Long Fundy Poems
Long Fundy Poems. Below are the most popular long Fundy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fundy poems by poem length and keyword.
Twere a blisterin day, on da Fundy Bay, aboard da ‘ Black Angel of da Blue”,
with a crew of 32, whilst resting a spell, wid a thunderin clap of grog ,
when da Jack o’ Cups , his Jib a hangin, spotted a Jolly Roger aft.
Aye! ye coulda sinked me! When dem thar scallywags gave chase.
So we pumped da bilge, droppin a load of crap in thar path, weighed anchor,
turned three sheets to da wind and tried to outrun dem thar sprougs,
but me mateys' deadlights twere blinded by da grog -
as useless as dem thar lanlubbers, and soon dem thar scallywags
overhauled da ‘ Black Angel’.
So! wid a heave to, we blasted dem thar swabs wid da balls off da Brass Monkey...six pounders dey be, but nary-a-one hit da mark and nary a one came back. Dem thar scuffeys' didn’t aim ta sink us, fur da botty be all dey be wantin.
Arrr! Fur sur now we be black spotted,
but I not be ready fur Davey Jones locker yet.
One more clap of thunder be what I be needin ta clear me groggy mind
and figger a way outta dis hornwaggle.
So I spliced da mainbrace and it come ta me in a flash,
da only cargo we be a carryin be Rummmmmmmmmmmm.
so we set dem thar kegs adrift and it wernt long afore dem thar
sprougs was a drinkin grog and a fine time be had by all.
~~~~~
Inspired by: Paula Swanson's contest
Awarded: Second Place
Author's Note:
In order to understand this narrative, you need to understand Pirate's language. You can
find it on the web - just type Pirate language in your search engine.
In so many shades of black and white, I find you after all these years;
leaning against that old weathered clapboard schoolhouse,
high on the hill overlooking the Fundy Bay,
and again, I inhale the fragrance of those wild sea salt roses
and feel the ocean mist upon my face, as I look out at those
sunbeams dancing on the tops of those rolling waves.
There you are, in your hand-me-down dress,
with socks pooling around the tops of your shoes.
There, third row to the far left, sporting a home made bowl haircut,
and a smile of utter joy.
After all years, in so many shades of black and white,
I find that little lost girl, and I am a kid again.
In so many shades of black white, I find the true colors that are me.
~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made
Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago
I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears
We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play
We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand
It was a cold winter day on the Fundy Bay when the wind and the Ocean Raged
You were a child with the sweetest smile who walked through a storm for a mile
Over the frozen sand as I held your hand, we made our way to the land
Up over the banks past the shipyard tanks and a pile of old wooden planks
Homeward bound as the snow fell down and wood shavings blew all around
I held your hand like a grown man the way that your Mother planned
Keeping you warm from the day I was born together we weathered the storm
I was made by a hand, with wool from a lamb, with love knitted in every strand
As soft as a kitten and Oh! So smitten, I...Just one of pair of mittens.
April 12, 2018
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds
away, over the hill.
Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our way to the
rocky mantle below .
There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’,
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.
We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun,
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and listen to the sound of the
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on
the ‘Fundy Bay’.
Drivel in a puddle
Cried my tears
The bowl is dry
The water is a wonder we all need there is no why
The water is life
The life is for the all
We can not keep our pigeon read
We only seam to fall
There is a crawl up a way side
There is a demon in the tree
You should not question every feeling , the sky is the ceiling
This is only a dream
Nothing is as it seems and it will never be so
Only one time
Sometime
Can I begin
From where I started from?
The lord is a word
The meaning is old
The vulture’s a bird
Not one scrap left for thee
Me? I see you
I can be beneath you
In the clouds
catching your shine
Not mine. No
Mine is a long soft wave
The song of a swan
The honk of a goose in my feathers
Warm like the hot water bottle by my feet
The crickets make sounds that I will never forget
Chirping us all to sleep until the next season comes
The high tides
The Bay of Fundy
The rocks show early
The fish swim sparkling
The same as we all keep moving and shining in our own way.
Everything is all the same in a way that it isn’t at all
Separately equal only makes sense as a philosophy
But everything is equally absurd
Before the lightning strikes
Before the crow caws in the morning
The mist is thicker than the shaving cream my Papa never used
My goat is bearded
The lamp is lit
The fire is cracking
My fun is never a lack
I have sight to see
I have sounds to hear
My touch is connected to my brain
It is shocking
The memory
The strange details
The inability to forget
The chore of remembering
Not as delightful as the chores of a farm
My old body is going
I wish it wouldn’t take you so long
This experience has filled me
To burst into an entire new Universe
I remember…
The long rocky finger I lived on that stretched
out from the mainland in the Bay of Fundy and
the soggy little white house covered in ocean brine
that did its best to shelter us from the great bi-polar Atlantic Ocean
that would on some days roar and thrash and throw itself against
our rocky foundation, splintering itself into endless liquid shards
that would climb high into the sky, then fall on my up-turned face,
drenching me into a state of near hypothermia.
There I would stand, squinting through burning eyes,
unable to pull myself away from that wrath, when suddenly -
the sun would disappear from the sky, causing the air temperature
to plummet, leaving me shaking like a leaf as the Great roaring Atlantic
fell silent and laid itself down as flat as a sheet of glass as that massive
grey monster approached.
Off in the distance, I would hear a buoy-bell timidly ringing in a feeble attempt to warn me of the impending danger that was quietly devouring the mainland, our little house, and the Great Atlantic, as the FOG came silently creeping in.
A million memories fall like crystal raindrops on a summer day
as I make my way along the winding road above the Fundy Bay
where you wait for me beyond the gate where wild flowers grow
In an open field as old as time where gentle ocean breezes blow
once again I am a child resting in the arms of your sweet embrace
As you erase my tears with your gentle loving kisses on my face
and the torment and the anguish that have troubled me so long
are finally put to rest in this rightful place that knows no wrong
For it is now with 3 score beneath my wayward feet I come to realize
that all the roads I travel still lead me to this place my heart resides
and as I lay the lilacs that you loved while on earth upon your grave
I bow before you now and thank you for the everlasting love you gave.
In Loving memory of my precious Grandmother ‘Cecelia Evans’
. Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of
shopping for gifts for people that already have everything, I find myself remembering that
Christmas of 1954.
Dad had joined the army that year and we moved from the East Coast of Canada
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.
Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land
in the middle of nowhere. This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part
of the wage agreement.
My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese
restaurant in downtown Barrie. There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check
Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so,
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for
superior marksmanship.
Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.
~~~
We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop;
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored
streamers. There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of
riding back to the East Coast. I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house. More than once I had to stay after school
for being late.
My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those
bicycles to us. I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them
ourselves.
Continued in part 2....
On a day bathed in so many shades of misty grey
There upon those rugged cliffs above the Fundy Bay
Heart pounding like the thunder in those crashing waves
Trembling lips dripping with heart felt words I could not say
So shy, I was a teenage girl so much in love
My soul on fire like that blazing stormy sky above
Where lighting crackled and sizzled in a burning flame
As his yearning eyes searched mine there in that wind swept rain
Taking cover in that shack with broken window panes
Where tattered pieces of old lace curtains still remained
Peels of nervous laughter silenced in that broken frame
As the storm outside raged against us all in vain
When with tears of stormy weather still running down his face
His lips found mine there in that that old abandoned place
A moment so electrifying it seared my soul
With a memory that haunts me now that I am old
When stormy weather lets me see him as he was that day
There on those lofty cliffs above the Fundy Bay
My heart pounding like the thunder in those crashing waves
As I drift in the beauty of those shades of misty grey