Memoirs In Verse

Listen to: Buluma in the Morning As day begins, the Artist renders dawn, Bringing daylight to shade as twilight yields. With swift hand, he captures the spectral light, To paint a misted veil upon the morn. How still he paints that pearled morning air, That drapes his dawn of apricot and pink. By deft brushwork he portrays the mangroves, With warm and fragrant breaths of air respiring. His art evokes the scent of village fires, Curling wood smoke I taste upon my lips, The ship's steel, cool and damp beneath my hands, The rust-flecked decks made wet by morning's dew. His labour brings the clearer hues of day, To paint a looming sky that threatens rain. A boat wreathed in smoke putters from the shore, Towing mahogany, that glistens bronze. Naked sailors swim about the giant trees, To bind their girth with cargo slings for loading. The hatchmen make ready the derricks’ hooks, And hoist the logs, cascading from the sea. But gilded bronze in the ageing timber's marks, Makes me a

Listen to: Dawn at Sea I closely watch that labyrinthine pristine coast, For the misted shores where the bush and waters meet, Enshroud a world of secrets hidden by the night. The muddy waters of ancient mangroves glisten, In the subtle dawn with the faintest hint of light, I closely watch that labyrinthine pristine coast. A rain-laden sky emerges from the morning mists, In painted hues of grey, apricot and pink, Unveiling a world of secrets hidden by the night. The air hangs humid, heavy with the tang of salt, And fragrant with the morning smoke of village fires, I closely watch that labyrinthine pristine coast. The darkness vanquished by the cloudy light of day, They paddle canoes from the shore to greet us,  To reveal a world of secrets hidden by the night. The day brightens to their wantoks' murmured greetings, As our sailors gather to hear the news from home, I closely watch that labyrinthine pristine coast, And see a world of secrets hidden by the night.