However big the whale may be, the tiny harpoon can rob him of life.



On the whales’ road

They found a Neanderthal skull in the North Sea,

shallow sea that was land.  Just a bone left,

shielded once in its skim of skin like the soft lives

running their course above on the whales’ road.

He’s his own message in a bottle, delivered by sea

as the fire takes messages to the questionable gods.





The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. Basho



foto – flowers in the gardens of davidson’s whaling station just south of eden in twofold bay

My Country

The love of field and coppice
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies 
I know, but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise. 

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror 
The wide brown land for me! 

The stark white ring-barked forests,
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops,
And ferns the warm dark soil. 

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us
We see the cattle die
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady soaking rain. 

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine
She pays us back threefold. 
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze … 

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land 
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand
though Earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

©Dorothea MacKellar

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Give him a fishing lesson and he’ll sit in a boat drinking beer every weekend. Alex Blackwell



foto – bucklands boat hire in mallacoota in victoria aust

Stephen Nguyen 

In 1982, one of MG99 group leader Stephen Nguyen’s sisters, a Catholic nun, was lost at sea while fleeing Vietnam. He wrote this haunting poem in her honour.

Painful are the memories of those who perished out at sea,

Desperate for a better fate,

In search of freedom where the sea await,

As darkness hides the tiny boat

full of people filled with hope.

It seems to be such an endless night,

With freedom nowhere in sight.

May you live long, Die happy, And rate a mansion in heaven.


foto- mansion in eden nsw

We run after values that, after death become zero. At the end of your life, nobody asks you how many degrees you have, or how many mansions you built, or how many Rolls Royces you could afford. That’s what dying patients teach you. – Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Talk to yourself in two languages – what do I fear and what do I love – in order to balance the body and the soul.” Peter Shepherd

1 reflections


Burning Issue

The wound so deep

– a grey-green jagged shard of pain

rips through my soul,

my heart,

my very brain.


The world stands still

-so much unreal


I crumple

on a desert isle of disbelief


spinning wildly

powerless desperation;

I wonder weakly

‘Where is God in this

-in this insane configuration?

My God, can I believe

you know,

or care at all?’


A cloud of silence

-mother’s milk of love


permeates and stills my soul.

“My child,

I share your pain

and weep beside you.

I am your comfort,

ever-present strength

in all of this.


“Lean on me now

-release your burden

and I will hold you

lest you fall.”

 Jean Mayers


Take the big roller’s shoulder, speed and serve; come to the long beach home like a gull diving.

THE SURFER by Judith Wright


“The three great elemental sounds in nature are the sound of rain, the sound of wind in a primeval wood,
and the sound of outer ocean on a beach”

~ Henry Beston