A Most Unwelcome Stranger
Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2017 6:33 am
Here is a poem I wrote yesterday morning for the Poets' Breakfast at Maldon Folk Festival.
It is linear and narrative, with nary a metaphor in sight, but it tells an interesting story, I think.
A Most Unwelcome Stranger
Fujita and Okuda sat inside their float plane, “Glen”,
Two hours before the pale dawn’s morning light.
The submarine propelled them for a little headwind, then
They set off for their Melbourne reccy flight.
Stationed near Cape Wickham, at King Island’s northern shore,
Feb 26, in 1942,
Across to wild Cape Otway, seeking what might lie in store,
Through low and heavy banks of cloud they flew.
They reached Point Lonsdale lighthouse, then they turned their craft northeast,
Flying straight across the Bellarine,
Then dropped below the cloud – their eyes were greedy for a feast.
(Of course, they ran the risk of being seen.)
Right above the airfield down at Laverton they popped
Out of the bank of cloud, and into view.
Fujita got a mighty fright. Okuda’s jaw just dropped.
There were aircraft on the tarmac – quite a few!
So back into the clouds they climbed, while still they had the chance,
Continuing this journey of renown;
Flying past Altona, fearing now to even glance
Below the clouds, they came to Williamstown.
A telescope employed within the rifle range revealed
An aircraft with the famous red roundel.
Alas, instead of making a decision in the field,
And firing on the little plane pell-mell,
The officer in charge sought out permission from above.
It came, of course, but reached them far too late.
They lost their only chance to give the Japanese a shove.
The horse had gone before they’d shut the gate.
At just 300 metres up, the little plane flew on,
Checking out the Yarra River mouth;
The early trepidation and anxiety had gone.
It saw the docks and ships, then headed south;
Past cheerful red-tiled houses, past mighty flocks of sheep,
Past Elwood, Brighton, Sandringham they flew;
Past Frankston and Dromana, in a long, audacious peep.
You must admire the courage of those two!
At last, at Cape Shanck lighthouse, they established their position,
And turned their aircraft back once more to Wickham.
Without a doubt, they’d led a most successful little mission.
The sleepy Melbourne folk, you want to kick ‘em!
Of course, a full invasion didn’t ever come to pass,
But who knew that they ever came so close?
While we were sleeping dreamily, stretched out upon the grass,
The Japanese prepared a lethal dose!
Historians now tell us that we all were paranoid,
That Australia was never in great danger,
But just how close we came to being tipped into the void
Is the lesson of this most unwelcome stranger!
© Stephen Whiteside 05.11.2017
It is linear and narrative, with nary a metaphor in sight, but it tells an interesting story, I think.
A Most Unwelcome Stranger
Fujita and Okuda sat inside their float plane, “Glen”,
Two hours before the pale dawn’s morning light.
The submarine propelled them for a little headwind, then
They set off for their Melbourne reccy flight.
Stationed near Cape Wickham, at King Island’s northern shore,
Feb 26, in 1942,
Across to wild Cape Otway, seeking what might lie in store,
Through low and heavy banks of cloud they flew.
They reached Point Lonsdale lighthouse, then they turned their craft northeast,
Flying straight across the Bellarine,
Then dropped below the cloud – their eyes were greedy for a feast.
(Of course, they ran the risk of being seen.)
Right above the airfield down at Laverton they popped
Out of the bank of cloud, and into view.
Fujita got a mighty fright. Okuda’s jaw just dropped.
There were aircraft on the tarmac – quite a few!
So back into the clouds they climbed, while still they had the chance,
Continuing this journey of renown;
Flying past Altona, fearing now to even glance
Below the clouds, they came to Williamstown.
A telescope employed within the rifle range revealed
An aircraft with the famous red roundel.
Alas, instead of making a decision in the field,
And firing on the little plane pell-mell,
The officer in charge sought out permission from above.
It came, of course, but reached them far too late.
They lost their only chance to give the Japanese a shove.
The horse had gone before they’d shut the gate.
At just 300 metres up, the little plane flew on,
Checking out the Yarra River mouth;
The early trepidation and anxiety had gone.
It saw the docks and ships, then headed south;
Past cheerful red-tiled houses, past mighty flocks of sheep,
Past Elwood, Brighton, Sandringham they flew;
Past Frankston and Dromana, in a long, audacious peep.
You must admire the courage of those two!
At last, at Cape Shanck lighthouse, they established their position,
And turned their aircraft back once more to Wickham.
Without a doubt, they’d led a most successful little mission.
The sleepy Melbourne folk, you want to kick ‘em!
Of course, a full invasion didn’t ever come to pass,
But who knew that they ever came so close?
While we were sleeping dreamily, stretched out upon the grass,
The Japanese prepared a lethal dose!
Historians now tell us that we all were paranoid,
That Australia was never in great danger,
But just how close we came to being tipped into the void
Is the lesson of this most unwelcome stranger!
© Stephen Whiteside 05.11.2017