Posted by: nativeiowan | November 6, 2011

a gentle sunday morn

Sunday morn here in Honiara. I have been gone way too long and have a lot of work on my plate. But it is a relaxed Sunday morn. Why should it be other-wise?

I sit on the upstairs verandah. A soft breeze ruffles the palms. The guava tree makes a sensual sound as it shakes in the wind. The scarlet of the bouganvillia, The pink and white and yellow, and red of the frangipani. The blue, blue, blue sky. And the green. Yes, the GREEN. We are in the tropics.

It becomes a feast for the senses. The combination of aromatics. The visual cacophony. The discordant audio… kids in the distance playing, birds all around, the domestic sounds of a sleepy suburb on a Sunday.

I slept in. Was up late last night. Did not rise until 10am. So I now sit with feet up and a good coffee steaming away.

My travels recently have been eclectic… Aus in spring to Iowa in fall to Las Vegas in madness to Montana in almost winter to Oz in almost summer…. then back home to the tropics.

Ahh the TROPICS…

It is the ocean. It is the ocean…

Mother, mother Ocean, I have heard your call…

2-11 A Pirate Looks At Forty

Now the weather turns… We are in the tropics.

Watching as a storm blows in.

My buddy Willis would love this. As a climatologist he gets excited about quick weather changes… the temps just dropped more than 5c. A chill wind blows from the hills. Thunder just made it’s first appearance. Thick heavy rain drops fall sporadically. the front of the storm is here. The Wind increases on cue, the rain intensifies… I just about have to move… but it’s too cool here… Way cool and a bit chilly. As the rain becomes a down-pour, the wind abates a bit, and my tenure on this verandah ends.

But it feels so good. Makes me want to be on a yacht in rough seas… I’m playing Jimmy B and enjoying it… enjoying it a lot…. Yes I am a Pirate…. an over 40 victim of fate…

Life is good.

Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall
You’ve seen it all, you’ve seen it all

Watched the men who rode you switch from sails to steam
And in your belly you hold the treasures few have ever seen
Most of them dream, most of them dream

Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late
The cannons don’t thunder, there’s nothing to plunder
I’m an over forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late

I’ve done a bit of smuggling, I’ve run my share of grass
I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast
Never meant to last, never meant to last

And I have been drunk now for over two weeks
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks
But I got stop wishing, got to go fishing
Down to rock bottom again
Just a few friends, just a few friends

I go for younger women, lived with several awhile
Though I ran them away, they’d come back one day
Still could manage to smile
Just takes a while, just takes a while

Mother, mother ocean, after all the years I’ve found
My occupational hazard being my occupation’s just not around
I feel like I’ve drowned, gonna head uptown

I feel like I’ve drowned, going to head uptown

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