All copyright © 2003 remains with the authors.
All copyright © 2004 remains with the authors.



Snapshots
7/30/03






Red Wheelbarrow

So much depended on
my neighbour's red wheelbarrow

while I shifted this winter's
delivery of split redgum

from the side gate where it glowed
in the sun, through the garden

round our weatherboard house
to the dark side

where the plumbing is
and the gas fittings,

there to stack it, hard up
against the paling fence.

As much depended on
my sixty-six year old

muscles and grip
on the red wooden handles

and eye to aim us just
between the narrow gateway

reversing by the kennel
where I stow twigs for kindling

on past the dry-stone wall
edging - one false move

and stones get dislodged.
False moves there were,

followed by quick-fix kicks.
Much depended on

my stout walking shoes
my tracksuit steaming up

my care to avoid splinters
in my bare hands.

While wife and dog watched
from bed! Much depended

on my patience
my tolerance

and the tea and cake
she soon called me in for.

A hundred dollars' worth of wood!
forty or fifty fires maybe -

plus the work-glow lit in me.

- Max Richards at Cooee, North Balwyn, Melbourne
8.30am, Wednesday but a weekend snap...

***


Desire

Out of desire
no, within desire,
during desire,
and all its ways.
Which ways?
fulfilled desire,
its smile,
and wry effects;
the happenstance
of its consummation,
the rule of its slippery steps,
the relief and its sanguinity.
Its ache and its final surcease
when emotion is motion
and the smile turns to sleep.

Harriet Zinnes
NYC, USA

***


Big Dreams

she wants butterflys
and a window
and maybe
a shelf with a vase of flowers
painted on the wall,
above her sink,
in her small kitchen space
with a table
and two chairs
her room is a pink zoo
for soft fuzzy animals
frilly, fluffy, comfy and nice
her small white bed,
in the corner,
with pillows of big dreams

he wants sugar cubes,
carrots and apples,
small treats for Chauncey
he wants to ride
in the wind
with his new helmet
and riding boots, big enough
for his toes to wiggle
he has dreams to fish,
to ski, to run, jump,
climb and sail the seas
he wants to ride
in the big arena ~ outside
with butterflies and trees

Deborah Russell, Baltimore, Maryland - USA
12:02 am, Wednesday's agenda
(grandchildren)

***




fuzz at slant
cloud grain
and last night's stupidity
tracing down

I wish I was clearer
I wish I was not myself

a time of blankets
on morning
scarving gloving wintering
clear as cold

That I was clearer
That I was not so cold

sky lifts dazzle
no rain
and this day's ache
letting down

Wish I was not
That I was

Jill Jones
Surry Hills, Sydney, 2.35pm

***


SUR WILLIAM KLEIN

seeing people you don't see anywhere else.
Under a policeman in a parade
roloflex

woman
in the crowd
like a soviet realist . . .
Like a kid riding on a bike
I am a fashion photographer,
anti-chic and absurdist
my . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 7-27, 7-28, 7-29, & 7-30 (1:31 AM)

***


Wednesday!
emails arrive
pouring in
full of wild
snapshots
daunting!
terrifying!
and
Inside
he sits
at computer
hunting for
an idea for
a poem
and
Outside
her cat
hunting for
a moth
small moth
her cat
resembles
a statue
'Heroic Cat'
all tense
concentrated
slightest movement
tip of tail
skillfully
steeling himself
ready to
pounce!
but
cheerily
unaware
moth flits away
and
cat collapses
dissappointed
devastated
exhausted
saunters in
he and cat
sit down
to have
a drink
together
man coffee
cat milk
brothers.

patrick mc manus
7am,raynes park ,uk

***


Imitations of Immortality
(Some Wordsworthian Thoughts)

Yea oft, when on the bog I sit
In vacant or in pensive mood,
I relax my inward eye and shit.
That is the bliss of solitude;
And then my arse with pleasure fills,
With pebbled-dashed spumatic thrills.

It's the nearest thing, I'd say,
To sex I'll get this Wednesday.

Each time is like a little death,
A gasp between gritted teeth
And a pinking of the cheeks.

It is a releasing and a letting go,
Like an arrow's flight when the archer sets down his bow.
Out of sight though full of heart,
Deny not the toilet's art.
And do not fret the bowl's not clean:
This simple truth did Anton glean.

Anton Brassiere
Weds 7.45 GMT

***


Sun-tanned feet - open windows - day-light rolling precipitously in-on- plunged into,
when you wake up - the freezer - one-two-three-four-five ice-cubes in the coffee mug
- shorts - T-shirt - almost no tel. calls - no fixed appointments - the thin silver chain around
your neck makes you sweat - joyous fresh water gurgling and gurgling - thoughts find
their way
as planets wish
breathe your luxurious holiday and enlarge every moment of it
anny ballardini - bozen - 5.48pm

***


I don't want to write about today
don't want a snapshot to remember the gloom
the rain
and last nights hangover
or the packing

Today is too much like
Wednesday

Jim Bennett
7.54 a.m.

***


An end-of-July cinquain snapshot from New York---

Flip-flops
are back. Garbage
smell pesters the beach and
on her bod a tankini in
Gap black.

Kathleen Ossip

***


snapshot haiku:

wake up sunup slow
moving as heat seeps into
the mind and the day

noise about noise as
someone promotes a concert
elsewhere heating up

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton, Canada, 08:50

***


Snapshot: What My Mother Sees

She casts a weather eye:
Black over there. Might rain.
or squints at the Daily Mirror,
sizing up Saddam, his dead sons.
Later, her look lights on
Jude's pots - Is that a penstemon?
and the little birds quarrelling over
peanuts. Or she just sits and stares.

It always comes back to the weather:
dark approaching clouds v. sailor blue,
the way it must look from up on deck
at 84, to a knocked about, wind-blown,
gnarly, sharp-eyed, jagged old salt.

Norton Hodges
Oakham, Rutland UK 9:45 a.m.

***


There once was a fellow named Fox
who thought so far out of his box
that the surf-happy slob
quit his programming job
for another, which totally rocks.

(A fellow more full of conceit
than this Fox you're unlikely to meet:
he rates himself highly
enough to date Kylie
then dump her, for someone more l33t).

* * *

"l33t": l33t-speak for "elite". Popular usage amongst haxor-d00dz, a.k.a. script kiddies.
script kiddie: teenaged (or younger!) exploiter of buffer overrun-based security vulnerabilities in Microsoft server products.

Dominic Fox
Leicester, UK

***


i'm still
in the process
of packing of
unpacking of
seeking
then finding
and losing
again
for weeks
i have missed
wednesdays
with far flung friends
having
no time
for even a couple of lines
the lost scrap of paper
with a melody
the lost internet
connection
correspondance interrupted

iiiiii'mmmmm baaaccccckkkkk

Sláinte

Deborah
now on Grafton Ave
Newark 07104
6:15 pm

***


It's a sense of decorum causes us
to divide the vegetables
*
Left to right right to left
she rubs her nose.
*
Away from home and other bteeth
wsill eat my tomatoes.
*
Almost the white of the oleander
just a hint
of green but nonetheless
becomes invisible
when it folds its wings.

Something here, I guess
it guesses, would eat
a butterfly.
*
A scant rain, discrete drops, a hammer-blow
to a hummingbird. * The second generation of flowers on my night-blooming cereus
wait for dark, a flower a night,
and between its ridges tiny snails
suck for nutriment.

Mark Weiss
San Diego, USA

***


NOTHING

A day of not procrastination but of
nothing, dryness, one of my frequent
strolls into the Desert.

So not to get grandiose: I was not tempted
by the allure of Principalities and Powers,
I was not shown women waved in my face
as they've been before,

I was not even overloaded by work.

I was content. I slept
for the first time in two weeks.

Do I, I wonder, need irritation to write?
A finger upraised by another driver,
an argument with my S.O.,
having to clean up cat puke at 6:15 AM?

None of this.

How do people with nothing to bitch about
lead creative lives?
Do I lead a creative life even when
I'm bitching about something?

I want to solve...
...faith issues
...medication issues
...me
I can do two. I can't do all.
The one I can't solve becomes the poetry,
what someone called the argument with oneself.

I think.

Kenneth Wolman
USA

***


SNAPSHOT 14

in the way those
skewed namesakes
Georg and Igor
and Jorge too are
farmers in essence
separately caring for
their bountiful lands
tending the earth
gathering harvest
unwitting brothers
in arms yet severed
yet split by languages
separated through time
I am severed in time
between languages
caught between the
said and the unsaid
the sayable and
the unsayable the
lived and the
yet to be the text
and the assumed
undertext awaiting
to hear my lookout
yelling land land a
new found land a new
sound land my lieu mound
land you hound land
where all's said
and yet said again a
gainsay land a see-saw
land a twofold land
three fold (even) land
where all's found yet
keep searching till
it's you found land
all over again your
very own new found land
where a commune is
called Georg and
Igor and Jorge pay
him a visit sometimes
and their spirited
stories and sensitive
laughter fill the forest
making the field grow

[Note: by happy chance 'fold' is a proper word in Icelandic too where it means earth']

Árni Ibsen
Around midnight Hafnarfjördur
Iceland

***





Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.

Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic “snaps” of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.

The first two runs, of six weeks each, and the first ten weeks of the third run, are archived at Wild Honey Press www.wildhoneypress.com under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.

Poetryetc, like its affiliate Salt Publishing (http://www.saltpublishing.com), was founded by Australian poet John Kinsella. Salt is managed by Christopher Hamilton-Emery (cemery@saltpublishing.com), while Poetryetc is owned by Alison Croggon (ajcroggon@bigpond.com). Poetryetc is now archived at http://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/lists/poetryetc.html. and anyone interested can join from that url.

To contact the listowner: Alison Croggon


These pages are designed, maintained, and hosted by Rebecca Seiferle, the Editor of The Drunken Boat. To email.


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