NGUMBAR’S NECK
© Terry Fogarty, Easter 2011, Nambucca Heads
For Easter, 2011 we decided to return to our camping spot at the junction of the Nambucca River
and Warrell Creek. We spent many glorious holidays at Nambucca Heads during the seventies
and eighties with my folks and my brother’s family. There was usually some exciting, memorable
event at the start of the trip.
Our sojourn however this year was marked by the sad news that a good friend (Terry Kachel) had passed away after an extremely short battle
with cancer.
.
Bright idea
It’s been many years
Since Nambucca last
But Easter looms
What a blast to go
And hit the fish again
So I rang me bro
What you say
How’s the boat
Will it sti8ll float
Getting ready
Don’t know
I’ll have to check
It’s a bit of a mess
But don’t fret
Young Paul’s the bet
You’ve got to be joken
It’s been twenty years
The motors likely seized
And the trailer needs gear
How bout I rent you a boat
You can fish all you like
It’ll save me lots of nights
You’ll be alright
No way says bro
Off ya fat arse
Give the motor a turn
And the trailer a blast
Getting there
So the big week came
Easter it was
Tony & Gin set off
To Mirramar of course
Mary & I went up
The next day
Camping as usual
It’s our way
DAY 1
The Foreshore park
It’s not quite the same
No Russell to bag
A bloody shame
I call up me bro
How many fish have you caught
You won’t believe it
The bloody motors rort
The trailer is broke
I stepped on a rock
Been up to the hospital
Six stitches I got
No worries then
Tomorrows a new day
I’ll carry ya to the boat
Hey, what do you say
DAY 2
Bro shows up
Plastic bag on his foot
Get me aboard
Them fishes is loot
The rest is history
GUESS WHAT?
Yellow and red
Sits on blue
With patches of green
It glides propelled
By red and white
And dimples of flesh
Turning to face the breeze
It tips and tumbles
Shining white bottom exposed
Soon tiring
It drifts slowly
Into the waves
Kimberley
I often sit and think
About the little girl
Called Kimberley
She has black hair
And freckles
All over her face
She is tall
And good looken
Just like her dad
She comes to me
Some nights
When I am awake
Talks to me
Bout how she’s going
And how she’s bin
I often ask her
Does she miss being real
She says no, it’s cool
To be a missing link
In a chain of blood
That’s what I think
I say that’s good
I thinks so too
Goodnight my love
Kimberley sneaks
Back into the mists
And waits for the time
When she won’t be missed
the ocean
It roars and hisses
As I give my love kisses
On the sands of the shore
It wakes me at night
When storms begin
To toss the waves
Sometimes it’s as gentle
As a zephyrs breath
On the top of my head
It’s azure and blue
Then turns grey
When clouds drift in
In its depths
Lurks a giant
None has seen
At night, it reflects
The inner feelings
Of my heart
Gull
Aargh, aargh, aargh
Where’s the fish?
Les, eat your heart out
Clybucca’s lament
The big bloke used to go
To the country to think
Up near where the bus
Took its ghastly toll
It’s said, if ya think bout it
All those souls by the road
Waiting for the government
To get its act together
Anyway, getting back to Les
Wonder what he thinks about
When on his farm
Not stuck in traffic
Reckon his need
To make one last comment
Is turned around by the ghosts
Of that sad, sad bunch
Who wait by the road
Wonder if he’ll take the time
To pen, some words
Of consolation to those
Who wait for their girls to come home
The green fields turned red
On that bloody day
When the bus hit a truck
And took so many away
We drive past today
And look at the spot
Where Les can write
A last epitaph …
Noumbar’s Knee
The luderick sit under the paw-paw three
As they have for ten thousand years
Cracking oysters and tossing them on the tip of life
Watching the sunset rise in the east
As a new day ends and time begins again
Thru a haze of mist and lost memories
Of life as it used to be, before
A luderick rises and stumbles forward
To pick up a small, white round egg
He bits it voraciously, only to break his front teeth
He spits it out, sits on his rump and pronounces
No bloddy good, hard as a rock
Suddenly another egg hits him on the head
Just two more to come, then they’ll be done
The ludrick retruns to his campfire
And stockes the embers deep within
A stirring, renewed strength
Vision, clarity and resolve
I could throw that egg further
Than that whiting can hit it
Of the inlet
Pelicans float by
Like leaves
Puffed by the breeze
Looking for fish
Or a place to stand
Seagulls fly backward
As the wind speed rises
Turn and glide away
On the ruffle of air
A mullet jumps
Escapes the dark shape
That rose from the musk
A crab scrambles
Then hides away
Inside shells
Long cast aside
The heron stands
On one leg
Hard against the breeze
Then hell breaks loose
White flames soar
In the dark clouds
The clown claps
As children shiver
Beside a log
Suddenly, the bucket
Tips over, and streams
Of brine come tumbling
The pelican sniffs, the air
Then gulps as it swallows a crab
The seagull swoops and dives
For the poddy it saw
Near the bank
Of the Inlet!
Worry creek
It’s barred and held back
By sand and surf
Life is gone
All is blackness
The water oozes
Black oxygen
Tepid
It smells like death
Nearby, the big fella
Rushes and roars
In and out
Twice a day
Or thereabouts
The big fella
Eats at its coat
Nibbling and chewing
Nearly breaks thru
Dark clouds loom
Over the mountains
The hell breaks lose
Rain like fountains
First a trickle
Then a flow
Soon a torrent
Seeking a foe
It pushes and shoves
The little fella’s course
He crunches and moans
Then breaks free, at last
New channels are born
As he lurches to sea
Life returns
The cycle resumes
In eagle eye
Proud, aloof
Sitting on high
Watching the world
As it goes by
Takes wing
To fly up high
Near the moon
From there to swoon
Back down again
And along
The ageless streams
Where life abounds
If it could talk
What would it say?
‘Piss off you clowns
You spoil my day?’
Life follows Songlines 