On the stony shores of Makara
Across the jagged rocks
There lives an old sea farer
Retired from the docks
His batch is nestled on a hill
Looking out to sea
Strangled by the yellow gauze
Beside a cabbage tree
He’s been so long a Fisherman
The life was born to him
But now that he is older
He rests with weary limb
He couldn’t leave the ocean
Like he’s by his lover’s side
His heart beats with the waves
He exhales with the tide
A whiskey warms his insides
From the cold and lonely night
When the families have left the beach
And the birds have taken flight
On stormy nights the howling wind
Does make the awnings creek
The ocean crashes on the land
The hills so grey and bleak
But he wakes to watch the sunrise
Turn the sea to gold
He walks down to the waters edge
To see the day unfold
He wanders for a while
The sand between his toes
The salty smell of sea kelp
Whistles through his nose
He watches in the rock pools
As fish dart out of site
And up into the sky
As the ocean gulls take flight
He cuts a paua from the rock
With his little axe
And wanders home to brew some tea
Brushing through the flax
And as the sun sets in the south
He smokes a fish that he did catch
And takes a seat upon the porch
Of his little Makara batch
By Bronwyn Hume © 2007
