Long Shipyard Poems
Long Shipyard Poems. Below are the most popular long Shipyard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shipyard poems by poem length and keyword.
Your country needs you lads, let Lord Kitchener tell you more
Come forward, join the ranks and we’ll send you off to war
You’re fighting for salvation; you’ve got Jesus on your side
Remember that in battle; let the shepherd be your guide
Join up with your pals lads and march in time with pride
You’re Ulster Presbyterians, so, the lord with you abide
We’ll muster at the Shipyard so that everyone can see
Then continue to the Farmyards and the local Factory
You’re young, or even younger, than the army will allow
You look a little older since you smoke tobacco now
We’ll put you in a uniform and show you how to drill
We’ll teach you to be brave and then train you how to kill
Say goodbye to your family and prepare to sail away
You’ll fall in on the Western front and join the great affray
Although you may be seventeen, we’ve made you into men
Yet most of you will never see your mothers face again
(For more information about U.S.S. Missouri
visit www.ussmissouri.org/learn-the-history)
About Miss U.S.S. Missouri,
Or affectionately, "Mighty Mo!"
Second World War surrender documents
Were signed on her in Bay Tokyo.
She was launched from the Naval Shipyard
In Brooklyn in 1944.
Miss Missouri is not the one
Who chose to battle in war.
She was invaluable in 1986
In Operation Earnest Will.
In the 90's she returned to the Middle East
To fight Iraqi targets still.
A protector, a fighter for the Navy,
Like a mother to her brood,
She kept all within her safe and secure
Until their journey would conclude.
In between her missions
She was granted time to rest.
She'd face more action, yet again,
Her frame and strength put to the test...
She could have been transformed
Into a luxury cruise liner.
But she's so much more significant!
A Museum - War Memorial - War survivor!
Written 18th October 2021
For A Noteworthy Ship contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
A butterfly, aliferous,
of subtle slights, soniferous,
common spirits, days just went by,
aliferous . . . a butterfly.
Low pinnacles alight sought rest
forgiving sun favors spread best
microscope's trial . . . clinical's
nigh shipyard trash, few binnacles.
A game of chess, castling sleight clouds,
floating iced-pawn, a seaboard crowds,
Queen waves her move, column King, guess,
castling sleight clouds, a game of chess.
A sun descends, dusk purple trend,
birds fly inland, soon be darkened,
crater aglow, twilight ascends
dusk purple trend, a sun descends.
Orange drawn night, few shakes be such,
the moonlight trade, silver isn't much,
tours came and left cause show took flight,
few shakes be such orange drawn night.
You opened your heart for me
on a Friday evening
after I worked in Green Bay.
My friend who lived near
Milwaukee said you
were the best place
to be in Wisconsin,
the forests
and tourist shops
that lay between
the bay and Lake Michigan.
I glanced to my right and knew
the lake was there
the endless waters and sky
but as I was driving
to Sturgeon Bay
I looked to the clouds
I was calling out to you
to take me on a greater journey
somewhere beyond the stars.
As I turned to go downtown
a bow of a ship appeared
the frame yet to take shape.
I remembered my younger days
spent along the shores
of The Great Lakes.
Patrons at a tourist bar
near the shipyard
as the jukebox played
proclaimed your sons and daughters
built the iron vessels
with their study hands—
it was a way of life to them.
The bartender said
explorers and sailors
died in your waters
as I finished my drink.
Streetlights twinkled
as I said goodnight to you
and my tires sang as I drove.
When I turned off the radio
I heard a whisper
the sound of your voice
calling me back.
In a hotel by the waterfront
Watching an orange sign go round and round
I see the lights on the horizon
A flock of seagulls are heaven bound
There are boats floating through the Harbour
Traveling at an unhurried pace
I observe them chugging with purpose
Well at least to me that seems the case
At one time this was a large shipyard
A different World from long ago
People moving around with purpose
Now Just Hotels standing in a row
I guess there are still people working
Still there aren't any ships being made
Another lost piece of the puzzle
Death of industry that could have stayed
Sure the Hotels are Magnificent
The waterfront is now manicured
A skilled trade pushed out of existence
All us tourists to here are all lured
(8/26/12)
My dreams are like shipwrecks at the bottom of the sea
Covered under seaweed, algae, gravel and rocks
Because at its birth, I didn’t give it enough stock.
A dream is like clay and I am the sculptor
And if I can not see it in my mind , then it’s
Because I allowed myself to be blind.
You have to hold it , and feel it, and see it take shape
Otherwise it will be much too late.
You have to shape it and give it a heart that breathes
And pumps life into its body and soul
Until that mold starts to take hold.
To feel it in your every being to the point
That’s the only thing you’re seeing.
It has to become a part of you
And you a part of it
Until it becomes like a glove
With a perfect fit.
I wanted it quickly - I wanted it fast
But when you’re in a hurry it will not last.
I gave it up quickly and dropped it on the floor
Hoping to pick it up again once more.
But it was picked up by the wind and to the sea
It started its spin -taking my dream to the shipyard grave
Where at last it could not be saved.
So to all dreamers - I caution you this
Hold on to your dream and don’t drop it.
Wash whipping on the clothesline
Time tripping back in my mind
Climb in my wayback machine made by Ford
Come on back with me, somewhere I knew before
Come on baby baby, back where I used to know
Once upon a time this used to be
The finest little town you ever seen
Daddy worked the shipyard, Mama kept the home fires
I would pick my guitar, dreamed that I would go far
American Dreamers
American Dreamers
McKinley Avenue where I was was raised
Eastlawn Baptist where I got saved
Old South schoolyard where we used to play
And pledge allegiance to the flag each day and pray
Don't you remember baby, before the world got crazy
Don't recognize things, much anymore
It's sad the Ritz closed, the last picture show
No Mom and Pop's, no five and dime stores
Those days have gone the way of the dinosaur
Things change, nothing stays the same
That's just life they say
Childhood things and old pipe dreams
Somehow slip away
But never fade
They never fade
American Dreamers
American Dreamers
Flag whipping on a flag pole,
And the distant smell of charcoal
From the the VFW down the road
Past a field of dreams and stones
Come on baby baby, a little closer baby
There's Ed's Drive-I like it's always been
Hey let's stop in for a chilli cheese
Maybe baby we can cruise Market Street
Chase some old ghosts back to the beach
American Dreamers
American Dreamers
Copyright 2017.
Percolating from the dream...
This time, it is sailboats (three of them).
Making their way up a mountain pass.
Brightly colored sheets swallowed by clouds.
That could be mistaken for seagulls.
The incline is nightmarishly steep.
Can't tell if there's anyone at the helm.
The pass is silver and soundless-a passage so profound.
I can't see what's at the pinnacle.
That's where the percolating stops...
Maybe just a shipyard of cracked boats.
A pile of rocks that dream in a tombstone.
Perhaps God kneading a clap of golden thunder...
I've been dreaming of mountains lately.
Maybe it's past time to start climbing.
In between the doubts and tears forms a founded thought…
scribbles on an old shipyard memo pad
tapping the inside of my skull, waking me…even though I don’t sleep,
offering a collection of dots and dashes to interpret
There are times in a man’s life when he knows he is sane…
Following the lines on an unpaved road
Crossing center without moving a muscle
Drinking from the fountain that bleeds rejoice
It is in these moments that he understands…
and removes the stupidity that has clothed him in rags
opens his eyes to what truly makes him happy,
breaks free of those past tense chains that bound him
What mattered does and what didn’t still doesn't…
When thumbing through crooked paragraphs
and finding that the phrases he thought he lost
were dangling from every crumbled page…waiting
Time does move in slug path wanderings…
Sidewalks glisten in zigzag designs
Drying in the mid day sun as
minutes appear as miniature renditions of the future
And as this time does slowly find me…
I extend my heart in fluttering palpitations of hope
strike the match on promises that I know I can keep
attempting to quell the flames of the past by swearing…never again.
Hephaistos, is it? Barricade the door!
For every time he comes his plan were grand;
And every time he leaves, we were more poor;
And once again is more than I can stand!
There is a ship to build. To you I bring the draft.
Of other of thy ships we built, they sank.
And there thou blamed Poseidon, or our work.
The last thou thought were late and gave no thank,
And called our manner slow, though none did shirk.
Perhaps you paused to sleep. I leave no time for that.
Of other of thy ships, our pay were small.
Of little coin! Shall this be ever all?
I carry plans, not gold. I care not what you earn.
Yet shall this be a ship so grand they’ll say,
“Honor those who built it” one good day?
Think you are beauties, then? To you they’ll never turn!
Hephaistos, if we build it, when we’re through,
On some fine journey, shall we be the crew?
Some few, perhaps, may go. More likely, not a one.
Hephaistos, hard the winter we befell.
And shall this ship then help to make it well?
Ponder well its purpose. Yet never know, till done.
I shall not once again go down his path!
For little gain, to face foul Fortune’s wrath!
And you may marry folly, fine with me,
Yet luscious lucre shall my lady be!
More work then for the rest. Thou, help me roll this flat.
Our friends shall say, we left them for a ship.
And they shall laugh once more, and we shall cry.
And something of our hearts these labors rip!
Why shall we once again a little die?
For the love of the ship, and the love of the craft.
Give me a hammer and give me a nail.
There’s joy in the work, though ‘twere no avail.