Surf Coast- Boxing Day 2015
Sketched upon the Cartridge
Of this morning’s beach
Wavering charcoal lines
Searching for a story
Scribbled by retreating tides.
Leaves, bark chips, small pieces of blackened timber
Not quite destroyed
Just baked in one explosive curse
Of fire and angry flames.
Charred too at the edges
Are memories
Of long summer afternoons
Of tinkling glasses on shaded verandas
Of laughter and of children’s voices
Echoing in the dunes
Of watching kookaburras,
Voyeurs on tall branches.
These private moments too
Sucked into the furnace
Reduced to ash
Wind-blown now
Across the sand.
‘You only live once’
Laughed the man with the blue surfboard
As he strode across the ash-strewn beach
To where the patient sea
Still waited.
Out of tragedy….a beautiful poem.
Love the imagery of ” one explosive curse
Of fire and angry flames”
lOVELY POEM jOHN. lOVE mIM X
Beautiful piece of writing John
Very moving John.
Dear old Mother Nature – she does throw up a few surprises.
I love the first verse of this poetic piece, John.
Really lovely.
So beauty can come from disaster – just as new shoots will grow in the forest.
Thank God for the sea – ever patient, waiting for those who come to relax. Ever patient? No, sometimes it lies in wait for those who don’t know the rips and tides.
And who is this man with the blue surfboard? Is he a callous outsider who doesn’t feel the loss of home and memories endured by those who lost their homes? Or is he an heroic survivor, taking to the surf to relax his mind before he starts planning the rebuild of his lost home?
‘You only live once’ – yes, but you can die many times before the last. Death of a child, a sibling, a parent, is a death shared by those who suffer that loss. Loss of home or community; loss of love, or livelihood; loss of health, or youth; these are all deaths of a kind. And when the last comes, in the fire or in the sea; in disease or in accident; by the will of God or the hand of man – we leave each our own story scribbled by our own retreating tide.
Great visuals. I especially loved the line which relates to kookaburras as voyeurs. They seem to laugh at every moment they witness.
Great visuals… I especially enjoyed the line about the voyeurs on tall branches…