Go Out and Anchor the Boat

The cumulus clouds built overhead

But were dark, and filled with rain,

They brought to the sky a sense of dread

Of the storm to come, and pain,

The wind picked up in the barley fields

And the sea beat in to the shore,

‘If you don’t go out and anchor the boat

It will land on the rocks, for sure.’

I didn’t want to go out that day

But my father said I must,

All that my brother did was play

So I thought it so unjust.

‘Why is it always me,’ I said,

‘When Fred’s as handy as I,

He only goes when the weather’s calm

With not a cloud in the sky.’

It made no odds so I had to go,

They didn’t give me a choice,

I was the child of the family,

The one with the weakest voice.

I took the skip and I rowed on out

Where the Huntsman strained its chain,

With the breakers crashing across the prow

On top of the driving rain.

I seized the rope and clambered aboard

Then tied the skip to a post,

It was only held by a slender cord

To the Huntsman, as its host.

I went for the starboard anchor then

And slipped it into the sea,

That would give it a second hold, I thought,

But in truth, there should be three.

The waves were crashing across the deck

And the Huntsman wheeled around,

Now side-on to the waves it heeled

With a rasping, creaking sound,

If only Fred hadn’t lost the anchor

Chained up close to the bow,

I would be able to hold the swing

But it wasn’t likely now.

The swell was something tremendous and

The rain came down like sleet,

What with the sway and the decks awash

It was hard to keep my feet.

Slowly the boat had begun to drift and

Drag its chains to the shore,

Down in a trough, and then the lift

As the swell built up once more.

Making my way to the cabin door

I locked myself inside,

Then started the Perkins diesel and

Prepared to go for a ride,

I thought that if I could turn the bow

And point it out to sea,

We might be able to ride it out

The boat, brute force, and me.

I didn’t know that my brother Fred

Had borrowed somebody’s skiff,

And now was heading on out to help,

My father had said ,’What if?’

The diesel roared into life and tugged 

The anchors in its wake,

But wouldn’t respond to the rudder

I had made my first mistake.

Borne on the swell, the Huntsman roared

And headed in to land,

Nothing I did would turn the bow

Though I had the wheel in hand,

I’ll never live down the Huntsman’s loss

Or forget that awful sound,

That terrible scream like a nightmare dream

As I ran my brother down.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Enticing twist I didn't expect. Well done David!

[Coyote Poetry]

A wild tale in the poem my friend. I felt the sea and the struggle in your good description. You made the story come alive in the poetry. Thank you David for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Tony Jordan]

It's like an accidental Cain and Abel - or maybe not so accidental. Who is to say that the ill-will - even in minor sulking or petty jealousies - isn't enough to swing the hand of fate into fatal action.
Another belter DLP. !!

[Ellen Hammond]

Wow! Having been married to a commercial fisherman for 26 years, this poem stirred up a lot memories of storms past. Great poem with that sad twist at the end. Your work is always so intriguing and flawless.

[Tate Morgan]

Another masterpiece I like the intermittant use of a.b.a.b your mind sings in rhyme