Water slapped the sides of the ferry like a lover scorned. Behind him, two boys screeched with laughter, in time with the waves bursting against the hull, both bent over the screen of a cell phone. He smiled. Before him was a postcard, a coffee table book, a movie still; the white houses and cobalt roofs of Greece like paradise calling him in.
Where’s the ferry feather
Boot of leather
Furry weather
Not one as of late for sing-song-birding
Fighting every tide that’s hurling
Tidings that keep coming and coming
And grinding, and grinding, and grinding
Worn in the tooth to bleached skull inside out
I wanted to go on board
I so, so desperately wanted to hop on board and sail away
Into sunsets that I will now, never get to know
I wanted to breathe the fresh air
I wonder what it tastes like.
Does it taste like yellow, or does it taste like blue?
ferry are used to transport people across small expanses of water. i have never ridden in one but i think it would be a fun experience. people ride ferrys to see all kinds of things.
She took one look at the ferry, sitting low in the water and looking as if it were just one moment away from decomposing.
“No way I’m getting into that death trap!”
did this one yesterday, but what the hey. thinking about all of the ferry-men that took people back and forth across the rivers back in the day, the skiffs, and small boats, filled with families, dogs and goats…
The ferry pulled out of the harbour and the family settled into their seats. Finally the day had come, the day they had been hoping and fighting for. They were going to have a better life from now on, no more troubles and hardships, just happiness. Viva la France!
We took a ferry to the island where the seagulls soar above beachhatheads and the waves crash against manicured toenails. We were happy there, hugging each other in the water, playing air guitar on the shoreline, and then the next summer we didn’t talk at all.
the sound echoed across the water and she ran for a seat on the ferry
the horn had just announced their departure
she clutched her bag, with nerves bundled and excited
and watched the water part beneath the boat
to where was she going?
no one knew, nor did it matter. for it was an adventure she was on
It was a rough crossing, and the ferry was bucking and heaving like a fractious rodeo horse. I held onto the rail and held my face into the wind. The fresh air made me feel less like heaving, myself.
It was the way he could ferry his thoughts and ideas across to Anderson’s so consistently and so seductively. His thoughts would dock and alight in Anderson’s mind each day, trading on nothing more than the invisible scent of slights and injustices inflicted. Though the sea frothed in anger and the North Star pointed south or west to mislead, the boat was sturdy and the thoughts huddled there always reached their destination – meek, submissive and cowardly – until Anderson also became so.
She caught the last ferry out of the city. All of the bridges were gone, crumbled into piles of stone at the bottom of the Great Ford river. She could still smell the city burning. It stuck inside of her nose like a dead body.
She stared at the lake water, waiting for something to happen. Bits of plastic and old cans floated on its slimy green surface. There were oil swirls on the top of the lake, and below that, layers of algae and muck. She blinked. Something black and finny was stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was a massive fish, the kind that could ferry her away – far away from her little cottage on the side of the lake.
Simple, made of aging wood that has that vintage look of having spent its entire lifetime in the water – the ferry that took the villagers from this side to that, the one that promised them safety and yet gave up on them when the winds blew too strong. A pair of oars also, it had.
After she lost everyone she had loved in that ferry, she never set foot in another boat. That is, till now. Life has this weird way of making you do exactly what you don’t want to, doesn’t it?
Something I will have to travel on in 2 days and its going to suck because I hate them. They make me so sick; worse than car sick. My god, smelling that vile thing from the bathrooms was the worst. Its just so huge not to mention the cool little activities on each floor.
I have said it on more than one occasion, that if a ferry service is set up in our country that I will be one of the first persons to set foot on the ship. I am one of those that strongly believe that it will enhance our regional integration, and help assist in the development of all of our countries.
I am ferrying ideas around in my mind, letting them swirl until they become solid enough. I let them drift together, on the tide of my thoughts, until they are concrete.
Ferry, please take me away. I can only imagine where the open water can take a free soul. I want to see the world at sea, by ship is the way for me. Maybe I can one day see what the ship has in store for me.
The ferry comes and goes as the water flows. Nothing makes sense when the I am not on the water. I often ponder what is next. Ferry take me on my way, for someday I will find a place I stay.
riding a boat along the shore, listening to the other boats honk as they pass by. seagulls, and lighthouses, and a nice cottage on the beach where the sound of the ocean and the smell of the sand wakes you up. crisp, fresh, sunny days. the smell of wine against your lips in the night. beautiful night, big yet incredibly small moon.
Between continents. Small cups of coffee with a fine layer of silt at the bottom. The skies are blue. They say that the Dardanelles are to my right.
Water slapped the sides of the ferry like a lover scorned. Behind him, two boys screeched with laughter, in time with the waves bursting against the hull, both bent over the screen of a cell phone. He smiled. Before him was a postcard, a coffee table book, a movie still; the white houses and cobalt roofs of Greece like paradise calling him in.
Where’s the ferry feather
Boot of leather
Furry weather
Not one as of late for sing-song-birding
Fighting every tide that’s hurling
Tidings that keep coming and coming
And grinding, and grinding, and grinding
Worn in the tooth to bleached skull inside out
I wanted to go on board
I so, so desperately wanted to hop on board and sail away
Into sunsets that I will now, never get to know
I wanted to breathe the fresh air
I wonder what it tastes like.
Does it taste like yellow, or does it taste like blue?
god made earth and sky
to put distance between us and him.
overcompensating,
if you ask me.
not content with that,
he made the ocean
to split us apart from each other.
(tiny moving islands living
on bigger immobile ones.
that’s the joke.
how are we faring, father?)
ferry are used to transport people across small expanses of water. i have never ridden in one but i think it would be a fun experience. people ride ferrys to see all kinds of things.
She took one look at the ferry, sitting low in the water and looking as if it were just one moment away from decomposing.
“No way I’m getting into that death trap!”
did this one yesterday, but what the hey. thinking about all of the ferry-men that took people back and forth across the rivers back in the day, the skiffs, and small boats, filled with families, dogs and goats…
The ferry pulled out of the harbour and the family settled into their seats. Finally the day had come, the day they had been hoping and fighting for. They were going to have a better life from now on, no more troubles and hardships, just happiness. Viva la France!
We took a ferry to the island where the seagulls soar above beachhatheads and the waves crash against manicured toenails. We were happy there, hugging each other in the water, playing air guitar on the shoreline, and then the next summer we didn’t talk at all.
She put her car onto the ferry and crossed a body of water during that Fall day into a land of enchantment.
the sound echoed across the water and she ran for a seat on the ferry
the horn had just announced their departure
she clutched her bag, with nerves bundled and excited
and watched the water part beneath the boat
to where was she going?
no one knew, nor did it matter. for it was an adventure she was on
It was a rough crossing, and the ferry was bucking and heaving like a fractious rodeo horse. I held onto the rail and held my face into the wind. The fresh air made me feel less like heaving, myself.
It was the way he could ferry his thoughts and ideas across to Anderson’s so consistently and so seductively. His thoughts would dock and alight in Anderson’s mind each day, trading on nothing more than the invisible scent of slights and injustices inflicted. Though the sea frothed in anger and the North Star pointed south or west to mislead, the boat was sturdy and the thoughts huddled there always reached their destination – meek, submissive and cowardly – until Anderson also became so.
She caught the last ferry out of the city. All of the bridges were gone, crumbled into piles of stone at the bottom of the Great Ford river. She could still smell the city burning. It stuck inside of her nose like a dead body.
She stared at the lake water, waiting for something to happen. Bits of plastic and old cans floated on its slimy green surface. There were oil swirls on the top of the lake, and below that, layers of algae and muck. She blinked. Something black and finny was stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was a massive fish, the kind that could ferry her away – far away from her little cottage on the side of the lake.
It was really hot and steamy when they boarded the star ferry over to Hong Kong island. What a fantastic holiday they were having.
Simple, made of aging wood that has that vintage look of having spent its entire lifetime in the water – the ferry that took the villagers from this side to that, the one that promised them safety and yet gave up on them when the winds blew too strong. A pair of oars also, it had.
After she lost everyone she had loved in that ferry, she never set foot in another boat. That is, till now. Life has this weird way of making you do exactly what you don’t want to, doesn’t it?
Something I will have to travel on in 2 days and its going to suck because I hate them. They make me so sick; worse than car sick. My god, smelling that vile thing from the bathrooms was the worst. Its just so huge not to mention the cool little activities on each floor.
I have said it on more than one occasion, that if a ferry service is set up in our country that I will be one of the first persons to set foot on the ship. I am one of those that strongly believe that it will enhance our regional integration, and help assist in the development of all of our countries.
I am ferrying ideas around in my mind, letting them swirl until they become solid enough. I let them drift together, on the tide of my thoughts, until they are concrete.
Ferry, please take me away. I can only imagine where the open water can take a free soul. I want to see the world at sea, by ship is the way for me. Maybe I can one day see what the ship has in store for me.
The ferry comes and goes as the water flows. Nothing makes sense when the I am not on the water. I often ponder what is next. Ferry take me on my way, for someday I will find a place I stay.
riding a boat along the shore, listening to the other boats honk as they pass by. seagulls, and lighthouses, and a nice cottage on the beach where the sound of the ocean and the smell of the sand wakes you up. crisp, fresh, sunny days. the smell of wine against your lips in the night. beautiful night, big yet incredibly small moon.