Memoirs In Verse

Listen to: A Soliloquy on the Anga The people of this village, bound in time And place to earth, wave and greet me smiling, And hold me warm in courtesy's embrace. Well-favoured by distance does this village lie, Amid their valley's cool, grass-scented air. The fertile valley stretches broad and long; As morning’s rain gives rise to perfumed mist, With hints of lazy smoke from village fires, The voices of the village men returned From hunting, carry laughter through the hills. Yet what strange practice I witness here Beneath the sandstone hill-top's weathered brow; For watchful dead as if in judgement sit, With skin and tissue dry, like aged parchment, And watch their living kin through sightless eyes. Their bodies have their kin preserved by smoke, As smoke preserves their memory, good and ill, To rest upon a fragile, timber seat. Loved ones recall their lives, their loves and strife, And, as if living still, are they consoled. Oh, when will people grieve, if in their eyes

Listen to: Siren of the Celebes Perhaps I knew more of the captain's death than the troubled mate's report revealed. I'd seen his tired eyes some days before, and though not last to see the man alive, had I borne witness to his suicide? I looked across the bay beyond the port, and shaded my eyes as the setting sun dipped beyond the dry and distant hills, and I grew chilled, unsettled, as I read, for doubt with guilt conspired in my mind. All captains bear a burden in command;  in time, their lonely duty wears them down. Yet, how could I have better helped the man? Had he conveyed such grim intentions then? What might I learn by hindsight's perfect lens? I turned the page of that report and read on… ‘...1900 hrs: the captain dined with the officers as usual. He chatted with the chief about the spares needed for the engine room, all the usual maintenance and routine things. …2000 hrs: The third mate took over the watch. The captain joined him on the bridge, checked all