Kelpies Verses

By David John Casement

These poems were written by my late father, David “Dave” John Casement. They are about his family, friends, pets, and life’s experiences. They tell more about the person that Dad was than what we saw in real life. He would be so happy to know his poems are being recognized and acknowledged.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984501868

David John Casement

The author is my late father who wrote these poems during his lifetime and of life’s experiences. He was born on the 19/12/1923 and died 6/10/2004. He was the older of 2 boys born to Jock and Muriel Casement in Bairnsdale Victoria and lived his life in Metung and Mallacoota. He was a fisherman, fishing the Mallacoota lakes, deep sea fishing and taking parties on deep sea and lake fishing trips in his 32 foot boat the Kay Sea. The Kay Sea was named after his second youngest daughter Kaye who was born the same year that the boat was built. The Kay Sea was specially built with a shallow draft to handle the shallow and treacherous bar (entrance) at Mallacoota. The boat was commonly known as the only sea going kangaroo on the coast! Dad also had the mail run from Mallacoota to Gabo Island for 12 years, every second week, weather permitting. He would take the mail and supplies to the families at Gabo. Sometimes the run was very late due to bad weather and the families had to cope best they could. Dad and mum were pen friends during the war and they married in April 1947, he had won mum over with his writing. They had 5 children. Dad loved life, people and animals and had old fashion country values. He was a larrikin, had a good sense of humor and lived a little on the wild side. He was very articulate, splicing ropes and mending fishing nets was as precise as you will see. At the age of 17 he decided he wanted to go to war and joined the services and spent time in New Guinea. He and his brother George were presented bravery awards in 1956 for having saved a fellow fisherman off Mallacoota when they got into trouble in their ketch in rough seas. Dad was an avid reader of all literature, fact and fiction, his favorite being history. Dad suffered a stroke 18/8/81 and was never really the same again although he did live another 16 years at a much slower pace than previously.

Book preview

Wind in the Teeth

No more diving down the coast,

To Everard in the north easterlies,

No more travelling in corrugated seas,

Its not the game for me.

No more breasting Rudge’s bar.

Courage there to swill,

Groundwork for the coloured yodel,

For me and my mate Bill.

No more nursing the currant bun,

Its not the game for me,

Where the poachers dive in the middle of the nite,

And steal our little c’s

I think I’ll get a job like Glen,

Now that’s the thing for me,

Lots of time I’ll spend at home then,

And at the pub will always be.

Time Immemorial Ode to the Old Hand

Like a great as the old man stood,

That fire and draught had withstood,

Tempered thro’ the winter’s bleak,

Mildly approachable, and still not weak.

The Snow showed thick through his hair;

And heavy in his beard, Jack Frost had made a lair,

Honours badges of struggles past,

Thro’ years of sorrow, trial and hardship cast.

Out on that lonely wind swept pier end,

He stood and to the sea his eyes did wend;

His thoughts to dwell on other days,

With older mates and other ways,

Steam ships now Where sail did roam,

Canvas snow white, to match the foam;

Their majestic ghosts before his eye,

Fills his heart and he breathes a sigh.

At the wrinkled corner of a weathered eye,

Salt moisture forms and dries

As into his sight appears

A glass hunter hull that plunges and rears.

Oh the change in sixty years,

When below the billowing sails his ship he wared,

Today his grandson stands out yonder,

In a craft to make a man of sail ponder.

An egg shell craft of fibre glass,

Just seventeen foot and forty knots fast!

Doing things not yet dreamt

In the days when on a mast the sail he bent.

Covering forty miles and back by day

Moving over the sea’s face like a sporting manta ray

Diving to the oceans floor

A depth of ten fathoms and more.

Coming home like a bat out of hell,

In the big rolls that rose and fell:

Bins of abalone galore,

Scattered round the self draining floor.

The old man from the sea,

Blows a deep breath free;

Standing there on the pier,

Watching that figure to him so dear.

Throwing spray forty foot or more

Travelling through the sea full-bore,

Closer now by half,

To the grandfather at whom he laughs.

Long Liner

A sharking down the bay,

A punching up the spray,

A working day till night,

And then by lantern light.

A cleaning as we go,

Bracing as she rolls to and fro’

The live long day.

In the life that we chose,

Swiftly life’s span goes,

Spent in weather and the lea,

Ours by heritage the sea.

Crossing waters wild,

Greeting loving faces mild,