La Perouse Dreaming, part 4. The Yacht.








The Yacht.
She moved like a lover,
soft and gentle as she danced
on the blue waters.
Tethered to the seabed
you could almost see the
struggle to be free,
like a horse born
to run.
To move with shameless abandon
on the huge swells beyond
the headlands showed,
as she dipped her bow
She called to me
like some latter day siren.
Walking into the sea
I dived under the waves.
The water cooling my
burning skin.
Lungs bursting I
surfaced, then swam.
Each stroke, took me nearer.
She looked faded, used.
I came closer and the sea
pulled at me.
I felt its tug drawing me down.
Down to where a rusting
anchor shackled her spirit.
Kicking, gaining strength
from fear I reached the
taught anchor chain.
Hands trembling I grasped it
and breathed as though
it were my last.
What seemed glamorous
and pure from a distance,
mocked me with its peeling
paint and weathered timbers.
Patched sails hung like
rumpled stockings and
her timbers squeaked
and groaned as though in pain.
Seagulls perching on the spar
mocked me. Disdain in their
raucous cries.
I ran my hand over
her hull as though I
were reading braille.
Reading a story of
the sea. Begging her
to divulge the secrets
of foreign lands.
Leaning back I stared
I could see her age
and mistook it for weakness.
Yet, she journeyed here,
through the swells and the
ancient sandstone cliffs.
Satisfied that I’d met her
I let go of the chain.
I’d never feel her deck
under my bare feet.
Or the ocean spray
against my face as we
sailed the vast Pacific.
Putting the yearning
away, deep in my heart,
I let the sea push me to
Stopping now and then
I glanced at the sand ahead,
it glowed yellow under the hot
sun and I knew I’d finally
come home.

This is a terrible picture taken with a Samsung Video camera on single shot in 2007, above Cong Wong Beach, La Perouse, and well before we bought our current camera. Excuses over. Yes that’s Moi. The yacht would have been anchored at the extreme right edge of the photo and it was high tide. The beach is divided into Big Cong Wong and Little Cong Wong, which is now a nudist beach, with perverts lurking in the bushes. Sad. In 1961 it was a young boy’s paradise, swimming, rock climbing, adventure with a capital A. I swam there winter and summer. Coming from the cold, damp north-west of England to this was a blessing. Yes I had indeed come home.


25 thoughts on “La Perouse Dreaming, part 4. The Yacht.

  1. Raani York

    I love the poem Laurie. And I like the picture too. This is a great post all in all – just what I needed before a good night’s sleep. 🙂


  2. nataliescarberry

    Oh my gosh, Laurence!!! This is pure excellence! The imagery is amazing; it kept drawing me into the experience! O sage of Australia, you definitely did a great job with this one! Wow! Cheers and hugs, Natalie 🙂


    1. laurie27wsmith Post author

      Why thank you Natalie. the experience has stayed with me since 1961. I can still feel the rising swell of the sea and feel the anchor chain. Plus the surge of excitement and accomplishment after swimming there and back. I love hearing it when people say they are drawn in, because it validates my work, to me. All cheers and hugs are gratefully accepted.
      Laurence. 🙂


  3. Patricia Salamone

    Boy Fratello, I go away for two weeks and you turn into a Poet Laureate. :o)….. Beautiful, it takes one to a place of wonderment. The epilog however proves how father time can blow your memories to hell. Thank goodness you saved your memories to share the beauty.


    1. laurie27wsmith Post author

      See what happens when you turn your back Sorella. Thank you. It was a place of wonderment, I loved the place! Never grew tired of exploring and swimming, absolutely marvellous. As you well know it was the place of my most terrible experience. Different side of the same coin. it’s so good to see back Sorella.
      Love from Fratello. 🙂



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