Pebbles in the Pool

Perhaps we have become so polarised in the need to have, or not have, that we have forgotten the possibility of developing another view. If. for some reason, it becomes impossible to get real action on truncating the rail line and providing another option: just what might another possibility look like? I wonder whether we…

Awash in a sea of uncertainty: Pugwash on his poopdeck with the crisp wind whirling from the west Stinging Shaking branches and the dust of the sunset Out Day’s end The last of the light slips slowly down behind the horizon Where it can warm someone else’s world Until ours is ready again. It’s spring…

It’s difficult to imagine just how all of those people must be feeling today, isn’t it?

The moat, high above the harbour: division between dreams and realities Memories and visions, phrases and thoughts, repeated, recycled Revisited then gone: departed yet lingering still in the flashes we see of distant landmarks A mirage resolving into stark and plausible, whimsical and despondent and more. Black, white, light, shade Dichotomy Outward success and a…

Images in a mirror, and the interruption of lights in a winter night: glaring through the layers that perception washes in our fields of vision. From our own world inside, we see the world. Just how do others see us? A ‘phonography’ essay Putting yourself in the frame: reflecting and trying to see it from…

The Polly Woodside Marooned in her little lock Sailing nowhere between the towering glass of the convention centre. A story of times past: of a Melbourne thick as a forest with the masts of ships. A huge body of esoteric knowledge: where to get to ‘know the ropes’ took on as much significance as it…

Are those our gigabytes flying with the clouds? The late afternoon gusts herd the humidity off to the North East. Corrugated iron and powerlines clack and hum: castanet and aeolian harp underscoring an adagio for the receding sun. Armadas of billowing clouds stream by; foc’sles firmly focused on a North East passage. We place so…

Late afternoon and a broom rests in the foreground at the end of Wasp War II For the second time in a week, there were wasps; clustered under the verandah table and conspiring to build a nest. Maybe they should not be disturbed?  They are, after all, simply doing what they do, being a part…

A random tweet from a Newcastle tweep, six minutes ago: ‘That’s some storm!’ We rushed to the BOM – the radar loop live on the net And yes, there! fingers pointing toward blobs of yellow blue and red, pushing in from the North West. We moved our chairs on the verandah: settled in to watch…

Looking Westward to where the twists and turns of overhead wires and the ribbons of steel conspire with the sunlight as our tram glides toward the stop.