Best Ferry Poems
an hour before docking
it was ice cold and freezing
as the vessel like scissors
cut clean through the swell
and the ship’s horn then sounded
and woke those still sleeping
startling the standing
and seagulls as well
and the door opened outwards
on a windswept and dark deck
as a lighthouse and headland
appeared to our right
while the radar was turning
mixing mist with the morning
as we looked over railings
still wet from the night
and the lifeboat above us
secured by strong davits
dripped north sea in droplets
from somewhere on high
and the noise of the engines
grew loud and then quiet
as the spindrift and windchill
danced wild with the sky
and the lights and the silos
of europoort holland
shone blurred with bright colours
as such paintings do
and we stood there transfixed
with our backs towards england
while dawn beckoned others
to stand and stare too.
Leaning on the rail,
Clasping a clutch bag of dreams.
Sea spray blends with tears.
Propellers churn memories,
Of Love betrayed and submerged.
As the engines grate.
People read- exclusively.
Peace at last- onboard!
Young Terri loved a ferry ride,
She rode it all the time,
She'd put the money in the slot
To ride the ferry line.
The ferry rose up and down
Upon the harbour wave,
Sometimes she'd hear the foghorn
Blown by Ferry Master Dave.
When Terri arrived at the dock,
They'd put the gangplank down,
She'd whistle down the walkway,
Then stroll around the harbour town.
He was a young man traveling lightly with nothing much to carry
but his dreams and wide-eyed wonder
and a ticket for a ferry
Ride, across a river wide that meandered like nothing real
while looking for rhyme and reason
to come alive and learn to deal
With whom and what he was inside, deeper than the skies
he would soon be crossing over
with this new-found ferry ticket ride
Taking him to places he knew not where or when
Yet knowing he’d soon be racing time
like a moth against the wind
While waiting for the ferry boat still in his youthful prime
He heard the wind spin tails again and whisper “Time to ride.”
Sitting- on the boat,
I am- intrigued by the- fog-
which- destroys- the world.
There's a huge crowd
with alacrity,
with variety,
movements continue.
across cultures
vary in shapes and forms
it's an experience,
worth knowing.
along with conversations
comes another impression
languages stand to reason
like a soul - the beauty of one's culture.
expressions and reactions
among these people
interesting to watch,
a piece of literature.
young and old alike
show each own picture
either a facial expression
or in speech form.
the cool breeze from the island
soothes the body temperature
like a whispering note
provides an inspiration.
a time to dock now
a time to get ready,
a time to say thanks
and say welcome to Staten Island.
The- ferry- sways left,
Then right- in unison- pon-
Dering- whom- to love.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
The smell was awful.
8:15
The island ferry rumbles at the port
A stream of tourists scramble from the rear
As the sun goes down behind the concrete
Taxi doors glow in colours that can't be
Bought, sold or caught.
8:53
The Oil truck rumbles at the port
A stream of sweat with the change of gear
5 attempts to scramble up the drawbridge
And an empty bottle of beer
Glowing like an emerald on the wall
O Carry me o'er this red water river
Where my love waits on the western shore
Take me across on the Merrimac Ferry
For one last embrace ere I go off to war
O Merrimac Ferry won't you please hurry
To carry my love from the eastern shore
The season is warming, the soldiers are must'ring
Soon he'll be gone and he'll hold me no more
The thaw has ended, the robins returning
Nature beckons our entwining hearts
I'll cross once more on the Merrimac Ferry
Ere my regiment departs
These sweltering summers I swim in the river
And dream of my love's return
I hear from Papa the tales of the battles
Oh how our country does burn
Since I gazed last upon my lovely
Three bloody summers have passed
I lost me a leg and I won me a medal
Now I return to her at last
I received a letter of my love's homecoming
Hurry Merrimac Ferry to bring him!
Autumn approaches, the water grows choppy
Today is the season's last swim
Early autumn descends on the red water river
Where my love drown'd off the western shore
O Merrimac Ferry carry me to her
So we'll be together forevermore
November 5, 2016
clearing morning mist
silhouetted hills in view
Arran ferry
Styx
by Michael R. Burch
Black waters, deep and dark and still:
all men have passed this way, or will.
NOTE: According to ancient Greek mythology, the Styx was the River of Death. The dead would pay Charon, the ferryman of Hades, a fare to carry them across the Styx to their eternal destination. (Hades was not "hell" as it was improperly translated in the King James Bible. Hades had heavenly regions, such as the Elysian Fields and the Blessed Isles.) The fee was normally an obolus or danake. The Greeks would place the coins in the mouths of the dead, but over time the custom would become placing coins, usually pennies, on the eyes of the dead.
The mist settles on my face.
My head tilts back stiffly.
Eyes are wedged shut from the bright light,
Seeing purple, and spots from squinting too tight.
I can't even look.
I feel the movement and rush of the water below, the sway.
The smell of the sea and petrol quickens my stomach.
I hear the seagulls circling nearby, and one, even lands near my head.
Startled, I open my eyes to a blurry world.
I jump back, only to glimpse it flying away..
Had I only been still, maybe a secret he'd have shared.
Or did he just want the crust of bread I didn't have?
The haunting ruin to the left takes my breath.
The atmosphere cool and distant.
I can't move.
With an oar and a long boat
Down river goes the deal maker,
Ferrying another soul afloat
... For I am their taker ...
Black cloak 'round my shoulder
Two coins in my bony hand,
I bring the younger or older
Off to a more distant land
Paddling waters, still and gray
Done a million times or more,
Candle and lantern to light my way
Back and forth to each shore
My fee is due on your funeral day
Not long after a warm body dies,
So your spirit will not have to pay
May someone lay them on your eyes
'Tis no easy, nor grim task ...
For two thin coins of solid gold,
Death wears no ghoulish mask
Draped in peaceful shrouds of olde
Entrust unto me, the so-called reaper
Sent on down here by your maker,
Fear not me ... a gate keeper
This olde ferryman ... the taker.