She looked at me and then back down at the paper.
“You used the wrong word here,” She said “It should be ‘fairy’.”
I looked at the paper and realized that she was right when ‘ferry’ stood out in the bright yellow highlighter she marked it with.
Damn this fucking head injury.
Ferry was the word that rhymed with the emotion the kids felt as they realized that a small action figure accompanied by jolly family times, was enough. Rhymed with the word that the fighting Jews felt when they were saved by the Americans. Can you feel the word?
Blank, black eyes set in a bone face stared back at me. A skeleton clothed in black, it held out its hand. The white bone grasping, begging for something. I stared in horror and knew even before his raspy voice spoke: “one token to ferry across.”
We took the ferry to North Charmandro and found our cousin there, half-beaten to death but still looking chipper, two swords strung across her back like a sharp, double-edged crucifix. She smiled and wound up exposing two gaps where molars used to be, then showed us to the closest tavern, where we feasted on recently sauteed squid and drank very dark and very rich mead.
On a gloomy Thursday morning he did as the note asked of him. Fisher made his way to Circular Quay and boarded the 8.54am ferry to Watson Bay. Once the gates were closed and the old engines hauled the ageing ‘Charlotte’ out of the quay and around past the Opera House he made his way upstairs. He counted. Three rows from the back, seat closest to the window. He edged his way to the seat squeezing past a a couple of Chinese tourists. On most days Sydney sparkled from here, but today it looked like a messy industrial puddle, grey and menacing. Fisher rested his backpack on his lap and with some trepidation slipped his hand under the seat. It took him a moment to lay his fingers on it, but there, taped to the bottom of the chair was a small brown leather box.
I once saw a ferry. One cold morning, long ago, One cold winter, one grey day. There was I, saying good bye to that person on the ferry. It was not easy, but what else could I do? I t was a grey, cold day, a grey cold day to say good bye to the ferry.
I rode the ferry one day for 2 dollars. I saw birds. I really wanted to jump in the water with my rasta friend Getz. we had so much fun. we smoked a lot of weed. Rode the bus and longboarded all the way to the beach. It was surely a day for the memory books.
She rode the ferry to Toronto Island every morning in June, watching the boats leave the pier with their sails open tall, and her eyes gazed at the wide horizon.
John watched the edge of the shore slowly slip away. He was leaving a lot behind and he wasn’t sure if they would get along without him. Maybe they would be alright, but he wasn’t sure. He just knew that he couldn’t take one more day in that house
As we rode out with the city scape of Manhattan and the backdrop of yellow-illuminated clouds, I couldn’t help but think about the meaning of happiness. Because this — this scene that I’d envisioned only in my dreams — seems to exceed any definition, however fleeting.
ferry… ive been on them one hundred times. but every time i go its different, the wind feels different as it blows across my face the smell is always new to me i see dolphins a lot, its so enjoyable i really love it the feeling in my head of freedom. freedom is something that we need in the world or more of it. this life is ours and we should have freedom just like the ferry. how it sails back in forth transporting you to one place to the other, its so beautiful being on there with the sun setting. its like life so beautiful.
I’m closing the night. Many people have laughed and played throughout the day and are now feeling the heavy weight of the stars fall into their mind. Soon the mysterious streams of imagination will be ferried by the light into a sleeping reality, creating from their laughter and play a marvelous dream for us all to live. #ferry #oneword
I’m closing the night. Many people have laughed and played throughout the day and are now feeling the heavy weight of the stars fall into their mind. Soon the mysterious streams of imagination will be ferried by the light into a sleeping reality, creating from their laughter and play a marvelous dream for us all to live.
the English Channel lies between our consciousness
twenty one miles separate me from you
a nation without a nationality
a strong country with world prominence
separated by a sea
there’s no ferry to answer our pleas
to bring us together and unite us
when we have strength we could meet in the middle
as allies
“…we’ll walk until we hit Lake Dargon and then we’ll take the ferry past the border. After that, it’s just smooth sailing, pardon the pun, ’til we get to Adalayne,”
I squinted down at the map, not entirely convinced she knew what she was talking about. After all, I’d lived in Quarina my whole life and I’d never heard of any of these places. “You’re sure about this?” I asked, glancing up at her.
growing up is stress crying; crying to cry; crying from the panic of sudden existential crises; alone-at-4-am crying, using eye drops to flush out the blood; weeks of waking from meaningless nightmares, crying over lovers you’ve never met; remembering singular moments in time without any certainty—and crying.
cross the mersy – danny and the pacemaker – no gerry and the pacemakers. one of the second wave british invasion. them sending thour r&b and soul and rock and roll back to us
The rutter guided the ferry through the water, pushing closer and closer to the fog enveloped island. It’s only town, a port at where the ferry would dock, was we’re I was being exiled to. Maybe being a straight F student was not the best approach in life.
boats and water. travel over oceans and seas. it can big big or little and it holds people. It can travel between islands through water. Many people use ferry’s as transportation.
the ferry is going across the
grey
and i can see the man in the red pin-striped suit
tipping the brim of his hat
up to the fog
leaning on his worn cane
with the tree limbs dancing over him
and the heavy moss fingers
reaching
reaching
reaching
to touch his shoulders
and brush that red ribbon
the waters part as the boat
glides on
As our ferry pulled out of the harbour I turned back to watch the opera house. It wasn’t actually going anywhere, but that didn’t stop me from marveling at it. I was really here. In Sydney. Just like in Finding Nemo and every other thing about Australia.
I caught the ferry from Devenport to the city with my Mum. It was windy and we had an ice cream on the way. I’ll always remember how that old ferry smelt of diesel. Ice cream and diesel.
The salty wind whipped Blake’s dark hair in her face. She leaned over the guard rail peering into the sea, as the ferry moved slowly over the water. Adam stood beside her and pulled her hair back from her face. “I like it better when your hair is out of your face.”
The ferry arrived at exactly 7am in the morning, just like it did every day. But I remember something different about that particular sunrise. The salty sea wind was mingled with the scent of her perfume and the sun rays tasted like golden granules of sugar on my tongue. Yes, that morning was different than rest. That was the morning I met her.
Ferry me off to far away places
Where hurt is inconceivable
And glory lives up the hill
Where I am saturated in misty mornings
Deep streams of water
Rush along my ankles
I star at the sky that
Is saturated in pink and purples
Life ferry
Me off to that faraway place
The ferry was cursed people avoided it at all cost. They thought it was safe little did they realize it was haunted and cursed when you board this deadly ferry you may never get to get off. So ride at your own risk.
“We don’t have time!”, he screamed through clenched teeth. Smith looked nervously to the guard tower, hoping they hadn’t been heard. They only had ninety seconds to ferry the refugees out of the embassy before the patrol would come around the corner, and this child wanting to go back for her teddy bear would rob them of precious seconds
A boat, a use of transport, people can get on, has a lot of space, on the sea, expensive, sounds like a mystical creature, use to to move stuff, fullers Gerry’s, makes broom broom, it gotta go fast wow such speed jk lol it go slow how slow many slow, wow such size which
Ferries have become an integral part of Brisbane’s transport system. Sydney, another capital city of Australia, is renowned for its’ ferry service; in particular, the Manly to City route. The ferries in Melbourne are derelict, rundown, and enticing only to the unsuspecting and susceptible tourist.
We fumbled for a bit before deciding that if we bound the supplies in twine we could ferry across on a large piece of driftwood. The practice proved to be more clumsy than the theory however, and neither of us escaped from the venture with dry shoes. The sight of our disarray made him laugh explicitly. I was less than amused.
She looked at me and then back down at the paper.
“You used the wrong word here,” She said “It should be ‘fairy’.”
I looked at the paper and realized that she was right when ‘ferry’ stood out in the bright yellow highlighter she marked it with.
Damn this fucking head injury.
Ferry was the word that rhymed with the emotion the kids felt as they realized that a small action figure accompanied by jolly family times, was enough. Rhymed with the word that the fighting Jews felt when they were saved by the Americans. Can you feel the word?
The ferry was late. If you didn’t know by checking your watch, you could tell by the twisted faces of those waiting anxiously.
Blank, black eyes set in a bone face stared back at me. A skeleton clothed in black, it held out its hand. The white bone grasping, begging for something. I stared in horror and knew even before his raspy voice spoke: “one token to ferry across.”
We took the ferry to North Charmandro and found our cousin there, half-beaten to death but still looking chipper, two swords strung across her back like a sharp, double-edged crucifix. She smiled and wound up exposing two gaps where molars used to be, then showed us to the closest tavern, where we feasted on recently sauteed squid and drank very dark and very rich mead.
On a gloomy Thursday morning he did as the note asked of him. Fisher made his way to Circular Quay and boarded the 8.54am ferry to Watson Bay. Once the gates were closed and the old engines hauled the ageing ‘Charlotte’ out of the quay and around past the Opera House he made his way upstairs. He counted. Three rows from the back, seat closest to the window. He edged his way to the seat squeezing past a a couple of Chinese tourists. On most days Sydney sparkled from here, but today it looked like a messy industrial puddle, grey and menacing. Fisher rested his backpack on his lap and with some trepidation slipped his hand under the seat. It took him a moment to lay his fingers on it, but there, taped to the bottom of the chair was a small brown leather box.
us to another world.
where fragments of this one wash upon the shore
of fond remembrance and convenient
forgetfulness.
ferry us to a place where everything
really will be alright.
ferry us to a future
where we will actually count and
make change
and be proud of the time lost.
Her legs trembled as she crossed from the dock to the ferry. It was the first one she had been on since the accident.
I once saw a ferry. One cold morning, long ago, One cold winter, one grey day. There was I, saying good bye to that person on the ferry. It was not easy, but what else could I do? I t was a grey, cold day, a grey cold day to say good bye to the ferry.
I rode the ferry one day for 2 dollars. I saw birds. I really wanted to jump in the water with my rasta friend Getz. we had so much fun. we smoked a lot of weed. Rode the bus and longboarded all the way to the beach. It was surely a day for the memory books.
She rode the ferry to Toronto Island every morning in June, watching the boats leave the pier with their sails open tall, and her eyes gazed at the wide horizon.
John watched the edge of the shore slowly slip away. He was leaving a lot behind and he wasn’t sure if they would get along without him. Maybe they would be alright, but he wasn’t sure. He just knew that he couldn’t take one more day in that house
As we rode out with the city scape of Manhattan and the backdrop of yellow-illuminated clouds, I couldn’t help but think about the meaning of happiness. Because this — this scene that I’d envisioned only in my dreams — seems to exceed any definition, however fleeting.
ferry… ive been on them one hundred times. but every time i go its different, the wind feels different as it blows across my face the smell is always new to me i see dolphins a lot, its so enjoyable i really love it the feeling in my head of freedom. freedom is something that we need in the world or more of it. this life is ours and we should have freedom just like the ferry. how it sails back in forth transporting you to one place to the other, its so beautiful being on there with the sun setting. its like life so beautiful.
So ferry cross the mercy cause this land’s the place I love and here I’ll stay, here I’ll stay, here I’ll stay.
I’m closing the night. Many people have laughed and played throughout the day and are now feeling the heavy weight of the stars fall into their mind. Soon the mysterious streams of imagination will be ferried by the light into a sleeping reality, creating from their laughter and play a marvelous dream for us all to live. #ferry #oneword
I’m closing the night. Many people have laughed and played throughout the day and are now feeling the heavy weight of the stars fall into their mind. Soon the mysterious streams of imagination will be ferried by the light into a sleeping reality, creating from their laughter and play a marvelous dream for us all to live.
the English Channel lies between our consciousness
twenty one miles separate me from you
a nation without a nationality
a strong country with world prominence
separated by a sea
there’s no ferry to answer our pleas
to bring us together and unite us
when we have strength we could meet in the middle
as allies
“…we’ll walk until we hit Lake Dargon and then we’ll take the ferry past the border. After that, it’s just smooth sailing, pardon the pun, ’til we get to Adalayne,”
I squinted down at the map, not entirely convinced she knew what she was talking about. After all, I’d lived in Quarina my whole life and I’d never heard of any of these places. “You’re sure about this?” I asked, glancing up at her.
The ferry boat takes me cross the bay. Others get seasick, I get comfort. The ferry is red and yellow and white. “Cove your ears for two short blasts”
growing up is stress crying; crying to cry; crying from the panic of sudden existential crises; alone-at-4-am crying, using eye drops to flush out the blood; weeks of waking from meaningless nightmares, crying over lovers you’ve never met; remembering singular moments in time without any certainty—and crying.
cross the mersy – danny and the pacemaker – no gerry and the pacemakers. one of the second wave british invasion. them sending thour r&b and soul and rock and roll back to us
The rutter guided the ferry through the water, pushing closer and closer to the fog enveloped island. It’s only town, a port at where the ferry would dock, was we’re I was being exiled to. Maybe being a straight F student was not the best approach in life.
boats and water. travel over oceans and seas. it can big big or little and it holds people. It can travel between islands through water. Many people use ferry’s as transportation.
I REMEMBER THE FERRY WHERE I ANNOUNCED MY ENGAGEMENT IN DURBAN HARBOUR.TH
the ferry is going across the
grey
and i can see the man in the red pin-striped suit
tipping the brim of his hat
up to the fog
leaning on his worn cane
with the tree limbs dancing over him
and the heavy moss fingers
reaching
reaching
reaching
to touch his shoulders
and brush that red ribbon
the waters part as the boat
glides on
As our ferry pulled out of the harbour I turned back to watch the opera house. It wasn’t actually going anywhere, but that didn’t stop me from marveling at it. I was really here. In Sydney. Just like in Finding Nemo and every other thing about Australia.
i never go a ride a ferry, my dream is a ride ship but a don´t have opportunite…
I caught the ferry from Devenport to the city with my Mum. It was windy and we had an ice cream on the way. I’ll always remember how that old ferry smelt of diesel. Ice cream and diesel.
The salty wind whipped Blake’s dark hair in her face. She leaned over the guard rail peering into the sea, as the ferry moved slowly over the water. Adam stood beside her and pulled her hair back from her face. “I like it better when your hair is out of your face.”
The ferry arrived at exactly 7am in the morning, just like it did every day. But I remember something different about that particular sunrise. The salty sea wind was mingled with the scent of her perfume and the sun rays tasted like golden granules of sugar on my tongue. Yes, that morning was different than rest. That was the morning I met her.
Ferry me off to far away places
Where hurt is inconceivable
And glory lives up the hill
Where I am saturated in misty mornings
Deep streams of water
Rush along my ankles
I star at the sky that
Is saturated in pink and purples
Life ferry
Me off to that faraway place
I take the ferry today
leaving this world behind
grab be the few things I had
and never looked back
you might say Im crazy
for following my dreams
but I know it will be worth it
just you wait and see
I take the ferry today
into another world
don’t you think I’m coming back now
don’t you think I’m just a stupid girl
The ferry was cursed people avoided it at all cost. They thought it was safe little did they realize it was haunted and cursed when you board this deadly ferry you may never get to get off. So ride at your own risk.
“We don’t have time!”, he screamed through clenched teeth. Smith looked nervously to the guard tower, hoping they hadn’t been heard. They only had ninety seconds to ferry the refugees out of the embassy before the patrol would come around the corner, and this child wanting to go back for her teddy bear would rob them of precious seconds
A boat, a use of transport, people can get on, has a lot of space, on the sea, expensive, sounds like a mystical creature, use to to move stuff, fullers Gerry’s, makes broom broom, it gotta go fast wow such speed jk lol it go slow how slow many slow, wow such size which
The ferry departed 5 minutes later. My head safely inside. My heart, however, left onshore, desolate, desperately alone.
Ferries have become an integral part of Brisbane’s transport system. Sydney, another capital city of Australia, is renowned for its’ ferry service; in particular, the Manly to City route. The ferries in Melbourne are derelict, rundown, and enticing only to the unsuspecting and susceptible tourist.
The forest green ferry moves slowly across the river. She looks out at the dark water, lapping against the side of the boat.
We fumbled for a bit before deciding that if we bound the supplies in twine we could ferry across on a large piece of driftwood. The practice proved to be more clumsy than the theory however, and neither of us escaped from the venture with dry shoes. The sight of our disarray made him laugh explicitly. I was less than amused.