"The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. No price is too high for the privilege of owning yourself." - Friedrich Nietzsche
17.09.11 6:11 am
With so much gloom and doom in the artistic world, for example the Tasmanian Government’s recent canceling of funding to Island magazine, and the news that for health reasons Ralph Wessman will bring out the last issue of his Famous Reporter in about November, it is heartening that poets have these opportunities to share their love of poetry. ‘The less poetry we have in our lives, the sicker we become.’
© Bridh Hancock
20.06.10 10:00 am
Alien life-forms stand on the ridge above the town.
They tower above mines once sunk to seek tin.
Their three arms hum in the wind.
They watch and wait.
03.05.10 3:41 am
He had never left Mathinna.
Others said ‘Where shall we go?
To Spain perhaps – Malaysia?
12.04.10 2:04 am
The brink was temptation, her arms lifted like wings,
she wanted to glide like an albatross across the fetch,
over the trackless deep that might drink her down
4000 metres to the undersea of nymphs, the benthic realm.
25.03.10 12:06 am
Love in all its darkest colours
Had me blinded high and low
You take a flower in a good hand
Crush it as you let it go
Robyn Mathison, Peter Macrow
16.03.10 12:00 am
02.03.10 4:02 am
Download: Launch speeches for Peter Macrow’s Waiting for the Mountain …
11.02.10 12:35 am
their paths cross closely enough for her to see the blood half dried
08.01.10 12:01 am
But what would we know?
We’re just pissed dicks,
Boghemians who buy our groceries
in ugh boots, unshowered and unshaven,
10.12.09 12:52 am
This will be my memory of Tullah
our stopover for a night.
09.11.09 4:06 am
This is the driest continent on earth
the water’s all locked up you see
frozen womb gives daily birth
to glaciers icebergs frozen scree
© Bridh Hancock, 16 10 07
09.11.09 4:05 am
Bang! Wild tree disease.
Bang! Mad tree mania.
Bang! Rampant vegetation.
Bang! Be rid of them all!
Be rid of Brown and Greenies,
And be paid; paid enough to
Buy the government. Buy them both, and
Abuse the bush beyond belief.
Judith E P Johnson
31.10.09 12:50 am
City brilliance overflows
in a stream of traffic
through the evening suburbs.
Deep in the silent river, stars sparkle
sharp as ice.
Softly a pearly sheen spreads
round the grey rocks.
Day’s eyes, closed against the darkness,
do not open at the cold touch of moonlight.
Shadows cover the pitted path
and join the spacious trees together
where birds blend with the whisperings
of stories half-told.
Someone is making promises
somewhere on lover’s Lane.
In a vacant house on the hill a figure
moves window to window.
People appear in the street’s gold ring
Cat’s eyes shine – here, there.
The houses are shut, dark with sleep.
Through a gap in the curtains
the moon watches the restless,
the book on the table, the lamp unlit.
Babies wake, tormented by hunger.
there must be milk and a lullaby
for dreams to settle.
The caged soul, released by death,
circles the room
and flies out the open window.
Stars melt as the river stirs.
Out of the shadows the dawn glow
05.09.09 5:09 am
Launch by Robyn Mathison of Peter Macrow’s chapbook, Waiting for the Mountain.
Republic Bar and Café, North Hobart.
24.08.09 4:50 am
Call me a coward, I’d rather not watch
visuals of violence, dispatches of sadness.
05.07.09 8:08 am
That was what?
There, Dylan Thomas dashed
Black curly hair
Into that stone house
Of many staring at sea
15.06.09 4:29 am
On low-tide island shale
two painted ladies command my presence.
Demure as novices, they sit
as if placed there,
side by side,
for me to find.
25.05.09 2:32 am
An Indonesian woman,
limbs as slight and agile as a sand-dotterel,
sweeps an acne of crumbs, oily butter wrappers,
soggy napkins and skittish sugar-papers
into her plastic-lined bucket.
13.04.09 4:00 am
Draped in blue banners of stars and jack,
light weight of a nation on their shoulders,
they go to press a few olives down the beach;
23.03.09 2:07 am
Hot, tough and corrugated,
Blue trademark stenciled,
Solid, sun-creaking sky
To my young inland verandah eyes.
09.02.09 2:09 am
Since blue’s folks moved house,
Everyday at noon or thereabouts,
He squats outside her cyclone gates, the neighbour.
Her stroking hand ruffs his fur,
Her smell is roses, damp hay, apple orchards,
Buddha birdbath heavy in petunias,
Dew glistened scarlet peonies, rain soaked grass,
Rain forest dreams,
Bowls of rich beef broth and meaty bones.