These Random Roads

With kind permission from Bill March.  Thank you, I love it!
These Random roads don’t go too far
but they always brought you home
until the day you crossed that causeway bridge
to the great big world unknown
Under cool moss grassy o’er rock and shale
sweet memories now peaceful lay
just a stone throw from the Sound of blue,
while the North Atlantic fills Trinity Bay
Harbours, coves, tickles and bights
Necks and arms and heads
Bogs and marshes and mishes and meads
Brooks, steadies, rattles and beds
Then one day soon and before you know
old thoughts and wondering why
how long a spell you thought it’d be
since your last “I’ll see you bye and bye”..
Years have pas’t and time has marked
its age upon our face
The last time home may the last time be..
and now only longing for this place
I wish maybe you could have made it here
I wish you didn’t have to go away
maybe you’ll come and see me next year
’cause I miss you every day
But home it was and home i’tis
and home it always will be
These Random roads don’t go too far…
I hope they’ll bring you home to me.

A Perfect Moment – A Poem

I’m no poet I know, but something I wrote a while back has been brewing this, and while I’m not sure it captures the feeling, not sure I have words that can, its my best attempt.  This is me, 10 years old.  This is Apsey Brook, this is Random Island.  This is why, to me, my little piece of the rock is perfect, and this was a perfect moment in time.

It is the summer of my childhood
rod in hand, I stroll to the wharf
an osprey circles overhead
the world breathes in time with his wings

The waves slap the wharf pilings lightly
an unbaited hook drifts to bottom
jiggling, luring a flatfish
snapping sharply, missing

flatfish abandoned, following the shore
flat rocks skipping, skipping
round ones thrown high
attempting a dead mans bubble

driftwood boats ply their trade
seagulls cry, sterrins chirrup
stranded jelly fish decorate the beach
twillicks chase the tide

up the brook, dark pools beckon
beams of sunlight through sun dappled leaves
catch trout swirling, dancing
ignoring the unbaited hook

rocks make a dam, circling the pool
smaller, smaller,  trout contained
hands grab, miss, grab again, fish squirts free,
youth splashes, suddenly soaked

The drops fall in slow motion
sunbeams dry me
walking back, boots slosh
the world breathes with me