When the Rollers Break the Bar at Tamboon Inlet

[Stephen Whiteside]

When the Rollers Break the Bar at Tamboon Inlet

When the rollers break the bar at Tamboon Inlet,
The neighbourhood becomes a happy place.
The residents wear smiles
You can see for many miles.
They can even sense a difference up in space.

When the ocean rushes into Tamboon Inlet,
The bush along its shores appears more green.
The fringing rocks look brighter.
Heavy burdens feel much lighter,
And the fishermen are very much more keen.

The bounding kangaroos jump slightly further.
The possums purr their pleasure from the trees.
The wombats burrow deeper,
And the dunes look slightly steeper,
Though perhaps by only one or two degrees.

Goannas munch on scraps with much more relish.
Koalas find more flavour in their leaves.
That sense of something missing
Is appeased. The snakes start hissing,
While the birds build better nests beneath the eaves.

The kayaks sit much higher in the water.
The paddlers make a more determined stroke,
Which leads to bigger splashes;
Off the drops, the sunlight flashes.
In the marsh, the frogs commence a crisper croak.

The lorikeets shriek louder, fly much faster.
Their numbers swell, the colours blind your eyes.
The magpies sing much sweeter,
And the messy birds get neater,
While the liarbirds desist from telling lies.

Dolphins start to enter Tamboon Inlet,
Along with sharks and rays, and little seals.
It’s a tapestry frenetic
Full of life forms energetic.
Some get fat, while others serve as meals.

Ripples start to move in all directions.
Depression lifts for many, far and wide.
The wino shuns the bottle,
While the blazing gold of wattle
Denotes the certain turning of the tide.

In far flung cities such as gritty Melbourne,
Taxi drivers travel with a grin.
A powerful sensation
Sweeps across the very nation,
That maybe, somehow, everyone can win.

Why, it has effects in China and in Britain
When Bass Strait busts its borders at Tamboon.
They’re impossible to track.
As I said some distance back,
They’re noticed by observers on the Moon.

When the breakers cut the bar at Tamboon Inlet,
It isn’t just a silly little game.
No, the planet slightly shudders.
The cattle fill their udders,
And not a thing can ever be the same.

© Stephen Whiteside 07.05.2017

[Maureen K Clifford]

How lovely this is Stephen, the poem and the photo - I can feel the optimism and joy in you words, and only a solitary set of footprints - perhaps you have discovered paradise

[Catherine Lee]

Absolutely second that, Stephen - a delightful poem and beautiful shot, both of which stir the senses

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks Maureen and Catherine. Yes, it is an absolutely idyllic spot - especially when the sun comes out. I visited the one and only time about this time last year, with my son and a couple of his mates. The dune where this photo was taken (and the tiny nearby settlement) can only be reached by the water. One of the boys said that it looked like a scene from a Robert Louis Stevenson novel, and I knew exactly what he meant. It felt like a perfect place for pirate ships, smugglers and buried treasure.

[Shelley Hansen]

What a fabulous photo Stephen!

I love your poem, and am very pleased that the “liarbirds” have become more truthful!!

Cheers
Shelley

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks, Shelley.

As a child I always thought lyrebirds got their name because they pretended to be other birds by lying. It was only many years later that I worked out the whole 'lyre/harp' thing.

It is an amazing photo, isn't it. At the time, I struggled to take in the beauty of the scene that lay before me.