Rowing
Rowing is the act of propelling a boat using the motion of oars in the water. The difference between paddling and rowing is that rowing requires oars to have a mechanical connection with the boat, while paddles are hand-held and have no mechanical connection.
This article deals with the more general types of rowing, such as for recreation and transport rather than the sport of competitive rowing which is a specialized case of racing using strictly regulated equipment and a highly refined technique.
Types of rowing systems
In some localities, rear-facing systems prevail. In other localities, forward-facing systems prevail, especially in crowded areas such as in Venice, Italy and in Asian and Indonesian rivers and harbors. This is not strictly an "either-or", because in different situations it's useful to be able to row a boat facing either way. The current emphasis on the health aspects of rowing has resulted in some new mechanical systems being developed, some very different from the traditional rowing systems of the past.
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by Republic Of Wolves
Oarsman
by: Republic Of WolvesI woke up sweating on the moaning mount of olives
My black dove penance weighing down my feather feet
Woven into my skin, the covenants I'd broken
My granite heart will not forget what it once was.
A coffer full of your love
I couldn't bear it.
I don't believe I ever had a choice
When the sun came up and my eyes were struck
I don't believe I could've changed my mind
In the dead end heat of that withered beach
With my grave stone teeth and your seven shades of grief
We were unleavened earth before the first unsettled word fell
They drew the devil's iris in between your brows
Accursed breath that left our bodies when the day broke
Who built that weary wooden cabinet for your faith?
All these doors I see
mean nothing to me.
I don't believe I ever had a choice
When we lost our sight to the teething night
I don't believe I could've changed my mind
When the seeds were sown and then left alone
How could I have known I was never on my own?
Oh God, I feel like every saintly fire was my fault.
That I got crossed off of the wall
and my fingers all bloodied and torn
and it's just a lie,
a poor excuse for all the fumes
that I spit out back when I was young,
and god damn the truth,
I was unused,
an empty glass,
an oarsman and no one knew my name.
Knew my name
I am not welcome here
I am not welcome in this house I built.
I am not welcome here
I am not welcome in this house I built.
I am not welcome here