Colin F. Jones

ON THE ROAD IN ‘64

Colin and his motorbike: 1961My roadway has no ending,
though ‘twould seem to cease at times,
but yet its snake-like bending,
through mountain forests climbs.
Views here and there dance gaily,
then sweep by into past,
its fauna rarely stable
flee with it through the vast…
and purple clouds of heaven,
so high, are out of sight,
await the seasons coming,
to ascend to dim the light
Dust then turned to mire,
Would clog my timeless trail,
and turn my joysome fire
into a smoulder in the gale.
But seasons change the better,
though sometimes change for worse,
but one can greet them both the same
for it is no use to curse.
Then hills reveal the cuttings
through which the highway wends,
and through these sunlit openings
I seek the rarer bends.
… and there they are ahead of me,
with beckoning unworn hands,
“come seek the wealth we offer thee”
“midst these great thriving lands”
I ‘m but a swag with Shiralee,
that would not sow its seed,
and lowered eyes do frown on me,
“thou be of lower breed”.

But all who live this thriving life,
where blossoms never stray,
dream wondrous dreams mid their strife,
to flee… to get away!
All can dream, but useless dreams,
except to lighten heavy loads,
but few can seek the greener hills,
over freer fresher roads.
But most be not of youth no more,
As I would claim to be,
a man must sow his seeds before,
he weds his Shiralee.
Should I grow old and hermit like,
would sadden my free heart,
but what I sought I sadly lost,
will this ere from me depart?

Tis now a day of new born wealth,
with the red sun up on high,
that tastes no wind this silent morn,
to bring cool relief to I.
But there the highway waits for me,
to kiss its unyielding lips,
so with my boots upon the pedal bars
my hands move to the grips,
A prime; to fuel the hungry mouth,
a flick to rend her power,
a downward thrust, she throbs to life,
her tyre’s hurl back a shower.
Acceleration to speed, the ultimate,
the rush of self created wind,
my cheeks turned red, a sweet tear shed,
my hair to my brow is pinned.
Road mastery, personal creating,
as with a turn my body doth lean,
with her naked charm and docile calm,
in my freedom alone ‘twould seem.
My blood it hot with youths vitality,
my muscles and sinews are freed,
subserving health’s gain and physical strain,
its danger my error and greed.

Freedom here is born for me,
with my shirt and hair a flying!
As in my ears the motor’s tremor,
is dying, dying, dying…