A Friday Poem by Bob Orr
A poem by Bob Orr to mark the long weekend of sunlight and water.
A Friday Poem
for Steve Braunias
I sailed out
in an open dinghy
a fibreglass dory with an outboard motor
that I launched in the creek
on a rising tide
not far below a cottage on a hill in Te Mata.
Keeping to the right until I'd cleared a submerged boulder
I then cut over to the left where the water was deeper.
Sailing out under the bridge
I heard the rumble
as a logging truck went over.
The First of Thames opening up before me
as I left astern a wave-broken oyster-white belfry of rock
known by the locals as Mexican Hat.
On that particular day
the water so clear I saw down to the bottom -
stones rounded off as in a mask of dreams
gazed mutely up to the world where I was passing.
To a sailor on Cook's Endeavour
as he sounded the shallows
they may have recalled a distant patch of freshly dug potatoes.
The wind was getting up
the sea turning nasty.
Amid the rough and tumble of waves
I remembered who told me "never sail on a Friday".
We value fearless, independent journalism. We hope you do too.
Newsroom has repeatedly broken big, important national news stories and established a platform for quality journalism on issues ranging from climate change, sexual harassment and bullying through to science, foreign affairs, women’s sports and politics.
But we need your support to continue, whether it is great, small, ongoing or a one-off donation. If you believe in high quality journalism being available for all please click to become a Newsroom supporter.