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Best Famous Shove Off Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Shove Off poems. This is a select list of the best famous Shove Off poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Shove Off poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of shove off poems.

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Written by James Tate | Create an image from this poem

Success Comes To Cow Creek

 I sit on the tracks,
a hundred feet from
earth, fifty from the
water.
Gerald is inching toward me as grim, slow, and determined as a season, because he has no trade and wants none.
It's been nine months since I last listened to his fate, but I know what he will say: he's the fire hydrant of the underdog.
When he reaches my point above the creek, he sits down without salutation, and spits profoundly out past the edge, and peeks for meaning in the ripple it brings.
He scowls.
He speaks: when you walk down any street you see nothing but coagulations of **** and vomit, and I'm sick of it.
I suggest suicide; he prefers murder, and spits again for the sake of all the great devout losers.
A conductor's horn concerto breaks the air, and we, two doomed pennies on the track, shove off and somersault like anesthetized fleas, ruffling the ideal locomotive poised on the water with our light, dry bodies.
Gerald shouts terrifically as he sails downstream like a young man with a destination.
I swim toward shore as fast as my boots will allow; as always, neglecting to drown.


Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Song of the Red War-Boat

 Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady!
Watch for a smooth! Give way!
If she feels the lop already 
She'll stand on her head in the bay.
It's ebb--it's dusk--it's blowing-- The shoals are a mile of white, But ( snatch her along! ) we're going To find our master to-night.
For we hold that in all disaster Of shipwreck, storm, or sword, A Man must stand by his Master When once he has pledged his word.
Raging seas have we rowed in But we seldom saw them thus, Our master is angry with Odin-- Odin is angry with us! Heavy odds have we taken, But never before such odds.
The Gods know they are forsaken.
We must risk the wrath of the Gods! Over the crest she flies from, Into its hollow she drops, Cringes and clears her eyes from The wind-torn breaker-tops, Ere out on the shrieking shoulder Of a hill-high surge she drives.
Meet her! Meet her and hold her! Pull for your scoundrel lives! The thunder below and clamor The harm that they mean to do! There goes Thor's own Hammer Cracking the dark in two! Close! But the blow has missed her, Here comes the wind of the blow! Row or the squall'Il twist her Broadside on to it!--Row! Heark'ee, Thor of the Thunder! We are not here for a jest-- For wager, warfare, or plunder, Or to put your power to test.
This work is none of our wishing-- We would house at home if we might-- But our master is wrecked out fishing.
We go to find him to-night.
For we hold that in all disaster-- As the Gods Themselves have said-- A Man must stand by his Master Till one of the two is dead.
That is our way of thinking, Now you can do as you will, While we try to save her from sinking And hold her head to it still.
Bale her and keep her moving, Or she'll break her back in the trough.
.
.
.
Who said the weather's improving, Or the swells are taking off? Sodden, and chafed and aching, Gone in the loins and knees-- No matter--the day is breaking, And there's far less weight to the seas! Up mast, and finish baling-- In oar, and out with mead-- The rest will be two-reef sailing.
.
.
.
That was a night indeed! But we hold it in all disaster (And faith, we have found it true!) If only you stand by your Master, The Gods will stand by you!
Written by Edward Taylor | Create an image from this poem

Success Comes To Cow Creek

 I sit on the tracks,
a hundred feet from
earth, fifty from the
water.
Gerald is inching toward me as grim, slow, and determined as a season, because he has no trade and wants none.
It's been nine months since I last listened to his fate, but I know what he will say: he's the fire hydrant of the underdog.
When he reaches my point above the creek, he sits down without salutation, and spits profoundly out past the edge, and peeks for meaning in the ripple it brings.
He scowls.
He speaks: when you walk down any street you see nothing but coagulations of **** and vomit, and I'm sick of it.
I suggest suicide; he prefers murder, and spits again for the sake of all the great devout losers.
A conductor's horn concerto breaks the air, and we, two doomed pennies on the track, shove off and somersault like anesthetized fleas, ruffling the ideal locomotive poised on the water with our light, dry bodies.
Gerald shouts terrifically as he sails downstream like a young man with a destination.
I swim toward shore as fast as my boots will allow; as always, neglecting to drown.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

A Tribute to Henry M. Stanley

 Welcome, thrice welcome, to the city of Dundee,
The great African explorer Henry M Stanley,
Who went out to Africa its wild regions to explore,
And travelled o'er wild and lonely deserts, fatigued and footsore.
And what he and his little band suffered will never be forgot, Especially one in particular, Major Edmund Barttelot, Alas! the brave heroic Officer by a savage was shot, The commandant of the rear column - O hard has been his lot! O think of the noble Stanley and his gallant little band, While travelling through gloomy forests and devastated land, And suffering from all kinds of hardships under a burning sun! But the brave hero has been successful and the victory's won.
While in Africa he saw many wonderful sights, And was engaged, no doubt, in many savage fights, But the wise Creator was with him all along And now he's home again to us, I hope quite strong.
And during his travels in Africa he made strange discoveries, He discovered a dwarfish race of people called pigmies, Who are said to be the original natives of Africa, And when Stanley discovered them he was struck with awe.
One event in particular is most worthy to relate, How God preserved him from a very cruel fate: He and his Officers were attacked, while sailing their boat, By the savages of Bumbireh, all eager to cut his throat.
They seized him by the hair and tugged it without fear, While one of his men received a poke in the ribs with a spear; But Stanley, having presence of mind, instantly contrives To cry to his men, Shove off the boat, and save your lives! Then savages swarmed into three canoes very close by, And every bow was drawn, while they savagely did cry; But thee heroic Stanley quickly shot two of them dead, Then the savages were baffled and immediately fled.
This incident is startling, but nevertheless true, And in midst of all dangers the Lord brought him through Then, welcome him,.
thrice welcome him, right cheerfully, Shouting, Long live the great African explorer, Henry M Stanley! Therefore throw open the gates of the city of Dundee, And receive him with loud cheers, three time three, And sound your trumpets and beat your drums, And play up, See the Conquering Hero Comes!
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Security

 There once was a limpet puffed with pride
Who said to the ribald sea:
"It isn't I who cling to the rock,
It's the rock that clings to me;
It's the silly old rock who hugs me tight,
Because he loves me so;
And though I struggle with all my might,
He will not let me go.
" Then said the sea, who hates the rock That defies him night and day: "You want to be free - well, leave it to me, I'll help you get away.
I know such a beautiful silver beach, Where blissfully you may bide; Shove off to-night when the moon is bright, And I'll swig you thee on my tide.
" "I'd like to go," said the limpet low, "But what's a silver beach?" "It's sand," said the sea, "bright baby rock, And you shall be lord of each.
" "Righto!" said the limpet; "Life allures, And a rover I would be.
" So greatly bold she slacked her hold And launched on the laughing sea.
But when she got to the gelid deep Where the waters swish and swing, She began to know with a sense of woe That a limpet's lot is to cling.
but she couldn't cling to a jelly fish, Or clutch at a wastrel weed, So she raised a cry as the waves went by, but the waves refused to heed.
Then when she came to the glaucous deep Where the congers coil and leer, The flesh in her shell began to creep, And she shrank in utter fear.
It was good to reach that silver beach, That gleamed in the morning light, Where a shining band of the silver sand Looked up with with a welcome bright.
Looked up with a smile that was full of guile, Called up through the crystal blue: "Each one of us is a baby rock, And we want to cling to you.
" Then the heart of the limpet leaped with joy, For she hated the waters wide; So down she sank to the sandy bank That clung to her under-side.
That clung so close she couldn't breath, So fierce she fought to be free; But the silver sand couldn't understand, While above her laughed the sea.
Then to each wave that wimpled past She cried in her woe and pain: "Oh take me back, let me rivet fast To my steadfast rock again.
" She cried till she roused a taxi-crab Who gladly gave her a ride; But I grieve to say in his crabby way He insisted she sit inside.
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So if of the limpet breed ye be, Beware life's brutal shock; Don't take the chance of the changing sea, But - cling like hell to your rock.