SIMPLE POETRY : HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (And lots of other sea inspired poetry!)
A CURATED COLLECTION OF SCIENCE FACTS AND DELICIOUS FICTIONS !
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
1/17/25
WRITE A FICTION STORY OR A POEM THAT IS ABOUT THE OCEAN OR INCLUDES THE SEA CREATURES FROM A PARTICULAR PART OF THE OCEAN!
Since it's fictions, you may create a sea creature that may not actually exist! Maybe there are mermaids.
Yes this writing can be Delicious Fiction!
Be creative!
But perhaps you could do the Science Fact research first and then follow your creativity!
Will you write a graphic novel?
What about illustrating your book!
Add to the extensive literature and poetry that includes the sea!
Siren
9/17/22
I WANT TO AGE LIKE SEA GLASS : POEM by BERNADETTE NOLL
BEACHCOMBING MAGAZINE: I WANT TO AGE LIKE SEA GLASS : POEM : Bernadette Noll
Read the whole poem by going to the link...
Excerpt: I want to be picked up on occasion by an unsuspected soul and carried along - just for the connection, just for the sake of appreciation and wonder. And with each encounter, new possibilities of collaboration are presented, and new ideas are born.
6/18/21
SEA FEVER : POEM BY JOHN MASEFIELD
SEA FEVER
by John Masefield
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grew dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
4/15/20
WALT WHITMAN : AS I EBBE'D WITH THE OCEAN LIFE
As I ebb'd with the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'
d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of
the globe.
Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those
slender windrows,
Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide,
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me,
Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses,
These you presented to me you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk;d with that electric self seeking types.
As I went to the shores I know not,
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
I too but signify at the utmost a little wash'd-up drift,
A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.
O bafled, bal'kd, bent to the very earth,
Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have
not once had the least idea who or what I am,
But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet untouch'd
untold. altogether unreach'd.
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,
Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.
I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single object
and that no man ever can,
Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me
and sting me,
Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
You oceans both, I close with you,
We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing not why,
These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all.
You friable shore with trails of debris,
You fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot,
What is yours is mine my father.
I too Paumanok,
I took have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been wash'd
on your shores,
I too am but a trail of drift and debris,
I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island.
I throw myself upon your breast my father,
I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,
I hold you so firm till you answer me something.
Kiss me my father,
Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love,
Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy.
Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)
Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother,
Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me,
Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or
gather from you.
I mean tenderly by you and all,
I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead,
and following me and mine.
Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses,
Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,
(See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last,
See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,)
Tufts of straw, sands, fragments,
Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting another,
From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell,
Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil,
Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown,
A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at
random,
Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature,
Just as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets,
We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out before
you,
You up there walking or sitting,
Whoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet.
Walt Whitman
WHITMAN ARCHIVE ORG
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'
d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of
the globe.
Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those
slender windrows,
Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide,
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me,
Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses,
These you presented to me you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk;d with that electric self seeking types.
As I went to the shores I know not,
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
I too but signify at the utmost a little wash'd-up drift,
A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.
O bafled, bal'kd, bent to the very earth,
Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have
not once had the least idea who or what I am,
But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet untouch'd
untold. altogether unreach'd.
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,
Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.
I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single object
and that no man ever can,
Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me
and sting me,
Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
You oceans both, I close with you,
We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing not why,
These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all.
You friable shore with trails of debris,
You fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot,
What is yours is mine my father.
I too Paumanok,
I took have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been wash'd
on your shores,
I too am but a trail of drift and debris,
I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island.
I throw myself upon your breast my father,
I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,
I hold you so firm till you answer me something.
Kiss me my father,
Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love,
Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy.
Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)
Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother,
Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me,
Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or
gather from you.
I mean tenderly by you and all,
I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead,
and following me and mine.
Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses,
Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,
(See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last,
See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,)
Tufts of straw, sands, fragments,
Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting another,
From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell,
Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil,
Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown,
A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at
random,
Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature,
Just as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets,
We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out before
you,
You up there walking or sitting,
Whoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet.
Walt Whitman
WHITMAN ARCHIVE ORG
11/16/19
BY THE SEA by EMILY DICKINSON - POETRY
BY THE SEA
a poem by Emily Dickinson
I started early, took my dog
And visited the sea
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me
And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands
But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe
And past my apron and my belt
And past my bodice too
And made as he would eat me up
As wholly as a dew
Upon a dandelion's sleeve
And then I started too
And he - he followed close behind
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, - then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl
Until we met the solid town
No man he seemed to know
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew
***** In this poem, the poet takes a walk on the beach and imagines what it would be to a mermaid. She ventures into the incoming tide...
a poem by Emily Dickinson
I started early, took my dog
And visited the sea
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me
And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands
But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe
And past my apron and my belt
And past my bodice too
And made as he would eat me up
As wholly as a dew
Upon a dandelion's sleeve
And then I started too
And he - he followed close behind
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, - then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl
Until we met the solid town
No man he seemed to know
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew
***** In this poem, the poet takes a walk on the beach and imagines what it would be to a mermaid. She ventures into the incoming tide...
1/16/19
12/15/18
9/23/10
BY THE SEA a poem by CHRISTINA ROSETTI ( 1830-1894)
BY THE SEA
by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Why does the sea moan evermore?
Shut out from heaven it makes its moan,
It frets against the boundary shore;
All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea,
that drinking thirsteth still.
Sheer miracles of loveliness
Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed:
Anemones, salt, passionless,
Blow flower-like; just enough alive
To blow and multiply and thrive.
Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike,
Encrusted live things argus-eyed,
All fair alike,
yet all unlike,
Are born without a pang,
and die
Without a pang,
and so pass by.
by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Why does the sea moan evermore?
Shut out from heaven it makes its moan,
It frets against the boundary shore;
All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea,
that drinking thirsteth still.
Sheer miracles of loveliness
Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed:
Anemones, salt, passionless,
Blow flower-like; just enough alive
To blow and multiply and thrive.
Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike,
Encrusted live things argus-eyed,
All fair alike,
yet all unlike,
Are born without a pang,
and die
Without a pang,
and so pass by.
8/21/10
WATER A POEM BY MARY OLIVER
WATER
"What is the vitality and necessity
of clean water?
Ask the man who is ill, who is lifting
his lips to the cup.
Ask the forest.
C Mary Oliver from her book "Evidence"
"What is the vitality and necessity
of clean water?
Ask the man who is ill, who is lifting
his lips to the cup.
Ask the forest.
C Mary Oliver from her book "Evidence"
7/2/10
AMY LOWELL POETRY SEA SHELL
Sea Shell
by Amy Lowell
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O Please!
A song of ships, and sailor men,
And parrots, and tropical trees,
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may find again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And seahorses stabled in great green caves.
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing of the things you know so well.
by Amy Lowell
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O Please!
A song of ships, and sailor men,
And parrots, and tropical trees,
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may find again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And seahorses stabled in great green caves.
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing of the things you know so well.
11/6/09
RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER - a long poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
A traditional sea poem... Shouldn't you read it once?
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