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Board » General Discussion » Poetry Saved for Posterity

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Sailing in the doldrum gets old. Trying to stay alive despite the odds, I kept myself awake tonight with these:


The sailor once known as Mouthansar
who wrote many a limerick stanza
Went away for a spell
Is now back live and well
Still awondering where all his friends are.



Most SOL'ers just don't want to lose
But they keep getting lost in the blues
They want competition
And get malnutrition
While they're overindulging in booze.


On occasion we're greeted by Honya
Who is wishing that he could outgun ya
Although starting quite late
And accepting his fate
He'll be racing and try to outrun ya.


You've sat up too. You know the feeling. :-)


--- Last Edited by Mouthansar at 2015-01-23 10:14:36 ---
We really did miss you, Mouthansar! No poetry,no quick gibes! Welcome back to SOL's "Poetry Saved for Posterity"!
----and just a minor contribution-----
"What shall we do with the drunken SOLers?"

--- Last Edited by Rod at 2014-10-25 16:30:23 ---
If it breaks, it's not strong enough--if it doesn't, it's too heavy.
Tamalone SWR2014 Leg 1:

"This is the race that doesn't end....it just goes on and on, my friend....some people started racing it not knowing what it was, and they continue racing it forever just becuase...this is the race that doesn't end."

--- Last Edited by Smo at 2014-11-09 19:14:53 ---
An excellent contribution from Viking in Leg 2 of SWR!!

To be sung to the tune of "It's a long way to Tipperary":


It's a long way to Abu Dhabi
It's a long way to sail
It's a long way to Abu Dhabi
Now we need a SE gale

Goodbye Cape of Good Hope
Farewell Cape Town Square
It's a long long way to Abu Dhabi
But at last we may be there
An ode to Rumskib
(Rumskib means 'spacecraft' in Danish)

A young German sailor with brains
Doesn't care if it blows or it rains
His boat is in orbit
His aid is an asset
But from chatting he mostly refrains.

As the Rumskib was tracing its rhumbline
Through Malacca, we all felt just so 'klein'
He is so far ahead
While the wind's mostly dead
Whereas Rumskib must feel he's on cloud nine.

When comparing myself to a spacecraft
I feel much like I pilot a liferaft
The spacecraft is Rumskib
And I waste my rhum keep
So at least I will know why I'm so daft.
Reflections on a race where the Top 37 spots are completely out of reach:

To struggle to be 38
Is a thing that most sailors hate
You want number one
But the options are gone
With regret we accept it's too late.
Courtesy of Scallions:

To Owa Raha we go,
Most have passed it, I know.
Some went West,
But was it the Best?
We now chase the SOLer called Smo.
Musings on the oddities of DTF in the South Sea.


Oh, I'll spin ya a yarn about South
Just as true as my name it is Mouth
We don't know where we are
Except far from a bar
And there's nothing that rhymes well with 'outh.

So, to help us establish positions
We have SOL-tools and ample provisions
DTF round the Pole
When you're sailing with SOL
Is a curious case for magicians.

Yet another boat takes on the lead
Being fed by his Blue Water feed
DTF is a riddle
I'll just play with my fiddle
To distract me from what I must read.

....

And here is an excellent read for improved understanding of the DTF-in-the-South phenomenon: A blog post by Hmm

--- Last Edited by Mouthansar at 2015-03-26 16:08:24 ---
Distractions from a quiet Friday afternoon SW of Itaya, Brazil, in the South Atlantic. Bonknhoot, who's actually Irish, was target practice:

To follow the swings of the wind
Is a struggle that taketh no end
Starboard or port
South maybe North
To our monitors we are all pinned.


I don't really know where you are from
But I've followed you, flotsam and Jepsom
A Swedish SOL god
With courses quite odd
And the cola to add into our rhum.


Oh, Bonky, don't mind me at sea
I'm an old fart and barely can pee
There are courses aplenty
But as long as we're friendly
We are certain to meet at the quay.


There is a young man name of Bonkhoot
Who is Swiss, Dutch and British to bootboot
He must be unmarried
His life is unharried
I will hail him with my chipper toot-toot.

So my Irish friend met with the Hooters
Not in Mexico - that would be putas
Must have been USA
Or at least so they say
For he bonked them and now he will mute us.


There was a good fellow from Cork
Who was anything else than a dork
He was SOL'ing quite wisely
And often did nicely
Based on imports of good Danish pork.
Introducing myself further in reply to Mouthansar honouring me with his verses.

At thirty of four U T C,
An hour IMO quite ungodly
Lars thought perchance he'd outfox me,
So I followed his course out to sea.
This was a mistake, later I found.
But beware, Afghan hound:
To catch you, I’m bound!

SOL friends are fun,
And you are a new one.
Now wait till the run,
And bonksky will be gone.
Gone wards the setting sun!

He’s married, Swiss, Dutch and Irish(!).
Unhurried cause of age: sixtyish.
‘T was Ireland that taught him ‘bout sails,
And Cork the place there whence he hails.
Clipping along

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