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The Tide Is High

The tide is high
But I'm holding on
I'm gonna be your number one

I'm not the kinda girl
Who gives up just like that *Oh no*

It's not the things you do
That tease and hurt me bad
But it's the way you do the things
You do to me
I'm not the kinda girl
Who gives up just like that
*Oh no*

The tide is high
But I'm holding on
I'm gonna be your #1
The tide is high
But I'm holding on

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song performed by Atomic Kitten from Feels So Good
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Uncle Johns Band

Well the first days are the hardest days
Dont you worry anymore
Cause when life looks like easy street
There is danger at your door
Now think this through with me
Let me know your mind
Oh what I want to know
Is are you kind
Now its a buck dancers choice my friends
Better take my advice
You know all the rules by now
And the fire from the ice
Now will you come with me
Wont you come with me
Oh what I want to know
Will you come with me
Sister well I declare
Have you seen the like
Their walls are built of cannon balls
Their motto is dont tread on me

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song performed by Indigo Girls
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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face
to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious
you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to
me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the
day;
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme--myself disintegrated, every
one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings--on
the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; 10

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poem by Walt Whitman
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The Borough. Letter I

'DESCRIBE the Borough'--though our idle tribe
May love description, can we so describe,
That you shall fairly streets and buildings trace,
And all that gives distinction to a place?
This cannot be; yet moved by your request
A part I paint--let Fancy form the rest.
Cities and towns, the various haunts of men,
Require the pencil; they defy the pen:
Could he who sang so well the Grecian fleet,
So well have sung of alley, lane, or street?
Can measured lines these various buildings show,
The Town-Hall Turning, or the Prospect Row?
Can I the seats of wealth and want explore,
And lengthen out my lays from door to door?
Then let thy Fancy aid me--I repair
From this tall mansion of our last year's Mayor,
Till we the outskirts of the Borough reach,
And these half-buried buildings next the beach,
Where hang at open doors the net and cork,
While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work;

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poem by George Crabbe
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Pharsalia - Book IV: Caesar In Spain. War In The Adriatic Sea. Death Of Curio.

But in the distant regions of the earth
Fierce Caesar warring, though in fight he dealt
No baneful slaughter, hastened on the doom
To swift fulfillment. There on Magnus' side
Afranius and Petreius held command,
Who ruled alternate, and the rampart guard
Obeyed the standard of each chief in turn.
There with the Romans in the camp were joined
Asturians swift, and Vettons lightly armed,
And Celts who, exiled from their ancient home,
Had joined 'Iberus' to their former name.
Where the rich soil in gentle slope ascends
And forms a modest hill, Ilerda stands,
Founded in ancient days; beside her glides
Not least of western rivers, Sicoris
Of placid current, by a mighty arch
Of stone o'erspanned, which not the winter floods
Shall overwhelm. Upon a rock hard by
Was Magnus' camp; but Caesar's on a hill,
Rivalling the first; and in the midst a stream.

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poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom

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poem by Virgil
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Crimson Tide

I wake up in the morning
I see the bright sunshine
O Lord, let be so good
A day to reckon with
I wish the day would speed by
To be with you
O Crimson Tide

O Crimson Tide
I need you my Lady
Come on Crimson Tide
I need you my sweet Lady

Here comes the sunset
Here comes my own sunshine
O Lord let be so good
My day I've reckoned with
I wish the night would slow down
Never to leave you
O Crimson Tide

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poem by Kolabomi Adeko
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The Hidden Tide

WITHIN the world a second world
That circles ceaselessly:
Stars in the sky and sister stars—
Turn in your eyes and see!

Tides of the sea that rise and fall,
Aheave from Pole to Pole—
And kindred swayings, veiled but felt,
That noise along the soul.

Yon moon, noon-rich, high-throned, remote,
And pale with pride extreme,
Draws up the sea, but what white moon
Exalts the tide of Dream?

The Fisher-Folk who cast their nets
In Vision’s golden tide
Oft bring to light misshapen shells,
And nothing worth beside.

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poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Stranded Ship: (The “Vincennes”)

’Twas the glowing log of a picnic fire where a red light should not be,
Or the curtained glow of a sick room light in a window that faced the sea.
But the Manly lights seemed the Sydney lights, and the bluffs as the “Heads” were seen;
And the Manly beach was the channel then—and the captain steered between.

The croakers said with a shoulder shrug, and a careless, know-all glance:
“You might pull out her stem, or pull out her stern—but she’ll sail no more for France!”
Her stem was dry when the tide was out, and behind her banked the sand,
Where strong gales come from the Hurricane east and the sun sets on the land.

When the tide was high and the rollers struck she shuddered as if in pain,
She had no hope for the open sea and the fair full breeze again.
She turned her side to the pounding seas and the foam glared over the rails,
It seemed her fate to be sold and stripped, and broken by winter gales.

But they sent strong gear, and they sent the gangs, and they sent her a man who knew,
And the tugs came nosing round from the Heads to see what a tug could do;
The four-ton anchors they laid to sea in the waves and the wind and rain,
And the great steel hawser they hove aboard made fast to her cable chain.

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poem by Henry Lawson
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The Sea has Many Moods

poetry in progress

the sea has many moods
you need more than one
canvas to paint them all
and an imagination cresting
like waves sweeping onto shores

the sea has many moods
it presents dawn with
streaks of luminous hope
and slowly breaks through
the menacing bleakness of night
to give us a new day -
a fresh new born, his eyes
gleaming like angel and that
first cry which opens to us
a new terrace for love - a chill
that slowly builds into a warmth
between us knowing that it

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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