Callala Bay

Tags

beach, fishing, poem, poetry, water

The lone fisherman greeted suns first light
dressed in shorts and brown shirt then bare feet
swivelling in wet sand
amidst the water’s edge
where his yellow bucket held another round of bait
dawn approaching
seagulls encroaching on his piece of today
where fishing lines arched backward then forward
meeting the oncoming waves
then the surrendering of the tide

A solitary figure
he cut a plane between night and day
the shadows of morning
as he lent cautiously over the baiting of another hook
fishing rod angled

The waters breath was peacefully forgiven
clouds and wind had run away
leaving the fisherman
his bait and bucket
to fish out the morning
in Callala Bay

Pictures of you

Tags

beach, cat, favorite, fishing, love, me, poem, poetry, you

I swam in the ocean as far as could be
to where the waves met a breaking sea
along the way I passed a whale or two
three sharks one dove and a picture of you

Was within my mind carrying me forth
over white horses toward the north
where an island approached
upon which I sat

On a sandy beach with nothing but a cat
who became my friend and taught me to fish
yes the life of Reilly I lived
but for one wish

To turn rocks then fire
into a meal for two
to trade in your picture
for the real you

at full mast

Tags

boats, boy, fishing, old man, painting, poem, poetry, Sydney

Once I visualized a naked light
moths encircling
far from sight
on Botany Bay then Sydney heads
where blues, whites
and colorful reds
were scattered by tankers
streaming past
above the boy
his boat at full mast
both drowning out
an old mans cast
for fish, bait
or even weed
the night flowing over this complex scene

I painted a picture
yet the ends never met
as the darkness erased
a trawlers net
from far above I watched
as that naked light
drank in the beauty
of the Sydney heads at night

To fish

Tags

boats, boys, father, fishing, poem, poetry, son

Red fish
flathead
separated through the hook
buckets
medium and large

Timber supported this concrete wharf
whilst behind the fisherman stood his gallows
a band of seagulls watched the knife
gutting fish
gushing water

One old man clutched at a cigarette
on the boats well
outside the heads
surrendered to the wind
outlined only by a darkened sky
the peaceful harbor
disillusioned onlookers
even the pelican
fighting at her headwind
taking time to rest
before another flight

He stood with eyes that grasped for hope
looking to his son
sharpening the knife
throwing the remnants to a dancing bird
buckets made their way to a nearby truck

The boat lay still
awaiting as he did
to move east again
past the buoy and those green laden treetops
through the headlands opening
to another night

Rust
rope
chains
and but one wish
to fish

before I grow too old

Tags

Australia, basalt plains, birds, Coolabah, cotton farming, country, fishing, galahs, home, king parrots, kookaburras, lizards, poem, poetry, snakes, west

I’d like to awake in the west
where the birds would be my home
galahs then king parrots too
out where the kookaburras roam
then snakes and lizards would dance
around my window sill
til sunlight did awake me
with that brilliant morning chill

Out where the basalt cracks
on those blackened Coolabah plains
where fish swim ever southward
escaping the cotton mans drain
where Sunday afternoons sing
with laughter
boots and soul
yes take me back out west
before I grow too old