East Coast Sea Kayaking Club

This thread is for poems that in their magical ways, connect us to the sea. I have gathered many since I joined this club. Please share your favourites too. Thank you Willie for the reminder of their power and the nudge to finally start the club Poet’s Corner. This is by one of my favourite poets, Mary Oliver.

IF I WANTED A BOAT by Mary Oliver

I would want a boat, if I wanted a
boat, that bounded hard on the waves,
that didn’t know starboard from port
and wouldn’t learn, that welcomed
dolphins and headed straight for the
whales, that, when rocks were close,
would slide in for a touch or two,
that wouldn’t keep land in sight and
went fast, that leaped into the spray.
What kind of life is it always to plan
and do, to promise and finish, to wish
for the near and the safe? Yes, by the
heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want
a boat I couldn’t steer.

Sea-Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
I must go 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 go 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 go 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.

Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Well I have not been out paddling for far too long but hopefully that will change one of these fine days, I used to try to write "stuff", some poetry a few years back about our travels and the sea etc.Some liked them some not so much although no one ever said they hated them, but as they say, it is all my own work.
Anyway, here is one of the few I wrote, it must be 6 or 7 years old and I must have been a bit nervous on the trip, I havent read it myself in a long long time.

LAMBAY

"I must go down to sea again, to the lonely seas and the sky", said the poet,

We hurried to Rush,

We too were longing to go back,

White horses beckoned to us,

Come in, Come in,

We wanted to dig the sea,

Catch on the left, Catch on the right,

The brown grey green rock of Lambay lay before us,

Me, Willie, Michael, Adam, Conn, Ciaran, Sennan, Marion and Tom,

We go, Launch, All is calm.

Passing the line of red flags, soon we are in calm(er) water,

The harbour on the island looks inviting,

Around the point to the right is that other jewel, Irelands Eye,

Anyone for Ireland’s Eye said Willie, no takers,

On around, choppy now, different, much different, choppy,

Someone said,  a nice bit of bounce,

A bit of bounce, that’s ok,

But those waves look bigger tome,

Stallions…

Waves, ending their lives upon the rocks, rock me,

They live on as they bounce and pass beneath me again,

Reincarnated in to an opposing force,

I dig in, Deeply,

I remind myself, this will pass, this will end,

Clapotis, swell, waves, mind the yacht on the right,

Dig, but smoothly,

Turn into the wind, welcoming commands barked out as  we wait,

Treading water, up we go, and down,

Behind us the group have a capsize,

I sing, "I have no wife to bother my life, no lover to prove untrue,

The whole day long I sing this song and paddle my own canoe",

The bounce is unrelenting, unforgiving, the sea is annoyed, upset,

Then I hear, go left now, go left,

We turn,

We go left, the north of the isle,

Smooth calm flat water,

From mania to peace,

The mystery of the sea,

And of humans?

We eat on a rocky shore,

Seals and seabirds look on from the depths and on high, lofty galleries,

We are bathed in sunlight,  beautiful moments, even more beautiful stories,

We plunge back into Davys Locker,

Home,

Wind is up, F4, tide is rising,

More bounce, waves break abeam,

The sea is singing to us, softly, softly,

Try to catch it’s rhythm,

The waves hurry past us on their way to a far off shore,

From a far off shore perhaps, Antartica?

They stop for no man or kayak,

Under you or over, on and on unrelenting,

A painted sea, and fun, great fun,

Soon we are home, (or are we), on a glass like sea,

Back on dry land that we call home,

We have left two thirds to go back to one third,

We part, soon we will long to go back, drawn, inexorably, irresistibly,

To the running tide.

THE POET COMPARES HUMAN NATURE TO THE OCEAN FROM WHICH WE CAME

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth,
it can lie down like silk breathing
or toss havoc shoreward; it can give

gifts and withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth
like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can
sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,

and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

-- by Mary Oliver

I GO DOWN TO THE SHORE

I go down to the shore in the morning
and depending on the hour the waves
are rolling in or moving out,
and I say, oh, I am miserable,
what shall—
what should I do? And the sea says
in its lovely voice:
Excuse me, I have work to do.

-- also by Mary Oliver