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That’s all about: A Cap Jib: in the brisk,” Avoir le vent-en-poupe”,
_a jib set on a stay to a bowsprit cap, astern._Dictionaries
I am thirsty for words
At the sole thought of writing I cuiver
When I dip my quill in the inkwell, I chiver
Off the safe harbor I leave
For when I put pen to paper,
It’s like riding a wave
Standing on a deck onboard holding a sail,
Facing the grand large, saddling the wind
All the frigates, all the boats, all the yachts
The goelands, and the seagulls, in my thoughts.
The Islands, and the seven seas, the seashore
The gulf I need to drop my anchor
All the words I need to write,
Under the sheltering skies
They parade on a blank page, for your eyes only.
When I write, it’s what I see, I’m lonely
The ocean is my deck in the open,
Sailing I am, writing is my way
With words painting them often
So, Sailing I am, off the safe harbor
Have you ever felt the brisk on you face,
the sun burning your skin,
the specks of sea-salt in your hair.
And its taste on your cracked lips;
Off the Grand Large,
the offing is bleeding,
It’s saying it low
can’t you hear it?
I’m calling you.
At a distance, a boat,
Had blown her toot.
Sailing is in the air
The ocean crushing at your feet,
standing still on the seashore
His ebb and flow,
Has skimmed his batter
in begging you.
can’t you see it!
What’s the matter with you?
what are you waiting for
If chance was given to me, to love again
I would love have been a skipper,
Better than that, I want no more
From sailing away I won’t refrain
I thrill at thought of sailing again
“So throw off the bowlines, and Sail away from the safe harbor.” _Mark Twain