Really Awfully Naughty-call

 

In yachting terms, to go about
Is not to wander round,
And forward leap is in some doubt
When saying, ‘Outward bound!’ 

A sheet is not a cloth for beds,
But rope for setting sail;
And when to port a sailboat heads,
It does not wine entail. 

A port is home for yachts, indeed,
But also ‘left’ to say,
While starboard tack gives right to need
Port tack yachts to give way. 

The stern does not have visage grim,
Nor does a tiller farm;
And though you may adjust its trim,
A cutter does no harm.

 

And making sail or make a sail
Are two quite different things;
A stay is not, to leave, a fail,
But, vertical, mast brings. 

The spreaders do not butter smear,
But from the masts push stays,
To reef the jib, use furling gear,
When course off-wind one lays. 

Luff is a many-splendored thing,
But stops at ‘Mast abeam!’
At which you can again take wing,
And reach into the stream. 

A boom comes from the starting-gun,
But also changes sides
When doing gybes while on a run —
Duck boom or woe betides!

GloPoWriMo Day 20 has asked for a poem that ‘incorporates the vocabulary and imagery of a specific sport or game’.  I’m sure you can’t guess the one above …

Day 12 asked for alliteration and assonance:

Guests gone; today to Spain set sail,
(Well, with full flight flew forth)
A dismal drive for many a mile*
Has hastened their course north,
But beach-ward bore them first, for foam
And sea spray splash to sense:
To stand in sand ere haring home
Proved pleasure pit immense;
We wandered well throughout, no doubt,
Hope they had fill of fun;
Sad, seeing that they’re not about,
And so say everyone.

*Getting to our airport is the pits.

© April 2017 Colonialist