![Bawley Point. Picture supplied Bawley Point. Picture supplied](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/z8hBhxAZcc6GAanbqacDHK/31c20ef0-dc0a-4017-8b15-8f1d8394609b.jpg/r0_231_4000_2480_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
The beauty of the South Coast continues to inspire people who see and experience it.
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Andrew Drummond is one person who loves the South Coast and always soaks up his beauty.
The experienced poet recently sat down and wrote a series of poems inspired by the South Coast's beauty - here are two of the efforts.
A South Coast Sojourn
Bawley Point....
To the foggy recesses that exist in my mind
I hasten forward to a place without time
I awaken a realm soaked pleasantly with grace
To a place on the south Coast Bawley Point, my place.
I want to re-experience the innocence of youth
The splendour of growth and danger ignored aloof
Of wild raging seas and big wave riders abreast
Tests of courage to surfers every wave a test
To settle in the afternoon with the orange sun in the west
Radiant beams through grey clouds, God's canvass, the best
To be free of all angst, worries and unfounded fear
To love and nurture those in life most dear
To stroll along beaches almost deserted all year
To hear the song of the bird like lightening's to the ear
To listen to the north east wind within the pines
Only to change with a southerly that hits at sand mines
As I enter adulthood cherished memories fade with time
Only to be replaced with cynicism, surely, it's a crime
To know the taste of this flavour, iridescent with bliss
Devoid of all knowledge I'll give adulthood a miss
To be free to dwell in the spirit of youthful grace
That is why Bawley Point will always be my place
To walk along trails that go back in time
Of Indigenous spirit beings on horseback most sublime
To bath in azure seas with the sand most white
To gaze up at cerulean skies, a heavenly delight
Now as I enter my twilight years
I reminisce those events all with my peers
Memories so cherished infused with melancholy grace
That is why Bawley Point will always be my place
Andrew Drummond
Maroubra
![Brush Island. Picture supplied Brush Island. Picture supplied](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/z8hBhxAZcc6GAanbqacDHK/1f9e35df-46df-431d-954c-db60e183a160.jpg/r0_228_1280_948_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
Brush Island
Silent patriarch stands offshore in antiquity
Olive green forest, April 1770 Cook did see
Aboriginal people of Yiuns South Coast
Firstly, dark Murramurrang tribe did boast
High seas in channel gave Cook no respite
Northwards to botany bay arrive first light
Island lays claim to many a sea wreck
Northern Firth 1932 with thirty crew on deck
Primordial creation verdant green stands alone
Tasman's swells at night, east sides soft groan
Ships boilers a caste light emerald north grass
Rusted barrels, gone seaward as times pass
Home for shearwaters and eagles to nest
Majestic sea eagles skyward, islands north crest
Mystical east side migratory pass all whales
Twenty foot great white, saucer eyes too prevails
Aesethic green lime, mint and avocado
Big swells north tip surfed with bravado
A lighthouse atop meekly blinks white at night
Safe passage seafarers her blessings respite
Hauntingly spiritual, numinous in perpetuity
No foot allowed, island reserve for posterity
Surrounded by an azure blue sea moat
Magisterial gesture, tenderness does gloat
Cautions needed to view her girth by boat
Reefs in shallow whitecaps, dangers afloat
Early years reports of phantasms at night
Shrieks echoed beachward heard in fright
Youthful years we paddled out to her west shore
Mate and I fished ganghook on squid to explore
Three feet shore bound we caste a line to sea
A bounty to us big flathead fish, blessed to be
Memories fifty years in time I do regress
Aboriginal women, Wilinga Beach, little dress
Feelings the same every time I look to sea
brush island, silence, enigma for you and me.
Andrew Drummond
Maroubra