Treasure Island

sheena blackhall

(18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

The Colossus of Invergordon


I met an oilman from a Northern land
Who said, An oil rig stands midst the foam
Out in the sea, far from the salty strand
The mighty ocean tries to knock it down

But it stands firm, obdurate, in command
And sucks the black gold from the deep sea bed,
And little cares for human underlings
That its production keeps alive and fed

This industry’s brought many a wife to tears
When helicopters crash and tear their wings
For sometimes wealth brings nothing but despair

I looked on that colossus of a rig
And shuddered, for so dark it seemed that day
The waves rose like a wild whirligig
The ghosts of oilmen echoed through the spray

Submitted: Sunday, May 18, 2014

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Topic(s): ghosts

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