So where do they sail now, those seamen of yesterday?
With spring in their step and the soft rolling gait
Of wrought bodies loosened, to merge with the changes
That humour the oceans, and the tides of each fate.
Where once they were saplings alive from the forest,
Responding to breezes, deep shadows and pain,
The burnish of seasons brought iron to their wisdom
And flint to the eyes as it silvered the mane.
Now they’re sitting at rest as they talk o’er the ether,
With a cup of warm soothing and a wife close at hand
Who’s heard all the shanties and foc’sle head whispers
That linger with seamen held fast by the land.
So they sign on Brian’s Forum where memories loiter
Where a sound or a word casts them free of the shore
With movement and breezes that stretch out the duster,
Back to the yesteryear’s voyage, to re-live once more.
As their voyage continues, the sea never stumbles
Or loosens its grip on the heart and the tongue
For theirs is the passion that forms this endeavour
Of sifting through Springtime when we were so young.
So we gather alone, sailing yesteryear’s memories
In jury rigged vessels with keyboards and screen
Using semaphore fonts we can hoist the red duster
To voyage again o’er the oceans we’ve seen.
Reg Kear.
November 08.
Mornington Oz
