"The Mighty Avatar" - Poetry Play On Words

My poem is about a mighty ship and its crew who come up against a horrific storm at sea. I’ve used the term ‘tar baby’ throughout because it means a very troublesome situation, especially one that is difficult or impossible to get out of per the Encarta ® World English Dictionary.

The poem starts out with the sailors or tars enjoying themselves with yarns (long stories) while nature is brewing a situation for them whereby they will have to prove their starch (courage). The forces of the wind and horrific downpours of rain (cataracts) are two enemies of ships that I brought into the poem for the Avatar and its crew to attempt to master. *The Beaufort scale is an international scale for measuring the speed of winds. Winds measuring 8 or 9 on the scale are classified as gales. The sailors prove themselves in more ways than one but especially by one having saved a young, thin (starveling) lad who goes overboard and because of his frail appearance could have been overlooked. The courageous ‘cool’ captain maintains control in the midst of the storm and the rage of nature soon ceases. I hope you enjoy it. A lot of the ‘tar’ words were new to me and some of the old ones had other meanings. I have posted the meanings to those and other familiar words with different meanings, at the bottom.

“The Mighty Avatar”

The mighty tartan Avatar with tarnished brass and gates ajar,

Sails onward past the glistening tarns, while tars aboard indulge in yarns.

Beneath its deck, stark barnacles cling, as cataract downpours hail to bring

The ship’s ataractic spirit down, and star the studs of tar baby’s crown.

Startling winds becoming a gale, starring nine on the Beaufort scale,

Rock the tartan back and forth, quelling hope for a quick recourse.

Sailors rush from tarradiddle chatter, exuding starch amidst the matter;

Swab the deck, check the mast, forbidding the tar baby state to last.

Staring in awe of the sailors’ tasks, are starry-eyed children with tears for masks.

Comfort comes from a sailor’s arm, tarrying not, to shield from harm

A frightened lad gone overboard, whose starveling frame remained obscured,

But caught by a tar’s keenness of eye, and pulled from the sea like a star from the sky.

The captain’s stardom remains intact, despite the force of the cataract;

The ship sails on in the face of the winds, like an autarchic ruler controlling chagrins.

Finally the seas become less fierce, and Tartarus doings halt their pierce

To bore through the tartan’s sturdy bowels, then lessen the winds’ targeting scowls.

Tardy waves ripple with sighs of relief, as if knowing the tars would soon bring relief

From the tar baby’s efforts to completely destroy the mighty ship without a buoy.

Nectarous juices, drink of the gods, quelled the fears of tar baby’s prods.

Whiffs of attar near the Strait of Gibraltar, create a welcoming sensory altar.

Star shells bursting high in mid-air, releasing showers of lights with flair

Star-spangled flags are hurled up the mast, hailing the joy of the tar baby’s past.

The massive tartan Avatar with tarnished brass and gates ajar,

Sails smoothly past the glistening tarns, while tars aboard indulge in yarns.