Bora born
Whale calling
Tourist station _ quarantine station,
heard someone saying,
now what was it's fortune,
before days of sailing.
Don't be surprised,
if what's lost will be found,
so to Yarrabah please go,
to search this new meaning.
Remember the light,
intent on blinking?
Wish it was still there,
Fitzroy Island _ my island of dreaming.
Now ready to leave,
the kids are all packed,
the camp well worth the effort,
all in agreement.
Not too much trouble,
remember videos last night?
The only grumbles heard,
from drinking teachers,
so conservative _ so tight.
The tide is in,
only two walks left,
to the light house and beach,
to keep the troops fit.
Group touring,
kids who need watching,
walky talkies at the ready,
just keep talking.
Lighthouse here we come,
across the back of this broken island.
Two stops along the way, to catch up,
all those hiking frightens.
Walk at the back,
to mind the larikans,
and encourage all those,
whose diet has run away
from them.
Wind in your face,
blowing hair in your eyes.
Too easy to live here,
life's rhythm in the tide.
Who owns this old ruin,
of white washed walls,
in need of protection.
You know _ tea and scones could be the go,
and the generator should work,
with little inspection.
Graffiti stained,
easy to clean up.
Get hold of the lease,
bureaucracy,
in need of direction.
Clam farm _ research station,
passed on the way back.
Experts have left,
maintenance now slack.
Back to the beach,
‘Kids, try some fishing.'
Drag the net, sardines a plenty,
what's that you're eating.
Try it _ tastes good,
cooked on an ashes fire.
Amazement all round,
the taste is inviting.
Nudey beach,
last walk of their stay.
Lads can't wait to get there,
to highlight their day.
White pointers,
lay on that beach I heard them say.
Topless bathing for those in the dark,
lift skywards in search of
Vitamin A.
Stopped short,
to give the lads an idea,
of the behaviour required,
by this coral sea.
Arrive at the beach,
the lads disperse.
Only half built windbreaks,
and retired sharks,
have arrived here first.
Disappointment seen,
on many a face.
A long wait for late afternoon,
to see white pointers,
doing their pointing.
So mix up you guys,
go meet the purist.
With little thought this bonza day,
they're off to learn language,
from French speaking tourists.
Paradise not lost,
on this magical island.
Rainforest at my back,
stiff breeze from my left,
the winter sun shining.
Pure white coral beach,
a singer of praise,
for life who would listen.
Healing with sound,
washes all _ in a haze,
of melody and rhythm.
Each incoming wave,
ends in crystals of sound,
as the broken coral tinkles.
To draw you within,
then reform again,
in a lullaby of peace,
to wash right through you.
These sounds from nature,
surround life for free.
Valued by the tourist,
and the tourist dollar,
no freebee for them _ found here.
For the tourist's nose,
must pay their way.
To swim in their senses,
and dream by the sea.
A cry from the rocks,
way down the beach,
an echo on the wind carries.
Somethings going on,
I wonder what's wrong,
what's that he's yelling?
‘Hey Sir!
you won't believe it,
there's a shape out there.
Could be some rocks in the channel,
but looks like a whale,
blowing air.'
‘You're seeing things,'
I call out _ to the lad on the rocks.
‘It can't be a whale,
some imagination _ you've got.'
The word whale,
has that magic sound,
so hard to explain.
None seen here for years,
well _ not in my lifetime.
Up to the rocks we all go,
tourists and kids.
None left to mind the beach,
this is something,
to tell our grandkids.
‘Where is it ?'
I say to this lad named Ben.
‘Out there in the channel sir,'
as I follow his finger pointing.
There it was,
a black shape a mile out,
in the centre of the Channel.
All minds asking why,
with this wind and tide,
this thing is not even moving.
Perhaps a wreck to still report,
for local news reading.
No rocks out there _ know this,
from times fishing.
What can it be,
straining eyes,
to work out this shape.
Going up and down for sure,
with us on the land,
it keeps pace.
Could be a small boat,
belly up as we watch her.
Or half sunk _ on her side,
taking in water.
To drag the anchor,
you would think a must.
With this strong wind and tide,
in front of us.
For ten minutes or so,
all watch this mysterious shape.
From our vantage point,
on the boulders,
all manner of things said.
‘Did you see that!'
Ben yells out _ ‘Did you see it!'
his excitement hard to contain.
This upturned boat had a blowhole,
nothing left now to explain.
That settles it _ a whale it is,
no doubt about it _ we all agree.
Here in our ocean pool,
the sea's guardian,
swimming free.
Removing the shirt,
he heads for the sea,
up to more than a bit of fun.
A desire he has found,
to get carried away,
in more ways than one.
‘I'm going to swim out there,'
he says _ with eyes of surprise.
An insight of what it takes,
to supervise another's child.
‘Hold on there,'
I say to this lad,
‘You can't swim out there,
unless you're thinking,
of drowning.'
‘To hell with it,'
he says _ with no safety in mind.
‘I just want to see it up close,
that's my reason for going.'
‘No you don't,'
I say with a voice,
so he has no trouble understanding.
‘Now settle yourself down,
and enjoy with us all,
from the rocks this spectacular viewing.
‘Ok,' he agrees,
and rejoins us on top,
to sit down beside me.
The scene settles down,
all now happy,
on our perch by the sea.
Then he pipes up,
with memories to tell.
Of dolphins down south,
recalled in a way,
that intrigues me still.
‘Oh yes _ young fellow,
please tell me more,
now you have my attention.
What have dolphins to do,
with this desire in you,
to swim the channel _ this morning.'
‘Just don't know sir,
for me _ too hard to explain.
A dolphins touch,
a burst of love from inside,
so hard to contain.'
‘Hhhmmmm,' I say,
not every day,
you have honesty such as this.
For this lad on the brink,
excused others to think,
nobody was home,
with the light on upstairs.
‘Well think of this,'
I say to this lad,
with a passion for danger and swimming.
‘No need to go out there,
ask it to come in here,
if you're so keen on a meeting.
‘Oh dear,' I could hear him think,
‘Maybe sir's finally lost his marbles.'
Didn't stay around long,
no one playing his song,
off to his mates he went climbing.
.
Wake up to yourself!,
as thoughts rise,
and roll around inside me.
To ask this lad to do this task,
even now,
seems rather silly.
You read from books,
you feel from the heart,
yet to others you pass the buck.
Are you afraid of your feelings,
or just trust the lot to luck.
Watching, feeling,
the connection deep inside.
A mile apart _ a mile too far,
these precious moments,
pass too quickly.
The prayer forms inside,
to my equal the whale I go.
With a request to share,
in her beauty and wonder,
everlasting.
The wind in my face,
the sun warm on my skin.
Mind flies free skimming the whitecaps,
intent on connecting.
Peace floats within,
all chatter finds distance,
echoes of laughter swirl and spiral,
born on this wind _ from the sea.
A sense of well being,
for this prayer of love,
envelopes the space,
to surround and protect me.
How to tell you,
of these moments past,
words limit the sense of it all.
As feelings well up,
when recalling this time, so special,
as each sense slowly unfolds.
Oh dear _ to be carried away,
to feel and sense these past moments.
Cheats time to find,
freedom of mind _ in some way,
to teach me my dreaming.
Back to the story,
this tale must go,
no need to keep all in suspense.
Let's now see where this tale will lead,
must lead somewhere you sense.
For the whale did something,
like breaching or rolling over,
I bet that's what you're thinking.
No such thing,
for this guardian of the sea,
was interested only in swimming.
Down she did go,
to what depth we don't know,
to surface one minute later.
Slight change in position,
slightly angled in _ I'm thinking,
all on the rocks now glued to her.
Down again _ then up to breathe,
some slow minutes later.
Then the surface she rides,
white water against the tide,
somethings going on,
blowhole's breathing faster.
Once again,
deep she dives,
to again leave our view.
She's away at last,
sublime in the task,
all out in search of food.
From our rocky perches,
little interest now comes,
from where we stand and sit.
Deep, blue water courses past our point,
rushing, boiling and swelling.
Twenty minutes had passed,
since the call from Ben.
Their attention span shows,
God only knows,
how much young minds take in.
Oh please! I hear you say,
what's the point _ to telling this story.
Well just hold on now,
the end is near,
less chance now to bore you.
Up from the deep blue she came,
her body breaking the clear water.
The prayer was answered,
the humans went wild,
some message this _ freely given.
An image had formed,
within her mind,
of the guardian in the distance calling.
So let's play for awhile,
to show all in style,
this illusion of separation.
To show them my beauty,
I will lay on my side,
so close to these rocks _ five metres maybe.
To connect with all there,
a sacred message to give,
I bet this is what she was thinking.
As she rolled on her side,
she lifted her eye,
to see us _ clear of the water.
I can't be sure _ but I'm almost positive,
I also saw her winking.
It happened so fast,
all were struck down,
bodies overflowing _ filling their senses.
From this seven metre whale,
a juvenile for sure,
but what a message she was sending.
Cherish this moment,
to relive again and again.
Remember who you really are,
sentient beings such as we,
the message taken in.
Know yourselves as guardians of the land,
and we _ the guardians of the sea.
To have dominion over all life on earth,
the arrogance of humankind,
through the carnal mind _ for all life to see.
An impulse,
from the background of creation,
written in ancient text and cultural belief.
The angel of light _ challenging all,
connect your mind and heart,
the light of truth to set you free.
For almost a minute,
she held off with grace,
barely five metres from us.
Eye to eye in that strong current,
very near five knots approaching.
Forty on the shore
one in the water,
feelings flooded with raw washed emotion.
All wanting to touch the other,
leaving no misunderstanding.
Never again,
such a meeting could happen,
I can hear your loud thinking.
But I wonder _ what were her thoughts,
when with a flick of her tail,
to the depths she went,
disappearing.
True story this one,
can't change much of it,
to please you.
It happened in Cairns,
soul gateway of the planet,
recorded by an earthling _ to pass on a blessing.
Six pages I've written,
some hours its taken,
reliving the moment _ remembering the time.
When a message was given,
to those who would listen,
to recall for the rest of their lives.
It was a message for all,
it was a message for you.
To live in grace _ treasure all of creation,
and by example,
show life is worth living.
- O -
© 2004 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
heard someone saying,
now what was it's fortune,
before days of sailing.
Don't be surprised,
if what's lost will be found,
so to Yarrabah please go,
to search this new meaning.
Remember the light,
intent on blinking?
Wish it was still there,
Fitzroy Island _ my island of dreaming.
Now ready to leave,
the kids are all packed,
the camp well worth the effort,
all in agreement.
Not too much trouble,
remember videos last night?
The only grumbles heard,
from drinking teachers,
so conservative _ so tight.
The tide is in,
only two walks left,
to the light house and beach,
to keep the troops fit.
Group touring,
kids who need watching,
walky talkies at the ready,
just keep talking.
Lighthouse here we come,
across the back of this broken island.
Two stops along the way, to catch up,
all those hiking frightens.
Walk at the back,
to mind the larikans,
and encourage all those,
whose diet has run away
from them.
Wind in your face,
blowing hair in your eyes.
Too easy to live here,
life's rhythm in the tide.
Who owns this old ruin,
of white washed walls,
in need of protection.
You know _ tea and scones could be the go,
and the generator should work,
with little inspection.
Graffiti stained,
easy to clean up.
Get hold of the lease,
bureaucracy,
in need of direction.
Clam farm _ research station,
passed on the way back.
Experts have left,
maintenance now slack.
Back to the beach,
‘Kids, try some fishing.'
Drag the net, sardines a plenty,
what's that you're eating.
Try it _ tastes good,
cooked on an ashes fire.
Amazement all round,
the taste is inviting.
Nudey beach,
last walk of their stay.
Lads can't wait to get there,
to highlight their day.
White pointers,
lay on that beach I heard them say.
Topless bathing for those in the dark,
lift skywards in search of
Vitamin A.
Stopped short,
to give the lads an idea,
of the behaviour required,
by this coral sea.
Arrive at the beach,
the lads disperse.
Only half built windbreaks,
and retired sharks,
have arrived here first.
Disappointment seen,
on many a face.
A long wait for late afternoon,
to see white pointers,
doing their pointing.
So mix up you guys,
go meet the purist.
With little thought this bonza day,
they're off to learn language,
from French speaking tourists.
Paradise not lost,
on this magical island.
Rainforest at my back,
stiff breeze from my left,
the winter sun shining.
Pure white coral beach,
a singer of praise,
for life who would listen.
Healing with sound,
washes all _ in a haze,
of melody and rhythm.
Each incoming wave,
ends in crystals of sound,
as the broken coral tinkles.
To draw you within,
then reform again,
in a lullaby of peace,
to wash right through you.
These sounds from nature,
surround life for free.
Valued by the tourist,
and the tourist dollar,
no freebee for them _ found here.
For the tourist's nose,
must pay their way.
To swim in their senses,
and dream by the sea.
A cry from the rocks,
way down the beach,
an echo on the wind carries.
Somethings going on,
I wonder what's wrong,
what's that he's yelling?
‘Hey Sir!
you won't believe it,
there's a shape out there.
Could be some rocks in the channel,
but looks like a whale,
blowing air.'
‘You're seeing things,'
I call out _ to the lad on the rocks.
‘It can't be a whale,
some imagination _ you've got.'
The word whale,
has that magic sound,
so hard to explain.
None seen here for years,
well _ not in my lifetime.
Up to the rocks we all go,
tourists and kids.
None left to mind the beach,
this is something,
to tell our grandkids.
‘Where is it ?'
I say to this lad named Ben.
‘Out there in the channel sir,'
as I follow his finger pointing.
There it was,
a black shape a mile out,
in the centre of the Channel.
All minds asking why,
with this wind and tide,
this thing is not even moving.
Perhaps a wreck to still report,
for local news reading.
No rocks out there _ know this,
from times fishing.
What can it be,
straining eyes,
to work out this shape.
Going up and down for sure,
with us on the land,
it keeps pace.
Could be a small boat,
belly up as we watch her.
Or half sunk _ on her side,
taking in water.
To drag the anchor,
you would think a must.
With this strong wind and tide,
in front of us.
For ten minutes or so,
all watch this mysterious shape.
From our vantage point,
on the boulders,
all manner of things said.
‘Did you see that!'
Ben yells out _ ‘Did you see it!'
his excitement hard to contain.
This upturned boat had a blowhole,
nothing left now to explain.
That settles it _ a whale it is,
no doubt about it _ we all agree.
Here in our ocean pool,
the sea's guardian,
swimming free.
Removing the shirt,
he heads for the sea,
up to more than a bit of fun.
A desire he has found,
to get carried away,
in more ways than one.
‘I'm going to swim out there,'
he says _ with eyes of surprise.
An insight of what it takes,
to supervise another's child.
‘Hold on there,'
I say to this lad,
‘You can't swim out there,
unless you're thinking,
of drowning.'
‘To hell with it,'
he says _ with no safety in mind.
‘I just want to see it up close,
that's my reason for going.'
‘No you don't,'
I say with a voice,
so he has no trouble understanding.
‘Now settle yourself down,
and enjoy with us all,
from the rocks this spectacular viewing.
‘Ok,' he agrees,
and rejoins us on top,
to sit down beside me.
The scene settles down,
all now happy,
on our perch by the sea.
Then he pipes up,
with memories to tell.
Of dolphins down south,
recalled in a way,
that intrigues me still.
‘Oh yes _ young fellow,
please tell me more,
now you have my attention.
What have dolphins to do,
with this desire in you,
to swim the channel _ this morning.'
‘Just don't know sir,
for me _ too hard to explain.
A dolphins touch,
a burst of love from inside,
so hard to contain.'
‘Hhhmmmm,' I say,
not every day,
you have honesty such as this.
For this lad on the brink,
excused others to think,
nobody was home,
with the light on upstairs.
‘Well think of this,'
I say to this lad,
with a passion for danger and swimming.
‘No need to go out there,
ask it to come in here,
if you're so keen on a meeting.
‘Oh dear,' I could hear him think,
‘Maybe sir's finally lost his marbles.'
Didn't stay around long,
no one playing his song,
off to his mates he went climbing.
.
Wake up to yourself!,
as thoughts rise,
and roll around inside me.
To ask this lad to do this task,
even now,
seems rather silly.
You read from books,
you feel from the heart,
yet to others you pass the buck.
Are you afraid of your feelings,
or just trust the lot to luck.
Watching, feeling,
the connection deep inside.
A mile apart _ a mile too far,
these precious moments,
pass too quickly.
The prayer forms inside,
to my equal the whale I go.
With a request to share,
in her beauty and wonder,
everlasting.
The wind in my face,
the sun warm on my skin.
Mind flies free skimming the whitecaps,
intent on connecting.
Peace floats within,
all chatter finds distance,
echoes of laughter swirl and spiral,
born on this wind _ from the sea.
A sense of well being,
for this prayer of love,
envelopes the space,
to surround and protect me.
How to tell you,
of these moments past,
words limit the sense of it all.
As feelings well up,
when recalling this time, so special,
as each sense slowly unfolds.
Oh dear _ to be carried away,
to feel and sense these past moments.
Cheats time to find,
freedom of mind _ in some way,
to teach me my dreaming.
Back to the story,
this tale must go,
no need to keep all in suspense.
Let's now see where this tale will lead,
must lead somewhere you sense.
For the whale did something,
like breaching or rolling over,
I bet that's what you're thinking.
No such thing,
for this guardian of the sea,
was interested only in swimming.
Down she did go,
to what depth we don't know,
to surface one minute later.
Slight change in position,
slightly angled in _ I'm thinking,
all on the rocks now glued to her.
Down again _ then up to breathe,
some slow minutes later.
Then the surface she rides,
white water against the tide,
somethings going on,
blowhole's breathing faster.
Once again,
deep she dives,
to again leave our view.
She's away at last,
sublime in the task,
all out in search of food.
From our rocky perches,
little interest now comes,
from where we stand and sit.
Deep, blue water courses past our point,
rushing, boiling and swelling.
Twenty minutes had passed,
since the call from Ben.
Their attention span shows,
God only knows,
how much young minds take in.
Oh please! I hear you say,
what's the point _ to telling this story.
Well just hold on now,
the end is near,
less chance now to bore you.
Up from the deep blue she came,
her body breaking the clear water.
The prayer was answered,
the humans went wild,
some message this _ freely given.
An image had formed,
within her mind,
of the guardian in the distance calling.
So let's play for awhile,
to show all in style,
this illusion of separation.
To show them my beauty,
I will lay on my side,
so close to these rocks _ five metres maybe.
To connect with all there,
a sacred message to give,
I bet this is what she was thinking.
As she rolled on her side,
she lifted her eye,
to see us _ clear of the water.
I can't be sure _ but I'm almost positive,
I also saw her winking.
It happened so fast,
all were struck down,
bodies overflowing _ filling their senses.
From this seven metre whale,
a juvenile for sure,
but what a message she was sending.
Cherish this moment,
to relive again and again.
Remember who you really are,
sentient beings such as we,
the message taken in.
Know yourselves as guardians of the land,
and we _ the guardians of the sea.
To have dominion over all life on earth,
the arrogance of humankind,
through the carnal mind _ for all life to see.
An impulse,
from the background of creation,
written in ancient text and cultural belief.
The angel of light _ challenging all,
connect your mind and heart,
the light of truth to set you free.
For almost a minute,
she held off with grace,
barely five metres from us.
Eye to eye in that strong current,
very near five knots approaching.
Forty on the shore
one in the water,
feelings flooded with raw washed emotion.
All wanting to touch the other,
leaving no misunderstanding.
Never again,
such a meeting could happen,
I can hear your loud thinking.
But I wonder _ what were her thoughts,
when with a flick of her tail,
to the depths she went,
disappearing.
True story this one,
can't change much of it,
to please you.
It happened in Cairns,
soul gateway of the planet,
recorded by an earthling _ to pass on a blessing.
Six pages I've written,
some hours its taken,
reliving the moment _ remembering the time.
When a message was given,
to those who would listen,
to recall for the rest of their lives.
It was a message for all,
it was a message for you.
To live in grace _ treasure all of creation,
and by example,
show life is worth living.
- O -
© 2004 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Whale calling
Whale calling
