Cylinder Beach - Stradbroke Island

Cylinder Beach

On a still afternoon
Under a perfect sky
This perfect bay glows
With milky jades and bottle glass greens;
Water so clear that
From a hilltop vantage point
You’d swear you could step into
This painted bay at any point and
Safely stand on the silent sandy bottom
Amidst cruising schools of silver sided whiting
And dark shadowy shoals.

On a still afternoon
Against a dark blue distant horizon
This perfect bay resonates
With sounds of wind and sea;
Growling, slapping, hissing a
Symphony of native sounds
On an island still holding tight
Its native heritage .
The symphony, a hypnotic hymn
So familiar it does not exist for some;
So calming it lulls the locals to their afternoon naps
Benignly holding a steady drone
To lure the unsuspecting to this shore.

On a still afternoon
The lighthouse sits, listless and mute
As sail boats and fishing trawlers glide by
Or wave at the shore as they
Tilt and rock in the arms of the gentle swell.
No sign here of the oxy acetylene cylinders
Which gave the beach its name;
The cylinders destined for the lighthouse flame,
That winking beacon of kind reminder
Warning the unwary of the dangers
Of this perfect headland.

(C) Steve Capelin 2009