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


my eyesight is layered and lowered
by nothing I own
I'm inside glass and artificial ice
sits in my throat
above me miles of nothing
if you don't count the clouds
that would be too romantic
or the hail
that is pre-emptive

aren't I freezing
as if snow is around the corner
all snow is far away
through a blizzard of information
the lop-sided reality of the North
and nothing I can touch
the controllers of this blasted air
are way down below
with glace papers and stiff devices

outside the frame heat boils
over and out of rain clouds
it is thunder where I'm going
as if it is all debatable
beautiful and bruised

Jill Jones, 5.30pm, Surry Hills, 28 January


At the Bold Garden Cafe Nursery, Castlemaine

She being nimble hares off
through neat nursery spaces
after big bushy begonias
and rampant raunchy roses

while I, near the cafe, plonk
myself down on a garden bench
made from an old iron bedstead

and refresh my eyes
on peeling paint radiant
in the afternoon sunshine

and sprinkler-drops sparkling,
tuning my ear to water
fountaining the way

to a sense of life
where nothing dies
but is forever recycled.

- Max Richards
back now in North Balwyn 9.15pm


.... .
. . . .


fuck! forgotten to fix it



re Terry Riley
A fresh experience
of the garbage cans
outside you,

but the virtue of the recorded performance
is that
it is subject.

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 9-?-77, 1-25-04, 1-28-04 (9:19 AM)


the cold snaps tempers fast

breath hangs in the air
too long & too much
exhaust fogging the low sky

even the birds' breaths
float behind them
scarves of exhalation

exhilaration only
for some cool fools

or the adapted (I
am not that much
& stay inside
watching the smoke
cloud the slowly
lightening sky

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton Canada 08:40


I'll shoot you straight in the middle of your eyes_
boasted the kid who was then sent away, boasted (?)
where is the truth,
my best student left, her friend, too

three students less, without the psychopath, the intelligent, and the beautiful
(crisis in the middle of the third year middle year in the course of the specific study)
what will I be teaching now and to whom?

(to the two balls of fat, to the sneaky one, to Madame (-I'm sure I'm the best)
to the three Holy_Mary's, to the one who will cry all her tears without her friend)

where is the truth,
his personality slowly took shape out of the mist:
digging down to his parents whom now we know are sellers of arms

before I had quick glimpses into his private life through brief compositions:
kilometers of floor in the outskirts, a walk with his dogs, a garden, villa at the sea,
interested in cars, radios, wars, the Second World War, the Nazis weapons,

as a teacher you sometimes build nests, stage dreams, paint words,
an entire school,scape somewhere in time, for yourself and for them
this time it grew wild, it cracked in the middle, it all fell

Anny Ballardini


I can't excuse this meteorologically-centric


this snailed majesty

this sustained chaos of traffic

a great humped beast

with snapped spine

this wide voice choked with feathers

and mist nonplussed eyes winking aquamarine

as I walk into the afternoon's blurred heaps

losing my way among memories bone chills schoolyards

drugstores and perpetual black ice

but I accept its cold verbs and its soft endless deadening

West Irondequoit, New York, 2:20 PM 1/28/04
Jerry Schwartz


a good friend's cold
her body moving into fragments
with the conjugation of the verb 'to be'

the familiar road
transformed into sliding white
where three miles of static traffic waits for the thaw

rain and snow
a clear sky bright stars
every surface now turned to glass ready to shatter

28th Jan 04
(A Snow Day - the first in my daughter's life. School cancelled and time to go sledging!)



the calmed weather the pond still mirroring a still sky biting cold
everything on hold except a flock of cackling geeze that have
crossed the busy road to tear at the frozen grass on the traffic island
while further down still standing on the edge of the brook two stout
sedge-straws poised like clergy their priestly ruffs of ice still
to the high water mark calmly preaching the coming of spring to deaf

árni ibsen
hafnarfjördur iceland
10:00 pm
january 28 2003


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.

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