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


In the meantime
Out of time no music
Oh words, where are you
so absent in the song.
Be here. Be here.
We will listen.

Harriet Zinnes



he looked across
                          at her books
'Mintzberg,H. Five Ps for Strategy, in Mintzberg, H. Quinn,J. and Ghoshal,
S. The Strategy Process. 1998.      Prentice Hall Europe, Hemel Hempstead.
Whipp, R. Creative Deconstruction: Strategy and Organisations, in Clegg,S.,
Hardy,C., and Nord,W. Managing Organisations: Current Issues. 1999, Sage,
Andrews, K. The Concept of Corporate Strategy, in Mintzberg et al, 1998
Quinn,J and Voyer,J. Logical Incrementalism: Strategy Formation, in
Mintzberg et al, 1998 op.cit.
Mintzberg, H. Crafting Strategy. in Mintzberg et al. 1998, op.cit.
Joyce, P. and Woods, A. Essential Strategic Management. 1996.
Butterworth-Heinemann. Oxford
Hudson, M. Managing Without Profit. 2nd ed. 1999. Penguin, Harmondsworth
Mintzberg, H. The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning. 1994. Prentice Hall,
Hemel Hempstead.
Handy, C. Understanding Voluntary Organisations. 1990. Penguin,
Darwin, J., Johnson, P. and McAuley, J. Developing Strategies for Change.
2002. Pearson Education, Harlow.
Stacey,R. Strategic Management and Organisational Dynamics. 2nd ed. 1996.
Pitman, london
Bourgeois,L. Strategic management and determinism. Academy of Management
Review, 9(4):  586-96. in Whipp, op.cit
Donaldson, L American Anti-Management Theories of Organisation. 1995.
Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Grint, K. Fuzzy Management. 1997. Oxford University Press. Oxford.
DoH   on health Act
Mintzberg, H. , Ahlstrand,B. and Lampel,J. Strategy Safari. 1998. Prentice
Hall, Hemel Hempstead
Weick, K. Sensemaking in Organisations, 1995. Sage, London
Kosko, B. Fuzzy Thinking. 1994. Flamingo. London
Pascale, R. Managing on the Edge. 1990. Penguin, London.
Jaques, E. Social Systems as Defence Against Persecutory and Depressive
Anxiety. in Klein, M, Heimann, P and Money-Kyrle, R. New Directions in
Psychoanalysis. 1955. Basic Books, New York.
De Board, R. The Psychoanalysis of Organisations. 2002. Brunner-Routledge.
Stokes, J.  Institutional Chaos and Personal Stress. in Obholzer, A. and
Roberts, V. The Unconscious at Work. 1994. Routledge, London.'
and then
              he looked across
                                           at his books
Best SF,
                                Erotic Verse,
and thought
                   that  perhaps
                                        his were
                                                     rather more

pmcmanus 21-21 raynes park uk


cold scratchy broken light
blue slots in sky
wind stream an opaque zigzag

rotations in the scheme of things
surface twist paper squalls
ditched lines

a call to order but
fatigue hunger questions
a funky worry

day slopes on my stupid
nation weary
the bashings the fits
street streaky how it gets

scotty should get checked
where they hit you
no memorials
nothing comfortable in this

Jill Jones, 1.05pm, Surry Hills, Wed 12 November 2003


(found poem on Graphics webpage)

For Non-commercial Use Only
Add-on Item

For Non-commercial Use Only
Stand Alone Item



I now know                      it's no use living like rain        present                                            where I was       or where dead leaves swirl                      across macadam that parchment dance                      yet here I am again                                                                 treed to tomorrows somewhere in our virtuals        brimming with ghosts windfalls       redoubts

...Gerald Schwartz 10:50 AM, West Irondequoit, New York, United States


accrue meaning
or gather it

patterns that cohere or seem to attach

movement air
the throat

transubstantiation held in the centre of the mouth

moist air

impossible to swallow or spit

Liz Kirby



He plays piano,
listens to piano,
sees himself shot ('digital video').

Still shots.

Stretches to circuitry.

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 11-8, 11/12 (5:42 PM)
First draft written during a screening of Marker's BESTIARE


The soil burned black. In places
an overlay of ash where a tree had been,
stretched in the direction of the wind,
as if the wind
had left its shadow in passing.
In other places
where there had been no wind
and a slow burn
a small circle, a dome
the color of bones,
perhaps an inch above the blackened soil,
the footprint of the missing tree
marked for the moment
(until the next wind)
by what the fire left.

Mark Weiss


[a rough reading] translation of Mark's snapshot
Svörğurinn blakkur sviğinn. Hér og şar
öskulag eftir tré, strokiğ
eftir vindáttinni,
líkt og vindurinn
hafi látiğ skugga eftir í leiğinni.
Á öğrum stöğum
şar sem vindurinn kom ekki
og bruninn hægur
er lítill hringur, beinlitağ
şumlung kannski yfir svertum sverğinum,
far eftir gengiğ tré
greinilega merkt um stund
(uns hvessir aftur)
af şví sem eldurinn lét eftir.

Árni Ibsen


Waking, young and old

Waking shouldn't be so difficult:
open the eyes, engage the morning light,
slide out of bed—soon you're talking,
breakfasting, reading, even singing.

Oh that's how it used to be. These days
the mouth is a problematical organ:
take it to the bathroom (an exercise in
tottering), treat it to spring-cleaning.

Avoid the mirror — the comb knows its
meagre job; move about the house as
tentatively as the body requires —
yesterday walking was natural,

today it needs to be learned again;
sit near a window and practice looking.
Daylight is a boon; the garden survived
correctly green — and florid — and with birds.

Yes, all as I remember it, and more.
And looking brings to mind so many words.

6.30am, Wednesday 12 November 2003
Max Richards, North Balwyn, Melbourne


watched the man lie
again     move as if
on strings

mouth words
once meaningful
demeaned by misuse

lay that wreath
those crocodile tears
a slow march

never learned
in the real
just the bought

and sanitized
all that quick march
sans the lonely dead

Edmonton 08: 17 November 12/03
Douglas Barbour



moon wading through clouddrifts
or else cloudwaves slapping against
the bow of this pale skyship ghostsun
while glen miller's lazy moonlight serenade
laps the airwaves moored to a past
floating me back to a time never lived
a distant war never experienced but
through tales in celluloid a curious
nostalgia for an invented image until
this alien line of voyage is split wide open
by a passing car radio blaring full-blast
that insistent line sweet child in time from
deep purple in rock some bruised rock of this age

Árni Ibsen
11:48 pm
november 12 2003


Howard Street

'gotta dolla, gotta dolla?'
            she  wore
                 layers -
            dirt and stains and hungry pleas
                     she hung around, down,
               down on Howard Street
                       with a small child
                              and a scheme
                                 drips of yesterday's dream
                       suicidal things
                                suddenly blind
                ( me, like a wristwatch without time)

                                                  neither one of us
                                   can tell yesterday
                                         from today or tomorrow
                   'gotta dolla, gotta dolla?'

             over there,
        there's a one armed man
with graffiti on his feet, face and hand
             parched skin
wrapped like a drum around
             the tight throat of melody
war songs between soldiers
                         and long lost sons'
they peer out
              from peircing bloodshot eyes
my blade's serrated.

                'Hey you! Gotta dolla, gotta dolla?”

Deborah Russell
11-12-03 5:06 pm
Baltimore, Maryland USA


Tedium. Drive time. Donne wrote
of Good Friday heading westward.
The march toward Death, not the recalled
Passion leading to the Cross
but the shared Passion, the fact of humanity
the common ticket.
This is mundane: westward each morning
on Route 33, bad pavement, gravel trucks,
talk show hosts, NPR, sometimes broken by music,
a clarinetist playing Debussy--
barely a comfort, inappropriate
as Bjoerling singing in a whorehouse.
Westward not toward death but toward
employment, what was so long craved turned
to the morning small-p sexless passion.



Gastro-enteritis does the rounds.
My son lies patient in his soiled pyjamas
waiting for morning. "Why didn't you call?"
I ask. "We would have come". He shakes his head.
His driver was talking to another driver
so he must be quiet and still. Later the same
driver insists he go and fetch some cornflakes,
bounce on the sofa and put a video on.
I want a word with this guy. Oliver agrees:
"he's naughty, a bad driver". But brave in crisis
and quick to thwart the Pontypandy arsonist.
Hare Krishna, Hare Rama. Hare, hare Fireman Sam.
Bouncing again. "My driver's making me".
I steer him quickly to the lavatory.

Dominic Fox, Leicester 12/11/03 22:17pm


thinking of tomorrow's snapshot

                                             I needed the disgusting smell
of boiled cabbages in the house,
not hungry - might once ready, but this warm smell propagating through the
flat like a plushy hand
talks of winter of a family of a barren landscape with free scenes of mirth
and wind of the taste of sea
of long twisting roads up to the fortified bridge barking of dogs black
windows shut on the harshness of soil
it is thick opaque green - heavy like a used Russian fur coat like the
breath of a cow its moist dung
until it is so dense you almost forget it's there because it is your clothes
your hair yourself liquid
in the stagnant night distant from the town the world tomorrow and thereafter

anny 10 pm pre-shot of a snap
Anny Ballardini


Here's an exiting gift suggestion (and they -- at KB Toys) are targeting it to boys 12 to 16...

You can find the Elite
Force Aviator: George
W. Bush - U.S. President
and Naval Aviator - 12"
Action Figure that Gerald
is requesting at:

He finds it quite droll
to have come across
this on Veteran's Day.

5:27 PM Gerald Schwartz


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 under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.

Poetryetc, like its affiliate Salt Publishing (, was founded by Australian poet John Kinsella. Salt is managed by Christopher Hamilton-Emery (, while Poetryetc is owned by Alison Croggon ( Poetryetc is now archived at and anyone interested can join from that url.

To contact the listowner: Alison Croggon

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