A Visit To Montague Island
A morning drive on a bump dirt road
to a fishing port by an old fire mountain,
our steamer packed with a picnic load,
then belching smoke from the black oil engine!
A dozen sprayed by the ocean's speed
we're through the bar with a wood keg opened,
the indigo pulse and a dolphin's lead
then a wave to Clem and his white-hat girlfriend.
A seal fin shakes from a white stained perch,
a seizing hand on salt blown granite,
wobbling feet of the ocean's lurch,
by the penguins' squeak and the wheeling gannet.
A salted feast with talk of a whale,
harpooned and running near to slaughter,
then a splintered crash of a falling tail
cracked the boat to bloodied water!
A Shearwater nest by a frightened goat
away from the wind by the rocky edges,
the horizon dark with a dipping boat
and a plunging kiss by the shadowed ledges!
There's a gale blowing cold over Tathra Head!
now an island night with our ship returning!
three girls to sleep in the Light Keeper's bed,
and me, beneath that old lamp burning.
Awakening eyes to a mountain view,
our homeward boat the "Triton" steaming,
a passage through the dappled blue
of glassy depth and wave-top gleaming.