Lost, Without Compass or Star by Neil Creighton

Lost, Without Compass or Star

For my mother,
Brenda Lynette Creighton,
1919-2014

I put my hand to the tiller,
turn this creaking vessel 
into a darkly rumbling surge
of grief, bewilderment and betrayal,
finding in love and forgiveness
wind sufficient to fill my little sail 
and lift me up and over the tumult
into water deep and gentle
and sorrowfully compassionate.

Clouds dissipate. The stars are out.
The surge flows smoothly.
My arm, steady on the tiller,
holds the course firm and true.
I know extreme age stole
all her best qualities,
her vision, judgment, empathy
and most especially, honesty.
Without vigour to guide her way,
she drifted vulnerably across the dark.

There are no quiet, protected waters,
only sailing on a sea 
that alternately shimmers or looms.
One day, inevitably, the gift 
of an overflowing surge will come.
Best if it arrives before capacity 
to raise your own sail is lost. 
She was always gentle and kind.
What cast her loose, set her drifting 
on a last dark voyage
that belied all her previous voyaging?

​

Bio: Neil Creighton is an Australian poet whose work as a teacher of English and Drama brought him into close contact with thousands of young lives, most happy and triumphant but too many tragically filled with neglect. It also made him intensely aware of how opportunity is so unequally proportioned and his work reflects strong interest in social justice. Recent publications include Poetry Quarterly, Poeming Pigeon, Poets Reading the News, New Verse News, Autumn Sky Daily, Praxis Mag Online, Ekphrastic Review, Social Justice Poetry and Verse-Virtual, where he is a Contributing Editor. He blogs at windofflowers.blogspot.com.au

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