Performance Poets
Performance Poets
1   2   3
Contact Us
About Us
What's On
Was in the southern winter months
the young man came to fish
the rugged shores near Quobba Point.
He'd always had a wish

to cast a line into the sea.
To him, it didn't seem
a long long way to come from home,
To maybe catch a dream.

There's more big fish at Quobba
than anywhere, it's said.
A thousand miles is not too far.
When dreams are in your head.

A thousand miles to catch a dream,
while a thousand miles away
his family, they could picture him
fulfilling dreams that day.

He stood upon the jagged rocks
ten feet above the waves,
and heard them sigh as each one passed
into the limestone caves

that nature, in ten thousand years
had worn beneath his feet.
The young man gazed into the sea,
his dreams not yet complete.

He cast his bait into the waves,
with hope that he might feel
the ecstasy a strike will bring
as line screams from his reel.

A bite. He jerks. The hook is set.
He makes a silent wish.
That dreams becomes reality
and he can catch this fish.

He reels in line to keep it taut,
walks closer to the edge.
No way that he will let this fish
get snagged upon a ledge.

Then from the sea, a mighty wave,
from nowhere so it seems.
A wave that changes destiny.
A wave that shatters dreams.

For when the wave had passed away
and all its fury spent.
The young mans friends could only stare
and wonder where he went.
For all that there was there to see
was a rainbow in the spray.
And the ocean sighing gently
with each wave that crossed the bay

His friends and family later came
to say their last goodbye
and ponder on the mystery
of why he had to die.

For it seems that young men do not heed
the warnings that they see.
They never pause to ponder on
their own mortality.

For as you come to Quobba,
there's a sign that's three feet high.
A sign that tells you "King Waves Kill."
It stares you in the eye.

But signs and warnings go unseen
by many in this place.
They've come for dreams of giant fish.
They've gone without a trace.

For the ocean, here at Quobba
quite often hides its dead.
They're buried in the caves beneath
the rocks on which we tread.

They set a plaque into the rocks,
a plaque that gives his name.
A plaque that tells the story,
the reason that he came.

A thousand miles to catch a dream.
It's there for all to see.
Set in bronze, upon the rocks
A place in history.

A thousand miles to catch a dream.
While a thousand miles away
his family they cannot forget
that fateful winter's day

© Brian Langley 18th May 2000

It would be greatly appreciated if anybody visiting the Quobba area (North of Carnarvon, WA) and stumbling across the plaque (which is located in the vicinity of the HMAS Sydney Memorial) could send me details of the young man's name

I'm quite amazed at what I see
When, with a shopping cart
I wander down the freezer aisles
Inside the super-mart

There's packs and packs of frozen meals
For each and every taste
They're boneless and they're skinless
So there's very little waste

There's Chinese, Thai, Italian too
And good old Aussie pies
There's honey mustard chicken breasts
And spicy curried thighs

There's roast lamb with some veg'tables
There's sweet and sour fish
There's something there for everyone
There's everything you'd wish

And they're not all that expensive
For if you buy them when
The're on the super special list
Which happens now and then

They only cost about two thirds
The average going price
And so it's cost effective and
They're also very nice

So now I am the cook at home
This once quite useless geezer
Each day I cook a different meal
I get it from the freezer

No need to spend an hour or two
preparing beef or mutton
I pop it 'em the microwave
And press the re-heat button

(c) Brian Langley 22 Feb 2007

Do you see the soft leaves falling?
Do you hear the song birds calling
As they flutter through the treetops
That shade the sunlight's glare?
Do you see the orchid showing
By the maiden-hair-fern growing
In the soft and misty raindrops?
God!, there's beauty everywhere.

Do you hear the axe-blows ringing?
Do you hear the saw-blades singing?
Do you hear the crash of thunder
As the forest giants fall?
Do you see the forest dwindling
As it's all reduced to kindling?
Do you ever stop to wonder
At the reason for it all?

Do you see the forest dying?
Do you hear the sound of crying
In the valley where the river
Has become a salty creek?
No more the orchids flow'ring
'Neath the forest giants tow'riing;
And the whole world seems to shiver--
Do the tears run down your cheek?

No more the soft leaves falling;
No more the songbirds calling
As they flutter through the treetops,
For there are no treetops there.
And there's almost nothing growing;
And the desert wind is blowing;
And there isn't any raindrops --
And there's few who seem to care!

© Brian Langley

Members Poems