At Tamarama Poem by Matt Mooney

At Tamarama

I listen to the throb of the waves
On Tamarama beach,
Curling and crashing,
As rhythmic as the roll of a drum,
Kissing the sands of New South Wales

We came by the cliff top path
Where seaside shrubs survive,
Shooting their dainty blossoms,
Fit to wear by Neptune
As a garland in his hair
After washing it onshore somewhere;
By rock as smooth and white
As a sea gull's breast-
Eroded into shapes designed
By centuries of time.

In the corner of the cove,
At table seven in The Café,
Lazily plane spotting in the blue
Or following a sailing ship-
Its colours visible now no more;
Swimmers are out there sunbathing
While umbrellas shade the tables
Of those who sit aside out here.

Then I saw a grey haired man,
Wearing a red pullover,
Slowly walking from the shore
And his every step was sure;
His presence had a certain peace
And he sat down at a table
With his family around him-
And he'll never know
That today he reminded me so much
Of the man from Galilee
As I sat here drinking coffee
At Tamarama, in a café by the sea.