I don’t actually write poetry. But this story unfolded right under me. We were anchored off Tony Gibbons (Princes Margaret Beach) in Admiralty Bay, Bequia. She was lying in a long swell from weather far to the north of us. The rhythm of Otis Redding’s “Dock Of the Bay” came to mind.
Sitting in a swell on the bay,
Rolling yachts, see the mastheads sway.
Watching the swell roll in,
On a crest, then in the trough again
Here comes a set of three,
Rising higher as they pass to lee,
Surging their way to shore,
Stirring up the bottom some more,
Thundering onto the sand, washing up onto the land.
North swell time.
Three thousand miles from home,
On a yacht in the tropical zone.
It’s wintertime back there.
Here, the growing swell’s our only care.
Sent to us from afar,
Where the folks with the weather are.
It’s better them than me
‘Cause I’m anchored where I want to be.
On island time
We rise up again,
As another set of three rolls in,
Lifting as she rocks and sways
Rolling to the harbor waves.
Surging forward till the anchor’s slack,
Then the trough of the wave sucks her back.
Sitting here in the shade,
Is there any preparation to be made?
Extra scope.
Under shade and in a cooling breeze,
‘Neath a friendly island covered with trees,
Cumulus clouds blow by,
Cirrus from someone else’s weather up high.
Waves rise upon the point and break,
See the spray, hear the thunder they make!
Several yachts closer to shore,
Pulling anchors as they rise and swoop once more.
Time to move.
Kinda had plans for the day.
Time to set her up and get underway.
Haven’t done nothin’ but play,
Not too much gets done that way.
Already extended our stay.
How the time seems to just slip away….
And another set sets us asway.
It might yet come time to get underway,
Come what may… another day….
Island time.
Copyright Jim Hutchinson
2 Responses
Your writing doesn’t just tell a story; it invites the reader to live within it.
Every paragraph is a step closer to understanding — you’ve crafted this piece with such care and insight.