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


A Queen in Green Patina

what happens when it goes Snap?
things hap-
pen at the same time, (s)hot
on the spot
but is there ever a same
time, & is it a game
e i n m a l und nie wieder, o n c e
or a break? bonne chance

it's a green
picture bisected by a corner of Horton's
luncheonette ICE CREAM
Soda Coca Cola Candy Lunch Cigars
& Marianne Moore's
coming out regally in the right half
(left to her); you see a Kodak
to the right of her hat,
her left hand's
to stress the design
of balance
in her cloak's flared grace,
her right foot
forward, her stick bisects a paving stone
just left of center ("It's on-
ly a paper moon"
occurs to me
~ it's Brooklyn in '53

this is a picture in the TLS I'm rea-
ding late as ever, issued Jan 23 '04

in '53 I was 10, smoked my first fag
from a pack
of Weights
& played
with myself unsuccessfully at
first, but right now
my heart goes out
to the young man
ing balletically as if resting on
the entrance to her left, ignor-
ing Miss Moore
& pretty much staring past the black-lipped bobby-
soxer ga-

zing at his only visible ear,
while her ser-
ious guy
(on our left) with chin in hand is weigh-
ing some-
up ~
be the price of the Chesterfields
that décolleté'd
cigarette girl on the ad appears
to be offering
the blasé lounger who's
a student? "too reclus-
ive for some things
to seem to touch
him, not because he
has no feeling but because he has so much"
(he's too
cut & just too early for James Dean
who next year did Women of Trachis at Cherry Lane
& then East of Eden)

while in Epsom, where I was born
some 10 years before
(the TLS reader sees
in a sun-dappled pic
taken from 1953 The Crowning Year of Sport
if he flicks to page 12)
"the [toothy] Queen
and the Duke of Edinburgh
[looking like Roger Moore ~

talk to Gordon Richards
just before the Derby"
on the sward
(Yanks please go "Aagh-be" when you pronounce that word,
it hurts me
to hear Durh-be)

"it is not the dime-novel exterior,
. but 'accessibility to experience'"
but what's the price of experience?
to quote William Blake
Glad day to you, Ma'am, when
Can we play it again?

Martin Walker 00.30 Romance Time Lagorce



(after Edwin Morgan's Arnheim)

Having no memory, I collect
postcards / and such
to remind me of holidays.

I'm looking at one now:

From hell, the souvenirs are stones.

Robin Hamilton
L'bro // 53 minutes into Wednesday



that time
missed it
C'MON! ... was
submerge ...
d in some
one else's
dead books
of some kind
of yore (a word?)
with tears
and all
gone (to do,
or not (possibly),
with me) ...
a-hem ...

01:20 am
february 11 2004
árni ibsen
stekkjarkinn 19


Weekend Snaps: Two Melbourne Public Gardens

The Williamstown Botanic Gardens
have many gates which are never closed;

the tree-hungry eye registers
here more symmetry than variety,

a frock-coated municipal statue,
an aviary without labels ­

much dark wire and a few
birds, unrecognisable;

an ornamental lake all stone
and concrete, without water:

'under renovation';
cylinders of clean perspex

embrace the trunks of most trees,
deterrent to possums no doubt;

almost nothing labelled, except
the Liquid Amber Lawn

where I recognize
no liquidambar.

Our home suburb has a Native Garden,
high-fenced, everything labelled,

free-ranging birds and possums,
promiscuous sprinklers,

and most days it closes at four.

- Max Richards, North Balwyn, Melbourne
3.00pm Wed 11 Feb 04


here now
sitting here
looking out
from a rather
gloomy small study
packed with books
over there south
a few yards
of reference books
then up to ceiling
double packed much
recorded videos
west area swamped
by sixteenyards?
poetry books
poet authors
above anthologies
audio cassettes
by the hundred
music -'spoken word'
buried in a rather
battered sideboard
in old office files
then the north wall
working face a cliff
of actual writing files
hardcopies -drafts-paper
and odds some looking lost
then back west -window
still gloomy out there
computer- printer -radio
'warmer -no rain' forecast
hedge and Edwardian street
newly much hewn tree
now giving more light
better do my snapshot
sift incoming emails
from flashy gaudy spam
Oz promiscuous sprinklers
gosh Iceland already
dancing across page
cat has chewed
dragon plant again
apparently not poisonous
right then
right but
maybe a
coffee first.

pmcmanus raynes park london
09:00 nearly valentine's day



Running away from an army patrol
en bete.
Seem vulgar and must not.
Not overawed by the universe.
A sweat of guilt -
it has its poetic side; clomping there amongst
springing Claude on them.

Point about him. The attraction
randy when he had a hangover.
One thinks
It isn't the point.
Dress not the humble exterior
evidence to the contrary.
Needn't tell you that neither.
Compensatory bibles
excessive, don't you think?

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD US / 2-6, 2-9, 2-11-04 (6:12 AM)




Some time off to watch _The Last Picture Show_ by Peter Bogdanovich
b/w; 121'; '71;
outside the sun inflates volumes to a new
plastic intensity
brilliant pastel colors let a park speak of a
September Parisian corner,
seen somewhere before -
maybe the given remembrance of a dear one,
on Wednesdays it's mild,
the big fir tree a forceful alga moving in the air
in the early afternoon traffic is kind,
the town an oasis among mountains
with its palms, we pass through dark & bright shapes,
on the balcony in front a gemmed plant:
hope widens my lungs in a deep breath

work to mark, coffee-cigarette, pens, I will be shut here inside for
hours from now.

Anny Ballardini, February 11, '04, Bozen


what do you mean? poetry?

why yesterday I
listened to
a respected older poet
read slow monologues
not dramatic enough
short stories
pretending to be poems

& lecturing between
on balance
'narrative' see/
sawing 'music'
somehow unaware
the latter wasn't there

then in the evening
carried away by youth
their first readings
such love of words
such finesse

as i look back
to welcome them
they walk right by
gently smiling

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton Canada 08: 50 Wednesday February 11 03


It takes
the whole day;
an oh so slow
opening up,
green shoots
yellow stays,
narrow stems
the weight
of corona.

towards light,
forced choice
between rain-lashed
spattered glass
and a source
closer to home.
They turn,
opening full lips
to lamp light.

Nessa O'Mahony
Beaumaris, Anglesey, North Wales, 11 February 2004


the bells of the church ring

for cold

I put on my best face

taking the world in shifts

West Irondequoit, New York, United States
2.11.04, noon Jerry Schwartz


Harp Seal Bark

No poem, nothing will come, only
our dog this week encountering
a harp seal pup, beached, surely afraid,
and the dog tries to get it to play,
the harp seal barks too.
A failure to communicate
even though they speak something
like the same language?

Ken Wolman



Damned if the little beast didn't walk
on little cat feet. What
do you expect from a feline?
Silence: questionable. Exile:
only if Carl by mistake left the cat
outside overnight.
Cunning? Absolutely.
That's what they're for.

Maybe Carl had his cat declawed
so you'd never hear him coming.
Some people like surprises
along the line of IRS audits,
unexpected transmission jobs,
or a dose ("Jesus, she said it was okay!").
So perhaps, being of milder nature,
Carl liked the cat to spring up on him
from behind, never hear it coming.

Fog at the Jersey Shore rolls silently
onto the peninsula.
The dog, frightened, will not walk in it.
The cats live indoors.
Little cat feet in your dreams and mine--
they clatter and slide over the floors at 2 AM,
running side by side,
less the silence of Jersey fog than
Turnpike traffic and the Ben Hur chariot race.

Ken Wolman/2-11-04 (backdated like a bad check)


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

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