Sailing Weather

Whether or knot tied to a stormy gust
Questioning the thunder inside thirst
Lightning stretch crackle yawn of dawn
She rises sore fingers from an East shore
Line weaving among a horizontal line.

Waving salt brine search for bottled whine
Moan of an ole man cracking the wind,
Arthritic breeze creaking sail’s mast free
Groaning canvas among bow plain scissors
Cutting an ocean in two sphere reflections.

Hair wrinkled ‘n gray overcast weighs storm
Eye surges on rolling hills in RIP-pings doubts
Skeletal key chest heaving fore ‘n aft pitches
Navigating heartbeat’s love with stern looks back,
Concentrated whirlpool loving every nerve ending.

Twisting, turning, winging the mainsail furry
Sea’s vagabond witch pitching sailor’s helm hands.
Wind the mainspring celestial clock tension tight
Racing torrents flooding emotions clinging might
Squalling inside fright to then see - the sun light.

Wail the fog horn inside breaking free spirited
Upon a thunder whispers nature’s lief challenge.
“Later beloved,” she wails off in her Calypso tizzy,
Sea-maiden so high strung leaving sailors - so dizzy,
Sails going limp shriveling up - like after sex.

Starboard ‘n port mermaid dolphins cried out
“What did you do, to get her wrath stirred up?”
“I just said good morning sweetheart, it’s a beautiful day.
I guess I hit a menstrual cycle of a Goddess’s curse
Taking me through the whole damn beaufort scale squall.”

“Homer, we hope for your sake Calypso settles down,
For you remember that seven years stint on the island.”

David L. Young05/11/08©
De-Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time