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


I walk into the regulated morning.
OK, I'm exaggerating
nevertheless, much of it's daily danger
even on stairs that refresh
or a window one arranges at the light
so it ventilates that special balance
in my program of attendances
I fit to format
between dangers of interior knowledge
and ruptures that vibrate alongside.

Considering rain that gave
yesterday a uniformity
it began gray, then a collapse of forms
giving out possibility
introducing refrain as well as excess
dressing the fabric whose outer is broken.

I advanced through thoughts incorrect
augured by my night
equipped with tastes forgotten
and entered unto the hour of dust
distanced, separated.
Here I forgave my side that knows
it's done too many problems.
While morning in newspaper strikes more cold
I'll beat the breeze that must come in time.
Hang the ash, here's the ascent!

Jill Jones, 11.35am, 17 March, Surry Hills



he was
sort of suddenly
feeling his age
found himself
hankering after
mammoth stew
or a big bit of
spicey beherbed
sabre tooth tiger.

pmcmanus 9am
raynes park uk.


Old Romeo

Tybalt didn't harm Mercutio,
and wasn't hurt by Romeo ­
him, the son-in-law, old Capulet
soon learned to tolerate.

They settled down into a long marriage.
In time she saw his limitation,
mentioned it. Desire, now as then,
(which she'd outgrown, called it
'possessive' ­ 'why marry?')
would wake him after midnight.

The whole long night's moonlit
silence was punctuated by a quiet
night-bird stirring twice on the roof,
by the sleeping dog touching a claw
on the wall, by the rare slight snore
of Juliet beside him, by the pulsing vein
near his ear on the pillow,
by the first traffic on the hill,

then a whisper of a breeze
by the window briefly lifting leaves;
day now silently resumed.
The bird of dawning had eluded him
again. He must have dozed.
They were together still.

10.30pm, Wednesday 17 March 2004
Max Richards
North Balwyn, Melbourne


Sun and sun rotating
rotulating rebussing rekrreeAting
since this morning with its temperate flow
robust fragmenting all beneficial triangled Run
gems here and there and up high over there again
listen, viewed in-between the fragmented glittering dots
they're slowly chewing absorbing deeply singing digesting
stretching themselves further up to reach for warmth and light
a satisfying most appeasing peaceful continuous brunch
trees have almost become fluid inside their rigid trunk
as if gracefully dancing under the protective hand
of our most beloved benevolent Apollinian god
whose embroidered designs keep us all
upturned to his awesome Beauty
unequaled by living man

Anny Ballardini, Bozen, Italy


As usual: propping
open my eyes with windows, holding
up my body with my mind, bearing
my particular cross.

Saw "Passion of the Christ" today.
All red slashed flesh and drippy stuff,
and Mary crying, crying.
But it won't give me nightmares -
I've dealt with it. And besides, he should've been naked.
In a documentary he'd have been naked, I reckon.

'Cos you can't bear your cross with your loincloth on.

Janet Jackson
Wed Mar 17 23:51:58 WST 2004
Perth, Western Australia


what goes so far

but a year
but a revision
of 'the news'

the fact is that
one thing is

that this is
always that

or that
this story is
history is

abstractions bless
their misty fadeouts
slip easily across
those lines drawn
unclearly of
definitions now

what comes so far

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton 09:50 Wednesday March 17 2004


Macho Man Carries His Cross

Gibson is not the Jesus they taught me in RCIA:
even in blue-collar America Jesus was forgiveness,
unconditional love, Milton's One Greater Man
who died for us so we could live for each other.
It sounded great until I met some priests who
I don't think forgave their mothers for birthing them.

Go to the movie anyway.
Mel gets a lot right: the Jesus-actor
sweating blood in Gesthemane, the fear
eating into him even before the nail-studded whips
make him look like he'd been stuffed into a meatgrinder.
"Febrile terror": this guy was me before
I went to divorce court, before
I entered a roomful of strangers,
spoke my first name and proclaimed my condition.

Gibson does radio interviews now,
easy target on the senex Andy Rooney,
comes on like Mad Max and says
"If he had a pair he'd say it to my face,"
repeats "If he had a pair"
over and over, macho mantra,
a great feat calling out an 85-year-old man.
What a guy.

Maybe there's an answer, though: hand-to-hand combat,
expand the principle of A Pair to politics,
Kerry in gladatorial combat with Bush in a ballpark
retiarius versus secutor, sangre y arena,
supposedly George Patton challenged Erwin Rommel
to a man-to-man tank duel in the desert.
Nothing came of it: maybe though they
could have killed each other.

"You forgive and move on" says the good Christian Mel,
but damned if Detective Riggs, that lethal weapon,
still doesn't wanna take old Andy out
into the parking lot and whip his ancient ass
with those cats of nine tails.

Ken Wolman/Princeton, NJ 12:03 PM, St. Patrick's Day



so here i am
lounging on the lazyboy
i've been up for hours
had a shower
done bacon and eggs
checked my email
cleared the spam
picked the pinta
off the doorstep
as i greeted the postman
brought the laundry down
set the washing-machine
so now i settle down
to listen to the video-recording
of last week's
just a minute
on freeview digital radio
the phone rings
and it isn't a distant call centre
selling a new mortgage
telling of a holiday
i've won in a competition
i never entered
or of how my postcode
has come up on their computer
i can be a show-house
but this time
it is the secretary of a society
of which I'm a life member
he wants to know
if i am still me
have i still
got a life
seems the last issue
of the societies transactions
was returned
marked gone away
but i haven't
i'm still here
time for a fresh pot of tea

Gerald England
Gee Cross, Hyde, Cheshire, UK
Wednesday 17th March, 2004; 10.30 am


i was cd editing my latest compilation

with the usual blend of flash

withdrawal & gloom

called if you can believe it

channeling leonard cohen

tesseractives first eponymous track

washed the scales from my eyes

then the man himselfs great event what

a sigh of relief thats no way

to say goodbye

it's just the way it changes

pasting in schumann

& heines am leuchtenden

sommermorgen trauriger blasser mann

then joan singing live suzanne

certain only drowning men

could see him segueing into

duparcs linvitation au voyage

aimer et mourir

au pays qui te ressemble

and suzy vega telling the story of isaac

I will help you if I must I will kill you if I can

so abram rose

in brittens war requiem

but where the lamb for this burnt offering

cut to everybody knows

everybody knows the fight is fixed

es ist eine alte geschichte

doch bleibt sie immer neu

dont go home with your hardon

it will only drive you insane

being leonard cohen at weddings

and bar mitzvahs i spent the first year

finding myself and the second year

losing myself in leonard cohens day

job by the austin lounge lizards

its part of the price every artist must pay

lady midnight said i was dead

and could never return um mitternacht

sie achtets nicht sie ist es müd so

long marianne laugh & cry &

cry & laugh about it all again

Eubies memories of you with satchmo

& a rosary of tears

the partisan by noir desir

et je nai pas peur

jai tant damour

for you usa

its here the familys broken

and its here the lonely

say thats how it goes

took me all afternoon

to burn the thing

Martin Walker
Lagorce 19.18 Romance Time


have you opened it?
you've opened it
dont open it
well have you opened it?
wait till eleven oclock wait

he's one mithering mithering sod
it's flashing now he says

can I have the small breakfast please?
dont get toast with small breakfast
you get your tea and coffee
ask the lady if she wants toast on side
she's just learning
so you want beans or tomatoes?
beans please
just write down beans
that's it just take three pounds from the lady

Liz Kirby
Pat's Place
Fingerpost Shopping Centre, Wigan, UK.


Internet access denied until 3pm
productivity soars
I write 2000 words by half-past one

...fuck me

if I'd written my thesis that fast
could've finished it in
two months flat

Dominic Fox, Leicester, UK


in the cold of this winter

Valentines' Day

David Eller

Robert Mykinn

Timothy Caves

& Daniel Kruger


The Church Of God By Faith,
Sodus Center, New York


it's ruled a hate crime

I can't help but wish

these packs of racists

would feed

on their own

west irondequoit, new york 5:49 PM... 3/17/04
jerry schwartz


via Milton Erickson
Except under
precise conditions of that
waking performance,
extreme difficulty finding
(overlooked repeatedly)
mislaid glasses / mislaid letter.

Turning around
around in helpless fashion
turning blank pages over
then upside down.
spontaneously blind.

blindness returned.

Discontinue attempt.

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD US / 3-17-04 (6:02 PM)





Is it deaths for oil,
oh, America,
that new found land,
by men without vision
who speak without compassion
that they advocate
even as the people behind them
voice their money ambitions.
Peace it is
against war.
It is time to hear that call.

----Harriet Zinnes


Being Quite Green

not feeling myself
but the colour of elf
not being Irish, but
being quite green
a stomach virus
churn'd me ol' spleen
caused me to toss
most other things
hoping for good luck
in what the day brings
green eggs and ham
should do me fine
cause feelin' like yuck
makes very poor line
green eggs and ham
green eggs and ham
my break fast
of 48 hours? it am
so here's to you
at Poetryetc:
hope you won't get
this stomach upset!

Deborah Russell, 8:10 am 03-18-04
Baltimore, Maryland USA



I want to climb inside your love machine
There we would make mystic love
Let's ride the sky where the air is thin.

I'll bring the chocolate, strawberries and cream
Flowered pillow from the big brass bed
I want to climb inside your love machine.

I want to climb inside your love machine
Open portal door to where it's warm
Let's ride the sky where the air is thin.

Now that spring is nature's limousine
And birds and bees are the steering wheel
I want to climb inside your love machine.

We've spent the years in bitter mien
Shed our tears in a village scene
I want to climb inside your love machine
Let's ride the sky where the air is thin.

Helen Hagemann, Perth WA


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.