Saturday, November 19, 2016

Rob Schackne #161 - The Sea

The Sea

Sitting out the front in the bush
in a dry place distant from the sea
an almost ferro-concrete boat stared
at country cars for twenty years
chicken wire in an everything yard
conjuring up wet hull and spray
and the busy doubting Mallee
never did see finished the careful work
never heard more than talk of fishing
of station frame or final cementing
then the house was boarded up forever
maybe everywhere was unkind weather
it would never rain fishes there
the sun burned the imagination
salt water was eventually drinkable
the wind sprang up when the grog ran out
dreams moored against certain horrors
a fishing life where one man had none.


  1. ...of such a dream, so exhausted that this boat-spirit could find me anytime like this, howsoever far from that place, still I'd have liked to see that deck float once for all the hard work of a reasonable life.

  2. I must confess such dreams can catch me sometimes ...!!!As for a reasonable life, I gave up a long time ago! :)

  3. Superb poem; the boat reminds me of the little hydroplane my father spent years building in the garage and which he eventually sold unfinished — though maybe that did end up seeing the water.

    1. reports of a small plane going into the ocean off Wollongong somewhere yesterday, has found nothing, no wreckage, no flotsam, no slick, no nothing and no reports of any flights, of anyone missing....???

    2. (And I hope the hydroplane saw the water too.)


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