In Memoriam Poem Needed

[Rybka]

After a long illness our friend and sister poet BooMerengue's brother passed on today. His going was peaceful, but the stress on Beth and family is no less. Boo tells me that sailing was one of his favorite pastimes. Somewhere I have a poem saved that deals with death as leaving on a sailing trip, and as you grow smaller to those you are leaving, you suddenly appear as a dot growing larger to those waiting for you on the opposite shore. Does anybody remember this poem?

At present all I can find with a sea theme are:

Sea-Fever
By John Masefield (1878-1967)
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967)

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


and

Crossing the Bar
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

~*~

Can anyone help? Or do you have any other words in memoriam or condolences you would care to share?

 

[BooMerengue]

Rybby?? You're such a wonder! Why aren't we shacked up somewhere on a piny salty island? hmm... something to ponder while I'm out to lunch!

I like the John Masefield, and my grandson might be able to read that one. I'll be checking back in here maybe next weekend, so maybe you'll find the one you meant, but keep them coming y'all.

and Thank you, all of you.

Especially you, Rybka.

*blows a kiss and runs before he realizes and gets mad at me... LOL

(I tend to prefer lappy kisses over puckery ones...)

 

[Guest]

Dover Beach

Matthew Arnold


THE sea is calm to-night,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; -- on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The sea of faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

 

[Guest]

Oh boo. Oh fuck. I don't know how you keep going. You seem so happy. I guess this is good. There's no more suffering for him and or anyone else who loved him and had to watch him slowly slip away. I'm in tears and barely know you. I just remember all your wonderful thoughts and cheering me up when everyone thought my daughter had cancer. You're such a wonderful person.

I don't take death very well. I cry at everything. I'm sure you're crying too and of course I can't see it, but I wish I could give you a hug. I may look like a toughy on the outside but I'm really a wuss. I wonder at times if you're the same.

I'm so sorry for your loss.
Dana

edit: I hope you don't take any offense to my last line - "I wonder if you're the same." I'm not good with this stuff. Hell, I'm going to bed. I'm going to write a poem just for you. I will. I will get it done. Let's hope it doesn't take me a month.

 

[BooMerengue]

Saldne! Go take a chill pill!! LOL Of course I'm laughing- what the fuck else can you do? My eyes are pale blue- they always look awful when you cry- so I don't! well... sometimes...

Yes, love... write for me cuz I can't! Can't wait to see it.

 

[BooMerengue]

I guess I thought everyone knew so I forgot to mention...

I want a poem to read at my brothers Mass For The Dead. No funeral here (Tennessee) as he wants to be buried in the Family Plot in Connecticut. And at the same time there will be a memorial for my younger brother. But I'm not going to that/those. I'm done. I said my goodbyes best i could. Now its over- I'm movin on. But the Mass here won't be for a week or 2. Autopsy etc... you know. Thats why I'll be able to watch for a poem.

 

[Guest]

Saldne! Go take a chill pill!! LOL Of course I'm laughing- what the fuck else can you do? My eyes are pale blue- they always look awful when you cry- so I don't! well... sometimes...

Yes, love... write for me cuz I can't! Can't wait to see it.

Jesus! I'm still up staring at this screen. I just came inside from smoking a cigarette and was thinking. It was really stupid of me to say "I don't take death very well." Who the heck does?

And yes, I just took all my damn pills, including a chill pill. Sotalol for my heart, aspirin to prevent clots, Klonopin for chilling, 600 mgs. of ib for pain, and, well, I don't know why I'm saying this. I think all these make-ya-better pills has caused me an ulcer, and reading happy, sad, happy, sad is making my tummy feel worse. I'll shut up now. I'm hitting the hay. Expect a poem any day. I rhymed.

 

[Tzara]

Boo:

Let me offer you my sincerest condolences.

I am not good at picking out poems. My reading is too erratic. I would be better at suggesting music. Mozart's Requiem, for example, or Shostakovich's String Quartet No. 15.

But let me suggest this poem by Yeats:

Sailing To Byzantium

I
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.

II
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

III
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

IV
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.​

I don't know you well, but I would hug you if I could. Take care.

 

[wildsweetone]

Boo, here is a poem that I found when a friend who helped me deal with tinnitus passed away suddenly half way through last year.


The Sea

The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round!
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
I am where I would ever be;
With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh, how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the ocean-child!

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea!

-- Barry Cornwall


and the poem I wrote for my friend...
Soul Watcher I don't doubt you could do way better than what I managed.

 

[White Warlock]

Free Spirit of Mine/Eternal Light

I guess I thought everyone knew so I forgot to mention...

I want a poem to read at my brothers Mass For The Dead. No funeral here (Tennessee) as he wants to be buried in the Family Plot in Connecticut. And at the same time there will be a memorial for my younger brother. But I'm not going to that/those. I'm done. I said my goodbyes best i could. Now its over- I'm movin on. But the Mass here won't be for a week or 2. Autopsy etc... you know. Thats why I'll be able to watch for a poem.

My sincere condolances...

This is a poem I wrote a while ago for myself as and when my turn comes to go West to the Summer Lands. If you feel you could use it, you are more than welcome.

Free Spirit of Mine

Mists of time have rolled away,
A new dawn, but not of day.
Deep inside, gone the breath to take,
Eyes unseeing, Heart, no more beats make.

Mortal brain now at rest,
Body still, totally lifeless.
Even as these words you read,
My spirit and soul drift on a breeze.

I hear you cry for what is not there,
Though I’m forever close to care.
There is no death to this spirit of mine,
I’m with you for the rest of time.

Please, shed no more tears, but rejoice,
In love and kindness you’ll hear my voice.
Never far shall I be from you,
Just to prove this love is true.

For the tears you let flow
A red rose will surly grow.
To bloom like us, and to cherish,
But then wilt, and to perish.

Such is our mortal being,
Like that rose we are seeing
Birth, blossom, mature then gone,
But not our spirit, that will live on.


Death is not an option. Nor is it final. It is only a stepping stone.
My spirit, my soul live on, maybe in rebirth or re-incarnation,
What ever our Creator has for me.
But it will be in Love and Light and Goodness for me to see.
Forever there will be the pure shining light of eternal love with me.

© Alan J Morgan
20/03/2003

Here is another...

Eternal Light

Suddenly all hurt and pain clears,
A shadow lifts, a new star appears.
No more darkness, no more gloom,
A new life shall bloom.

Not light, as in mortal day,
But pure, in the spiritual way.
Once a flickering candle in life’s breeze,
Now bright, and steady for all who sees.

We watched you grow, in mortal self,
Though life, in sickness, and in health.
Take the rough with the smooth,
Keeping out of life’s rutted groove.

(Male)

Go forward, Husband, Father, Uncle, Brother.
No more life’s burden on you shall smother.
Some day, we will all be together,
In the eternal light, that lasts forever…

(Female)

Go forward, Sister, Aunt, Wife, Mother.
No more life’s burden on you shall smother.
Some day, we will all be together,
In the eternal light, that lasts forever…


© Alan J Morgan
7th November 2003

 

[bluerains]

Sea-King's Burial

This poem by Charles Mackay recalls the days when a Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel, with full sail set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea.
May all these poems bring solace to your journey.



My strength is failing fast
(Said the sea-king to his men).
I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again,
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins
Raise, oh, raise me from my bed,
Put the crown upon my head,
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
Steadily;
If I cannot end my life
In the crimsoned battle-strife
Let me die as I have lived,
On the sea.
They have raised King Balder up,
Put his crown upon his head ;
They have sheathed his limbs in mail
And the purple o'er him spread;
And, amid the greeting rude
Of a gathering multitude,
Borne him slowly to the shore,
All the energy of yore
From his dim eyes flashing forth,
Old sea-lion of the North,
As he looked upon his ship
Riding free,
And on his forehead pale
Felt the cold, refreshing gale,
And heard the welcome sound
Of the sea.

They have borne him to the ship
With a slow and solemn tread;
They have placed him on the deck
With his crown upon his head,
Where he sat as on a throne;
And have left him there alone,
With his anchor ready weighed,
And his snowy sails displayed
To the favouring wind, once more
Blowing freshly from the shore,
And have bidden him farewell
Tenderly
Saying: "King of mighty men,
We shall meet thee yet again
In Valhalla, with the monarchs
Of the sea."

Underneath him in the hold
They had placed the lighted brand;
And the fire was burning slow
As the vessel from the land,
Like a stag-hound from the slips,
Darted forth from out the ships.
There was music in her sail
As it swelled before the gale,
And a dashing at her prow
As it cleft the waves below,
And the good ship sped along,
Scudding free;
As on many a battle morn
In her time she had been borne
To struggle and to conquer
On the sea.

And the king with sudden strength
Started up and paced the deck,
With his good sword for his staff
And his robe around his neck.
Once alone he raised his hand
To the people on the land ;
And with shout and joyous cry
Once again they made reply,
Till the loud, exulting cheer
Sounded faintly on his ear;
For the gale was o'er him blowing
Fresh and free;
And ere yet an hour had passed
He was driven before the blast,
And a storm was on his path,
On the sea.

So blow, ye tempests, blow,
And my spirit shall not quail;
I have fought with many a foe,
I have weathered many a gale;
And in this hour of death,
Ere I yield my fleeting breath,
Ere the fire now burning slow
Shall come rushing from below,
And this worn and wasted frame
Be devoted to the flame,
I will raise my voice in triumph,
Singing free ;
To the great All-Father's home
I am driving through the foam,
I am sailing to Valhalla
O'er the sea.

So blow, ye stormy winds,
And ye flames, ascend on high!
In easy, idle bed
Let the slave and coward die!
But give me the driving keel,
Clang of shields and flashing steel,
Or my foot on foreign ground,
With my enemies around!
Happy, happy, thus I'd yield,
On the deck or in the field,
My last breath, shouting On
To victory.
But since this has been denied
They shall say that I have died
Without flinching, like a monarch
Of the sea.

And Balder spoke no more,
And no sound escaped his lip;
And he looked, yet scarcely saw
The destruction of his ship,
Nor the fleet sparks mounting high,
Nor the glare upon the sky;
Scarcely heard the billows dash,
Nor the burning timber crash;
Scarcely felt the scorching heat
That was gathering at his feet,
Nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him
Greedily,
But the life was in him yet,
And the courage to forget
All his pain in his triumph
On the sea.

Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sprang upon his feet,
With the flames on every side.
"I am coming! " said the king,
Where the swords and bucklers ring,
Where the warrior lives again,
Where the souls of mighty men
And the weary find repose,
And the red wine ever flows,
I am coming, great -All-Father,
Unto thee!
Unto Odin, unto Thor,
And the strong, true hearts of yore:
I am coming to Valhalla
O'er the sea."

 

[bluerains]

Sailor's Grave

*I wrote this poem several years ago for a friend who loved the sea...


A Sailor is called to
his uncharted sea.
his destination
holds no guarantee.

Through fog and night
and shadowy skies
his maiden awaits
in her sea of sighs..

Her body’s engraved
with his sweat and blood
till his soul unshackles
from his earthen mud.

A crystalline womb
of liquid fire
with mouth wide opened
until his gasp retires.

Now he’ll sail
forever in the deep
a sailor’s grave
her bosom he sleeps.

http://www.josephcusimano.com/works/p81001.htm

 

[flyguy69]

After a long illness our friend and sister poet BooMerengue's brother passed on today. His going was peaceful, but the stress on Beth and family is no less. ...

I'm so sorry, Boo. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.

 

[TheRainMan]

 

[eagleyez]

Boots-
Woolen socks
Dance in the tide line
At the bottom of deliberate descending
Footprints
On that lonesome sandy Dune

Further out, further out
A flowered shirt
Lifts above wave after wave
That have yet to break and neverend
Gulls like bleached Crows
Circle and Caw, Caw, Caw

A hat floats furthest
Beyond the boots
In front of the shirt and the waves
That hat points in the Direction,
The direction could be China, the wrap around way,
Or Africa, straight across, South of Spain

The boots, the shirt, the hat
The laughing Gulls
Head out head out heading out...
The sun follows the son
Dali seated on dritwood
Colors it in,
From the spot when the footprints begin

The sea The sea
Caw Caw Caw...

 

[Liar]

My girl suggested I should post this old one of mine:




he still rejoices
in arrival
of pilk fleet
and creel,

though tired legs
keep him bench bound
as the breakers
go to sunset rest,
you can still feel

his mind transmitting,
trembling for those
who cares to hear
his silent, fading plea

to let a tackle
grind it's weary wheel
once more,

and turn
tension into motion,
friction into faint fumes
of intention tracing notion,
skimming past decision

into action,
travelling
along a once again
straightened hawser,

to raise a daring
dust white pride,
easily unwind
a clove-hitch bound,

watch the jetty
drift dozing free,
salute the pier,

and just know

that still,
when shores lean back
into the motherly arms
of horizon,

he can hear
that whisper
of eternal she,
ethereal lover,

the one
who will always
understand,
unravel the riddle
of incompletion,
twin connection,

to know what he can,
to set his ache free,

as they merge
once again,

the old man
and the sea

 

[Rybka]

The Sunset Piece

Christ but this earth goes over to the squall of time!

Hi but she heels to it - rail down, ribs down, rolling

Dakotas under her hull! And the night climbing

Sucking the green from the ferns by these Berkshire boulders!

She'll roll the two of us clean of her one day lifting -

Draining the dark from her gutters with slick slide,

The night running off from her - you and me like driftwood:

Men we've known like litter on the tide.

She'll roll us clear of her, drowned in a dragging wake,

Time going over us, touching us like a sea -

You and me that bragged our berths were taken

For death's eventual wharves and foreign quay:

You and me that bragged of an end to the journey -

The bow brought fast, the stern warped in, the screw

Dead in a dirty wash and the sea gulls turning:

Earnest faces and no face we knew.

You and me!

And watch her! She's God's planet!

She luffs in the wind and she logs in the seaway rolling.

This earth's no ship to board for any land -

Even for death's.


The night among the boulders. . . .



Archibald MacLeish - 1936


I found this old favorite of mine while looking for some lines I really like for another thread.

 

[BooMerengue]

Hi Everyone! Just flying through. Great poems here, Thank you. EE? Did you write that one? It's lovely. However, my family being stodgy as they are I found this and it makes them happy.

Psalm 107. lines 23-30

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;
These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep.
For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.
They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble.
They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits’ end.
Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.
He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.
Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.

This is for a family gathering for a Memorium for both brothers; I'm not going. But I did my part, anyway.

Rybby? That Av ain't right. Wheres the other oldman you had that looked like PopEye in real life? I like that one better. Thanks so much for you being you, baby. I'll be back in a couple weeks.

 

[twelveoone]

Boo, no poem. Just an expression of sorrow.

 

[BooMerengue]

Boo, no poem. Just an expression of sorrow.

Thank you, dear.