
or falls like Jericho.
Slave, slave, slave, keep writing:
wait not for liberation,
and don’t feel crucified while fighting
lack of inspiration.
Be resurrected when unconscious,
keep jester juices flowing,
on auto-pilot, serving Pontius,
rowing, rowing, rowing.
David West, who is printing the galleys of my forthcoming book Legal Friction: Law, Narrative and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel, sent me an e-mail today which read:
And keep in mind Jack Hawkins’ famous advice to the galley slaves in Ben Hur: “You are all condemned men. We keep you alive to serve this ship. So row well, and live.”
9/23/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Voids
A pilot without a sky
A sky without a pilot
A captain without a ship
A ship without a pivot
A book void of pages
A page without a book
A letter without a word
The word forgotten unheard
By silent actors and stages
An eye without a sight
Eyeholes bottomless pits
A hand without a shake
A weakness earning on might
A wound you cannot unbreak
21st century beats
21st century eats
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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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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Don't Alarm The Passengers
Steward...
Is it my imagination,
Or is the plane flying without a pilot?
'Don't alarm the passengers,
But yes.
The conservatives aboard,
Have decided those liberal...
Are in too many positions of control.
And wish to replace the pilot,
Because it is assumed...
He is a Muslim, born in a different country.
And determined he is no longer qualified to fly.'
But don't they realize all of us might die?
'I have been promised a high paying position,
By them...
When the new pilot is found and we land.
However...
No one else aboard has the guts,
To sit in the pilot's seat.
So I'm doing my best to keep all of you calm.'
Are you NUTS?
'Sir,
I must beg of you to lower your voice.
We have many conservatives flying first class.
And they will be distubed by your outbursts! '
But we all will die without a pilot!
'Hopefully not.
Many are now praying to have someone appear,
Who poses no threat to their stolen traditions.
And that person not be of color.'
What difference does that make?
'Many on board...
Rather die than be saved by a Negro! '
Are they all INSANE?
'Sir,
I must beg of you to lower your voice.
Don't alarm the passengers,
But yes.
The conservatives aboard,
Have decided those liberal...
Are in too many positions of control.
And wish to replace the pilot,
Because it is assumed...
He is a Muslim, born in a different country.
And determined he is no longer qualified to fly.'
So...
What happens? ! WHAT HAPPENS? ? ?
'Sir,
Please lower your voice.
What happens?
Whatever happens...
I'm sure no one will ever learn a thing! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Is This Poem
thunderstorm
carries a ship
relentlessly aboard
a hopeless man he confesses to be
one hopeless man
losing his sense of direction
climbs
aboard towards the roof of the ship
gazing at the horizon
i fear that he would jump
out the ship into the whirlpool
he looks at me
and i sense the same
fear
to an identical situation
upon the same
storm upon the same ship
upon the same
dark hour
somehow we change
and so here i am
writing about him
it is this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Costs crores
Costs crores
To train a pilot.
No body can fly
Without pilot.
You are my only pilot
I cost nothing
It is you to take my flight
Without any hazard.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Anybody can pilot a ship when the sea is calm.
quote by Navjot Singh Sidhu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfect Harmony
Perfect harmony, lets put it all together.
Every piece fits right.
But do we have the time.
Never enough, always wanted more.
Its Pandora's door.
Once its open i can never be closed.
So exposed.
Perfect harmony, the dominoes have be lined up.
One flick of the finger and watch them all fall,
all the hopes and dreams stolen by a perfect harmony.
Why does it have to be routine.
Why not a little chaos in the order.
That way when that person tries to destroy it.
It ends in failure.
You cant sink a ship that's already sinking.
Time to jump ship once again.
Perfect harmony creates a melody of tragedy.
Still we search for it.
Knowing we will lose it all again.
Cause soon or later you got lose.
In the end the house always wins.
Get out while the getting is good.
I really think you should.
Perfect harmony indefinitely.
Is there even such a reality.
Has the wind been forever knocked out of me.
I think not cause chaos is my order.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Perfect Part 2
I don’t need perfect cloth
I don’t need perfect hair
What I need is a confidence
I don’t need perfect score
I don’t need perfect job
What I need is a support
I don’t need perfect word
I don’t need perfect dream
What I need is a chance
I don’t need perfect agreement
I don’t need perfect control
What I need is a solution
I don’t need perfect holiday
I don’t need perfect memories
What I need is a peace of mind
I don’t need perfect home
I don’t need perfect family
What I need is a comfort
I don’t need perfect love
I don’t need perfect life
What I need is an understanding
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Aboard At A Ship's Helm
the island with the gracious mountain
the tip of the boat inches steadily forward
my heart angled between it
one hour, two hours, three hours
the mountain looms so grand but so far
the boat plods on... and on
bumping against the wave
going up down, up down
the swirling birds, how fortunate they are up there
i put my bored mind into their wings
and travel to realms that excite the mind and senses
of man and wife and children
that run between the trees, shrubs
that flip past my eyes
i put stories into the houses that run
away so fast from view
warm stories of infatuation, continuous love making
where the world revolves around
a man and woman, and their senses
the halcyon day stays as it is
never runs into night
on and on the river records my imagination
youthful imagination that makes
the young years so worthy of living
so many generations pass for my hero and heroine
in one boat ride seven hours in all
they run on so many fields, cheerful in so many of the houses
before the mountain finally looms big onto my eyes
the stories i have spun trail the waves to another dimension
i ready myself for the stories the almighty spins for me
each step of the way i am now the hero
the waves and the whole mountain lie in wait for me
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!
O ship of the body-ship of the soul-voyaging, voyaging, voyaging.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Flying-Fish Sailor
'The Western Ocean rolls and roars
From Sandy Hook to Europe's shores,
From Fastnet Light to Portland, Maine,
And Newport News and back again,
With Boston, Salem, Montreal,
And plenty o' ports both large and small,
And them that like may keep 'em all,
Not me,' says the flying-fish sailor.
The Western Ocean roars and rolls
With all its deeps and all its shoals
And many a thundering wintry gale,
And many a storm of rain and hail,
And let who likes have sleet and snow,
And driving fog and drifting floe,
For South away and Eastward Ho!
Is the road for the flying-fish sailor.
In Blackwall Dock she is moored,
Her hatches on and her stores aboard,
In Blackwall Dock she lies to-day,
And she will sail when the morning's grey
For Sunda Strait and Singapore,
And Palembang and plenty more,
And many a swarming Eastern shore
That's known to the flying-fish sailor.
The girls they'll cry and the lads'll shout
When the blooming tugboat warps her out:
We'll drop the pilot off the Nore
With fond farewells to take ashore
To mothers, wives and sweethearts too -
Love to Sally and love to Sue -
And that's the last for a year or two
You'll see of the flying-fish sailor.
We'll drop the tug and we'll bear away
Down the Channel, across the Bay;
The Western Isles we'll leave behind
And make the Line with the good Trade wind:
We'll see the dolphins sport and play,
(And haul our yards ten times a day),
While South'ard still we beat our way,
The way of the flying-fish sailor.
And forty south when we have passed,
Her easting down she runs at last,
Where the white whale swims in the far South Sea,
And the brave West winds blow full and free:
The good old winds they bluster and blow
The same as they used to years ago,
And the good old stars that well we know
Look down on the flying-fish sailor.
The darned old hooker 'll log sixteen,
She'll ship it heavy and ship it green,
She'll roll along with her lee-rail under,
While the big seas break aboard like thunder:
The pots and pans they'll carry away,
And the cook go down on his knees and pray,
But let the seas roar as they may,
All's one to the flying-fish sailor.
At Sydney next a call we'll pay,
And meet a pal on Circular Quay;
We'll glance at Java Head also,
And Fuji's crest of frozen snow,
And slant-eyed girls in far Japan,
Wun Lee, Wang Ho and little Yo San,
With braided hair and twinkling fan,
Will smile on a flying-fish sailor.
And last of all the day'll come round
When the blooming mudhook leaves the ground,
And to old England we return,
Our pockets filled with pay to burn,
With a painted fan and an ivory comb
From foreign towns beyond the foam,
And a golden ring for the girl at home
That waits for the flying-fish sailor.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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The dream-ship
When the world is fast asleep,
Along the midnight skies--
As though it were a wandering cloud--
The ghostly dream-ship flies.
An angel stands at the dream-ship's helm,
An angel stands at the prow,
And an angel stands at the dream-ship's side
With a rue-wreath on her brow.
The other angels, silver-crowned,
Pilot and helmsman are,
And the angel with the wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.
The dreams they fall on rich and poor;
They fall on young and old;
And some are dreams of poverty,
And some are dreams of gold.
And some are dreams that thrill with joy,
And some that melt to tears;
Some are dreams of the dawn of love,
And some of the old dead years.
On rich and poor alike they fall,
Alike on young and old,
Bringing to slumbering earth their joys
And sorrows manifold.
The friendless youth in them shall do
The deeds of mighty men,
And drooping age shall feel the grace
Of buoyant youth again.
The king shall be a beggarman--
The pauper be a king--
In that revenge or recompense
The dream-ship dreams do bring.
So ever downward float the dreams
That are for all and me,
And there is never mortal man
Can solve that mystery.
But ever onward in its course
Along the haunted skies--
As though it were a cloud astray--
The ghostly dream-ship flies.
Two angels with their silver crowns
Pilot and helmsman are,
And an angel with a wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.
poem by Eugene Field
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Mr.Perfect
Mr. Perfect
By: Jean Pullman
Your smile it warms my soul
Your touch makes me lose all control
Your personality is too good to be true
Your looks I can’t begin to explain what they do.
CHORUS
You’re Mr. Perfect in every way
You become more perfect with every day
You’re Mr. Perfect no matter what they say
You’re Mr. Perfect you blow me away
You are so perfect to me.
Every single thing you do
Makes it impossible to forget you
You are the only one that I can truly say
Is perfect in every way
Maybe that’s why you can’t be
Not with her but with me
Because your perfect and of course you’re taken
Because of you my hearts forsaken.
CHORUS
You’re Mr. Perfect in every way
You become more perfect with every day
You’re Mr. Perfect no matter what they say
You’re Mr. Perfect you blow me away
You are so perfect to me.
I die a little more inside
Every time I look into your eyes
And know that you can’t be mine
It will be hard to find
Another guy like you
Who can take away the blue
So now I go on to say
Your perfect in every way.
poem by Jean Pullman
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Seeing that a Pilot steers the ship in which we sail, who will never allow us to perish even in the midst of shipwrecks, there is no reason why our minds should be overwhelmed with fear and overcome with weariness.
quote by John Calvin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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