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U3A Writing: Point Lonsdale Snapshot

Barbara Tregonning's atmospheric poem shines a light on an Australian landmark.

Between staunch guardian headlands
Last rip-tide waters run
Emptying to wild Bass Strait,
As on unseen command
Until all is done.
Now flat the vast bay lies,
Surface of taffeta
Burnished to sullen sheen
Under late sun of evening
In this quiet time between.

Naked at cliff's base
Limpet pools laid bare
Wait passive in this moment:
Tide idle at its turning.
Only lazy frilled wavelets,
Scarce moving
Fondle rock and ledge
Exposed, now sharply treacherous
At water's edge.

Beneath tall white lighthouse
Lone mariner slips in,
Last straggler of the fishing fleet.
Diminishing dot heads homewards up the bay.
How slow his progress seems.
Has he had success?
We sense his weariness at end of day.

Point Lonsdale pier forsaken,
Old men with rods and reels have gone;
Just hopeful gulls remain to scan for picking
Between the salt-worn planks.
Bayscape wavers, folds down with last sun;
Soon the great lantern beam will pierce to seaward
Declaring night has come.

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