These poems written by classmate Ernie Meade

Ernie's grandmother taught him to tell stories by painting with words. His talent shows in the poems he wrote and published in the book "Breezes Through Time" (Balboa Press, ISBN 9781504362733). These three poems were copied from that book with Ernie's permission.


Eastaway

(Eastaway is the name of Ernie Meade's sailboat.)

Eastaway

The sea was bright and sunny
the wind blew up the bay
white caps they were building
as I sailed on Eastaway.

Now that boat she was flying
as we heeled to the press of wind
her sails were hard and pulling
the wake showed nary a bend.

The way she danced across the bay
like a wild thing just set free
the bow slicing through the waves
was beautiful to see.

Too soon we reached the Marina
I knew what had to be.
The tiller I pulled hard to port
we blew back out to sea.

For the dance was far from over
though the day was almost done
as we flew back across the bay
to make one final run.

Only a select few know the feeling
of a fine boat in the groove
with the sails set and balanced
like a dolphin on the move.

The moon was out there rising
as we nudged into our slip
and I'll hoist a tot of Barbados Rum
to salute that little ship.


The Crew

The Crew

Whenever I'm out there sailing
I always take my crew
even a trip to check the boat
she'll jump in my truck too.

That crew is always helpful
she's always on the go.
When it comes to bottom painting
she'll be covered from head to toe.

If the sails are set and drawing
and we're sailing way out there
she walks about Au Natural
a life jacket's all she'll wear.

Other boats pass by staring
they're waving to my crew
but she just seems oblivious
waving back's too much to do.

She's not too much on steering
or sheeting in the sails
but you'll see her on deck sleeping
with her head resting on the rail.

By now you probably guessed it
she's just along for the ride
that's my favorite crew member
my Springer by my side.


Sailing at Night

(Eastaway is the name of Ernie Meade's sailboat.)

The orange orb on the horizon
quietly slipped into the sea
darkness closed around us
like a heavy cloak engulfing me.

Eastaway softly headed southwest
her bow wave whispered ahead
the ocean took on an oily hue
our port light glowed blood red.

High above the towering mast
millions of stars flashed into sight
Arcturus, Deneb, Aldebaran
the sentinels of the night.

The little ship sailed onward
brushing aside the swells.
I drank in the nocturnal beauty
heard the Chelsea strike 8 bells.

I must have dozed a little
with the tiller in my hand
for I awoke to a luffing sail
she was heading for the land.

We were 50 miles off the shore
following the rhumb line to Cape May
too soon the stars faded from view
as the dawn ushered in the day.

Sailing at Night