Best Ferry Poems

As the engines grate.
People read- exclusively.
                    Peace at last- onboard!...

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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...

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Sitting- on the boat,
I am- intrigued by the- fog-
                    which- destroys- the world....

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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...

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Leaning on the rail,
Clasping a clutch bag of dreams.
Sea spray blends with tears.
Propellers churn memories,
Of Love betrayed and submerged....

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The- ferry- sways left, 
Then right- in unison- pon-
                    Dering- whom- to love....

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There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
The smell was awful....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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To the ferry, people flock;
The ride is smooth and free.
Despite the gloomy weather,
It’s the perfect place to be.

Out the window, fog and haze;
Raindrop pattern splatters.
People barely give a glance – 
Transport all that matters.

Lady Liberty appears,
Torch held high in greeting;
Tourists take a snapshot,
Their attention sharp...

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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 the seagulls as well

and the door opened outwards
on a windswept and dark deck
as a lighthouse and headland...

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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...

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clearing morning mist
  silhouetted hills in view
       Arran ferry...

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