I am a mystical Strand
between frenzied burgeon and wide waters
I am a decompression chamber
A pristine zone borrowed from Poseidon, till again,
he angers and commands large loyal swells to reclaim me,
with foam and sand and mermaid's hair
When hard winds hammer from the south
When it rains and the ocean invades
you may find no-one here
I am saying "leave me be"
We share a secret
On my northern ridge stallion rocks rise
to the azure sheen of the sky and scudding cloud
On my eastern ridge myrtle hills lay in sacred slope
to my avian pool, the littoral, and speckled sands,
sanctuary and transit lounge for tired birds
at rest from turbulent travels
I am the people's place, where you can be washed by cleansing surf,
cloistered from cacophony
May you meet, and parley, or sizzle steak,
taking vows of kinship in open space
Some do nothing here. For a change
No good, no harm, no human intervention
Stripped of all weaponry
On the fringe of their existence
Yet, some moneyed dealers from no-doubt plush digs
unseen, and absentee, lick their lips
at my fine fruits, for exploitation
Spurred by leads from grand-plan pollies
to shanghai what is yours, and mine
Conjured plans in secret hides
Crafty shakes and sleights-of-hand
Legalese and leases and concept plans
Then bulldoze, build, and busy banks
Now, offshore zephyrs wisp idly across
the silent green into aqua screens and sigh
This people's place
This ancient nest
This one last jewel
Groans for want of human mercy