Sailing into Round Rock Passage, BVI. Photo Credit: Janet Bering

Tonight marks our last night together as a family and crew for C-263 onboard the Cramer. We had our final swizzle with many wonderful acts and poems and songs. This post has a few. I must say that this group of people is one of the funniest groups of people I have ever interacted with and I don't think I have laughed so much in my entire life. I think it may be part being out at sea brings out the crazy in us all and the fact that everyone has great personalities and is hilarious.

Without further aido, here goes

Twas the night before Departure
By Anna Simpson

Twas the night before departing and all through the boat,
no one was asleep and glad we stayed afloat.
The coils hung on the pins with care holding sails way up there.
The food all stowed after we were all well fed
while visions of our trip danced in our head.
A new watch takes the deck, others go below
and on and on went this continuous flow.
When up on the deck there arose such a clatter
we all ran up to see what was the matter.
Away to the port side we flew like a flash
to see what brought us here in such a dash.
A minky whale came to check us out,
very cool seeing megafauna about.
When, what to our wondering eyes and delight,
it stayed for a while in the light.
We rolled around, so sporty and quick.
We did well not getting sick.
More rapid than squalls the wind it came.
And the mate shouted, calling commands by name
"Now hands to the downhaul, halyard, and sheet"
The crew spreads out like a fleet.
Ease the halyard, we need it to fall.
Now haul away, haul away, haul away all.
As the sun sets and the clouds fly,
tangerine orange and pink turns the sky.
So on with the tradewinds we flew,
with a boat full of new friends and laugher too.
And then in twinkling, the starts they rose,
used them to follow the course we chose.
As we sailed to the west, not turning around,
deep cobalt blue surrounds us abound.
We furled the sails, rolling up the foot,
During DC, cleaned mung, not soot.
Hauling the mains'l,, not giving back,
What little we had for this trip to pack.
Music played with a horse haired bow,
Keepin cool in squalor by thinkin of snow.
Knives kept by some in a sheath,
Sargassum for days we should've made a wreath.
The galley gals filled our bellies,
sometimes snack was cheese, crackers, and jellies
Coconut shell floating past- a boat for an elf,
Laugh all the time in spite of our self.
Lots of science and using our head,
to finish the projects with little dread.
JWO phase was a lot of work,
I swear the mate was not being a jerk.
Smelling first land with our nose,
over the Pitons, the sun it rose.
Beautiful weather, no one gave a whistle,
And we crossed the Atlantic with little thistle.
Oh the Cramer, such a wonderful sight!
Happy sailing to all and to all a good night!

Collection of So(u)ls
A tortured and melodramatic poem by Colette

When the squall came, the water poured down my legs in sheets
And as I stood at the bow, I laughed out loud and screeched
Because, hey, could any of you hear me?

Who knew that rain could be a guilty pleasure

With lightning in the distance and fog all around
Finally at home, I felt that I had found
My place in the universe in the middle of a cloud
And everywhere, water pouring down

I am so wet
From my head
To my

Feet where water sloshes and soaks into the rain-thirsty teak
After swirling and whirling around the foremast peak
Coming and going elusively

On some crazy, frenzied tide
Governed by no moon known to mankind
Womankind
Personkind?
Saturating Cramer and I
In the squall I realized

This ship has eaten me alive

The Cramer is a Harry Potter-style dementor
Composed not of steel but of souls that come aboard
A collection of souls vaguely looking forward
To some ambiguous final destination

Who has this ship devoured?

Tristan knows a lot about meiter furl folds
And Farley cracks jokes about toilet paper rolls

Janet the scientist loves harem pants
And Kirsten is an expert in Scandinavian dance

Kate makes the cookies, Morgan makes the bread
And Abby knits hats for teeny tiny heads

Scott - surprising no one - is a former Frisbee bro
And Mickey's full name is John Michael, although
Please don't call him that
Mickey, just Mickey, is fine

Papa Q, our captain, avoids eating cheese
He says for cholesterol, but we know that secretly
He models
For Calvin Klein Nautical

And yet, no secrets from the captain can we students keep
We can only hope that the eyes in the back of his head have looked upon our
mistakes
Kindly

When the squall came, I turned East to face the wind
Let the horizontal rain soak each of my limbs
Under my flimsy jacket, until it had rinsed
The essence of my being into the bowsprit

And then

I privately hoped that the squall wouldn't end
That the Cramer and I together could pretend
That we were alone forever and more
Thus, I fed my soul to the dementor

How will I leave

Put back together the pieces of me
Buried deep
In the cracks and crevasses, rigging and lines
Do I leave them behind?
Or do I
Gather them back
Carefully extract
The bits of my soul rubbed into the black
Rubber soles of the main salon by the flat
Edge of a wintergreen squeegee
Clearly

The squeegee served its purpose
Now I am nervous
That this collection of souls floating at the surface

Will scatter
Butterflies in the harbor
There are more

Evenings

But no more
Like this

-Anna