The wind roars,
rattles the iron
on the old roof;
the nails strain
to hold the tin down
while the wooden gate
bangs back and forth
against the post,
sounds a warning
it is about to be
parted from its
rusted hinges.
Don’t you cry
when you see I’ve gone,
I’ll be back again
before too long;
so don’t be despondent,
don’t be cast down,
just remember everything
comes back around.
The cards are on the table,
the money is thrown down,
faces hewn in stone
hide every chance
that here has been taken.
What is this one moment
that speaks among a myriad
of moments?
What is this one moment
That stands apart from the jostle
of the crowd?
One moment captures an eternity;
one moment turns a rusted, iron key.
He walks neither on the left
nor on the right,
for each one lacks
what the other one has;
he travels true
the middle ground,
he holds his eye on high.
Lost in the short view,
he sees no principle
worth standing for
in the long view;
his birthright
worthless,
trampled beneath
the blood that secured it.
The roadside-sign announced
‘Fresh Bluff Oysters’
and I thought of him,
your brother,
at the skipper’s helm,
bow ploughing through
the ghostly southern seas
towards the fields of harvest.
I am locked in here
beside the fire
within the warmth
of the flame
and in that murmur
I think I hear
it whispering
the sound of my
own name
Should I rouse
myself from the
comfort of my
secluded nook
and ask who calls
my name who disturbs
my sweet dream
who moves my rook
Melody, riff and harmony,
give me the song to sing
and I will sing along;
this is the soundtrack of the times
that shape and bend me
until I fit and belong.
these wheels keep on rollin’
across bitumen and stone
nothing here can be stolen
nothing that we own
going up country
been there once before
hope to stay just a while
watch stars come ashore