The Island Call Poem by Jonathan Drane

Space between, the isle and me
Ocean stretch and green, green sea
But once I walked upon its shore
And breathed the tropic air

Business suit and black, black shoes
Hotel room and finance news
The island’s calling out to me
And whispers of the flow

Taxi hoots and street noise sounds
Mobile phone, another round
Heart is there in Alma Bay
And lying in the sea

Ticking clock, a TV noise
Aircon chills, a duty calls
I turn to walk away from her
Her peaks and cloudy hills

Something stops, a heart is still
Sun upon the greening hill
I can feel the curlew sing
Within my tiny ear

Move in motion to its song
Leave the room, the milling throng
I am moving to the shore
And floating out to her

Greening lawn and boulder trees
Shallow bay and flowing sea
I am standing on the edge
And feel my lapping toes

Setting sun and village place
50 and the artwork lace
Down the road I walk along
I walk along to her

Little house, verandah leaves
Petals, frangipani trees
She is turning round to me
And calls me to her side

Beauty face and sarong girl
Underneath the leaving whirl
Her hand is reaching out to me
And touching on my skin

Canopy and loving arms
Home is here, the warming psalm
I am holding in her arms
And floating out to sea

Bell is ringing, hotel room
Schedule calls, going soon
As I turn to walk away
A breeze flows through the door

Turn around and smell the sea
Island peak is calling me
Calling me to come back home
To come back home to sea