Fore And Aft Poems | Examples

Night Light

I often sail where glitter,
stars a dear focus of mine -- 
a twinkle voyage, fore and aft,
Christ my sure steer rudder --

The Good Ship Venus Updated

The Captain had a penny whistle 
Which he wore around his neck
And he played it every morning
As the crew danced on the deck.
Sometimes it was a Hornpipe
Sometimes a Palais Glide
As the crew danced fore and aft
And from Port to Starboard side.

Prompt every morning
When the Bosun rang a bell,
And if he was feeling frisky
The Captain danced as well.
Sometimes on sunny mornings
The crew would stand at ease
While the Captain and a subby
Mimed a decorous strip tease.

Rain storm hail or shine
Until twenty minutes passed
When on a given signal
The crew would climb the mast
To set the sails and rigging
And get the ship  under way
And so it continued 
Every single day.

Two or three times a year
All the ships would meet
And the Captain and his crea
Would dance for the fleet.
It was on the good ship Venus
Which had been a ship of shame
Until the Dancing Captain'
Gave it a better name.

He became the only Admiral to wear
 A penny whistle around his neck
And even in his dotage
 Would dance around the deck.
Ship shape and Bristol fashion 
When she was away at sea.
Oh on the good ship Venus
Such a happy place to be

Central Park Companions

Met some friends in Central Park,
A meeting overdue.
How wonderful to see them 
And catch up on all that’s new!

We strolled around the reservoir
Then found a place to sit – 
A shady bench with bushes,
Fore and aft, for just a bit.

As we conversed, a little mouse
Did scurry from the brush
To underneath our bench in quite
A mouse-like frenzied rush.

My friends were quite blasé.
One said, “Just raise your feet a bit.”
The other said, “It’s just a chipmunk.”
(She was full of ****.)

That mouse (or else its cousins)
Scampered back and forth all day,
At least for the entire time
Of our reunion stay.

Still, I must thank my lucky stars
We got to meet and that
The mouse that we encountered
Wasn’t actually a rat!

The Finger

We're on the highway, middle lane;
Some motorcycles pass.
The car in front slows down; my husband 
Presses on the gas

And eases left, right in the midst
Of Harleys fore and aft,
Not knowing that, in biker world, 
By accident, we'd gaffed.

We soon found out, though, for a hand
Shot up with finger thrust
Straight in the air - the middle one,
You've figured out, I trust.

We got the message, loud and clear,
And ceded them their lane
For choppers seem to rule the road;
That finger made it plain.

The Writer's Prayer

I like to think 
that poetry
has intrinsic value
above and beyond 
the actual craft…

That the origins
of poetry’s meter
and rhyme precede
each preliminary
draft…

That something, perhaps
even spiritual, transcends
the fore-and-aft…

And when the writer
thinks to scuttle
a work, as often
inherently we do, 

always
may there be angels
floating him
a Literary-raft….

My Pinged Pong

My eager man bought me a wee thong
which I put on to best get along
but rubbing bugging attacks
soon whacked my fore and aft crack.
My pinged pong found his dingdonged thong wrong.

Staring Fore and Aft

Staring Fore and Aft
By: Tom Wright 
5/12/03]

We oft stare hinder,
knowing that there, lurks only time spent.
We embrace in thought those days without birth,
while probing their existence.
We're cognizant of frailties at discerning the future.
We should rather, focus on time at hand
for this is all we possess.
Time can ne'er be secure beyond today’s moment.

Descry

Descry

The schooner sailed upon the sea
Creating whispered waves below
I stood close by the crimson bow
In stillness near the quiet dawn
with no distractions save for gulls

The fore and aft sails moved as kin
The sun awoke resplendently
Awaiting Neptune and his aides
And kissed the ocean with delight
An ocean’s shimmer with a light

A tremor stirred to my surprise
Distress entangled in my heart
A shape arose immense and huge
Leviathan monstrous in size 
A monolith with dark blue hues

With seconds in its brief repose
Creating breakers as it dove
My heart retrieved its normal pulse
recording sights that I descried
A spectacle I’ll ne’er forget 

Descry Contest
Sponsored by Rob Carmack
May 30, 2017

Till Luna's Eye Is Met

Her blinding boon kills Deer of old
and waxes swan beset;
down this cold rain of blue eyes sold 
till Luna's eye is met.

Cool yet wan, O whispering breeze,
bloom dreams from withered skies:
abiding hot, as conjured Freeze
brews Fire Lakes and Lies.

I once thought I was Dear, alas,
peace and rest; tête–à–tête
evades me now in my impasse
till Luna's eye is met.

The droning Devil's horseback Four
destroyed my fore and aft,
their guiding light that wilts ashore
assures that I am draft.

By candles' light is forced the fault
till Luna's eye is met,
as softly here has lucid salt
birthed sickles' jaunty net. 

This captive land, within my bones,
shakes to spatter lightnings--
my knowing laugh arranges tones,
goads and slaughters ice wings.

Till Luna's eye is met,
I shall wish for two hands' death!
For diamond souls upset
doth render specters, aye, Macbeth?

Heaven Can Wait

Dawn breaks ruby red, windy day in sight.
Sailors scorning its warning, grab a bite
Pack their gear, rush to yacht, hoist sails upright.
Sea weathered mates, love to join the fight
Against wind and waves to drive yachts to flight.
Discomfort ignored, sailing sheer delight
For salted down folk, which fair winds ignite,
To crew on helm, winch, fore and aft alike.
Lovely folk for which the tussle and fight,
Fosters heavenly help when woeful plight
Strands boaties in trouble, with fear and fright.
Nothing too much trouble - seafarer rite.

Loves of My Life

 L  ovely metallic lady lost in Aisle Eight,
 O  n a rubbled spillway frightened and alone.
 V  ehicular damage on fore and aft flanks;
 E  legant figure now ravaged by time.
 S  toically braving the wind and the storm;
 O  ft' calling my name like a sea-captain's horn.
 F  rantically searching this vast sea of death,
 M  ired in a morass of cold and dead souls.
 Y  earning for the warmth of a highway, which she'll never see;
 L  ivid with anger at too early a demise.
 I  rritated that her eyes are no longer mine;'
 F  illed with the despair of one who was wronged.
 E  nvious of my new love's new whistles and bells.

Climb Up the Tall Ship's Masts

© 2010 (Jim Sularz)

Heave Ho! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Unfurl the sails white billowed,
all pray, the stiff trade winds blast!

Men briny from white-capped oceans,
Terra firma’s, a distant quest.
Feel the salt spray, stinging the faces,
of the ship’s crew, tossed fore and aft.

We’re compelled to sail the oceans an’ seas,
with a plumb compass an’ a ration’s tack.
Tattoos an’ a gypsy squeeze-box melody,
the gale blows on our ruddy backs.

All hands scramble, to assemble on deck,
for the Captain rings-hard a muster.
Churning waves in our rudder’s wake,
luminous, with a strange glowing luster.

Land Ho! A calm, deep harbor,
a smoke filled pub an’ a bonny lass.
But the sea’s, our only steadfast lover,
an’ she beckons, to call us back.

We stand proud to call ourselves - mariners,
Men without fear, we tame the high seas.
Bright stars as our comforting beacons,
fair weather with God’s given speed.

By moon beams an’ dawn’s faint daylight,
we’ll turn our ship’s namesake back.
Heave Ho! Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!

In Praise of Doorsteps

I think of sunsets I have seen
throughout my many years
from doorsteps where in quiet thought
I've laughed and wiped my tears.

The doorstep is a thinking spot
a place to share my day
with loved ones God has given me,
an altar where I pray.

For children it's a special seat
for rest when school work ends,
where snacks and many laughs are shared
with kindred-spirit friends.

For teens it is a meeting place
where games and dates are planned.
The simple structure serves us all,
according to demand.

Great praise is due life's doorsteps, 
both intangible and seen,
and all the portals fore and aft
for all they truly mean.

published in the book Expressions of Faith (Christian Faith Publishing, 2017)


posted 11-7-15

May 2017, placed 5th of ten in Ironic Zinc's Your Personal Favorite Poem Contest

entered in Brian Strand's Mid-June Premier Contest on June 13, 2017

December 27, 2018, entered in Mark Toney's Poetry Marathon, Mile 5

October 13, 2020
Contest Title: Have You Published Poetry Contest    Placed 2nd
Sponsor: Line Gauthier

Equilibrium

It's the fulcrum of a swing,
That concerts the plumb line string,
As its settling in phase,
To a point where it just stays...
And the forces become one,
So that balance is the sum,
Somewhere halfway in between,
Fore and aft so not to lean...
In any one preferred direction,
Since they all make the connection,
As the start of what we end,
Becomes the point where we begin..
So no matter where we turn,
We can take what we have learned,
And apply it as see fit, 
Forcing balance to commit...
Though I see my shadow cast,
I'm still caught between the last,
Binding images I dream,
To a life I've never seen...

A Little Yawn

It starts with a little yawn,
then a stretch, both fore and aft.
Next the blankets start to move,
I just have to laugh.

She shuffles up from the bottom,
of the bed, where warm and snug,
she had slept the whole night through,
as snug as a bug in a rug.

But, comes the tock of six a.m.
her internal clock goes "Bong".
A morning ritual now begins, 
softly, with a little yawn.

Her nose peeks out from beneath,
the rest of her soon follows.
Her head she rubs into my neck,
as I try to hide in the pillow.

It is no use, I'm now wide awake,
I climb out, into the world where I belong.
Just before she scrambles back beneath,
she gives out a little yawn.



For the contest; What makes you wake up each and every day
Sponsored by Ed Ebbs

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