Memoirs In Verse

Listen to: A Soliloquy on Guadalcanal I should ask but who am I to trespass On the grim tragedy of their lost youth? No words of mine can bridge that fifty years, And if I should question all they have faced, Will my ignorance earn their cold contempt? Had I but a glimmer of their courage, I'd not fear offending their grief to speak. Yet I would ask them what distinction lives Between those boys and ageing men, but time? For is not Red Beach then as now, the same? Then, as now, the night before was silent, But for airs and sweet sounds of gentle rain on trees, of earthy floral scents of forest, and lapping sea upon the coral shore; Sea’s fragrant brine yet to mask the dead. With what sacrifice do they reconcile, When I see old foes stand and grieve as one? If the honoured dead could speak for themselves, Would they forego their future lives unlived? All this and much more would I ask of them. For those young boys that died then or live yet, Are their hearts together bound in death?

Listen to: Light Airs By dawn, I felt the lightest airs of wind Bearing fishers homeward from the sea; A sea of changing colour, from darkest blue To turquoise, and coral reefs richly hued, In reds, purples, greens and yellow ochre, Like opals careless strewn across the bays. I breathed in the salt air's subtle sweetness, Of silver, bright-eyed fish with lustrous shades Of blue and shining iridescent greens, Landed from the tuna boat beside the quay. I saw a paradise on earth at peace; The people of that place were justly proud Of their remote, idyllic island home. They cleaned and canned the fish in brine or oil, And packed by hand that line-caught ocean's trove, There to await the northbound ship, Chefoo. By dusk, I felt the gentle offshore breeze, Bearing local fishers once more to sea, To gather fish for their daily market, While day's rich hues did gently fade to dark.