Artwork, Artist, Poets
1. Spotty, Amelia Dainton. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Yael Harris
2. Ladies In Waiting, Marisa Psalia. Poets: Ann Harrison, Sunny Blundell-Wignall
3. Flowers, Sean Stephen. Poets: Leonard James, Gillian Clark.
4. Some Kind Of Animals, Tim Maley. Poets: Coral Carter, Julienne Lee Juschke.
5. Untitled, Elizabeth Conquest. Poets: Liana Joy Christensen, Soul Reserve.
6. Sweeping Skies, John Verjans. Poets: Gillian Clark, Christopher Kennedy.
7. Fire Season, Richie Jasper. Poets: Melanie Locsei, Faye Teale-Clavi.
8. Black Cat, Angelina Kell. Poets: Veronica Lake, Jane Crothers.
9. Billie, Rosie Powner. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Deanne Leber.
10. Fireworks and Ferris Wheels, Samantha Perrie. Poets: Shey Marque, Maree Dawes.
11. Majestic Flightless Prince, Hannah Valenti. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, J.R.Poulter.
12. Three Sisters, Rebecca Johnston. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Melissa Domiati.
13. Flower Frenzy, Candice Raphael. Poets: Virgina O’Keeffe and Brigita Ferecak
14. Uncle Bowler, Greg Barr. Poets: Jane Davis, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
15. My World, David Guhl. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Jan Napier.
16. Paul Kelly, Tony Stanisheff. Poets: Val Neubecker, Kevin Gillam.
17. Frog On Rock, Jeremy Gowing. Poets: Max Merckenschlager, Fran Graham.
18. The Bushfire, Clint Carter. Poets: Allan Padgett, Mike Greenacre.
19. Ed & Eddy In The U.S.A, David Linderman. Poets: Chris Palazzolo, Yael Harris.
20. Untitled, Karina Sheridan. Poets: Ann Harrison, Glen Phillips.
21. View From Kings Park, Peter Furnell. Poets: Leonard James, Keren Gila Raiter.
22. Pink Purica, Blaz Delic. Poets: Zan Ross, Julienne Lee Juschke.
23. Pink Car Church, Radko Medin. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Soulreserve
24. Gold Plated, Karen Shao. Poets: Hannah Valenti, Christopher Kennedy.
25. Slimele And Slimeson, Loahna Brophy. Poets: Rose Van Son, Melanie Locsei.
26. The Rabbit in the Bottle, Joong Cho. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Veronica Lake.
27. Balloons, Erin Murphy. Poets: Sunny Blundell-Wignall, Deanne Leber.
28. My Baby, Danny Tuckey. Poets: Faye Teale-Clavi, Shey Marque.
29. Bunny Rabbit, Samantha Muller. Poets: J.R.Poulter, Coral Carter.
30. Untitled, Angela Celenza. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Liana Joy Christensen.
31. Ursula, Adam Churcher. Poets: Maree Dawes, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
32. Untitled, Laura Sewell. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, Max Merckenschlager.
33. Abstract, Carolyn Shervill. Poets: Jan Napier, Brigita Ferencak.
34. Cactus Garden, Carol Kisiel. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Val Neubrecker.
35. Rupert the Piggy Bank, Terri Fulston. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Virginia O’Keeffe.
36. Untitled, Dwayne Curnow. Poets: Allan Padgett, Kevin Gillam.
37. Pinky and The Brain, Kyle Cooper. Poets: Fran Graham, Chris Palazzolo.
38. Flying Fox, Jim Jolly. Poets: Glen Phillips, Mike Greenacre.
39. Untitled, Ella Morris. Poets: Yael Harris, Keren Gila Raiter.
40. Apple Core, Leanne Fairley. Poets: Ann Harrison, Zan Ross.
41. Flying Birds #6, Ben Rosten. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Leonard James.
42. Dad’s Fishing Boat In Mandurah, Emma Dawson. Poets: Rose Van Son, Julienne Lee Juschke.
43. Zebras, Jonathon Wong. Poets: Hannah Valenti, Soulreserve.
44. Octopus, Sarah Sorbi. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Christopher Kennedy.
45. Safari Lunchtime, Kaley Golding. Poets: Veronica Lake, Sunny Blundell-Wignall.
46. Untitled, Delores Purdie. Poets: Jane Crothers, Deanne Leber.
47. Rusty Two, Michael Frith. Poets: Shey Marque, Coral Carter.
48. Zebra And Butterflies, Janine Noonan. Poets: J.R.Poulter, Liana Joy Christensen.
49. Untitled, Angela Polsen. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Gillian Clark.
50. Untitled, Kristen Cameron. Poets: Max Merckenschlager, Faye Teale-Clavi.
51. Old Bird Donald Duck, Michael Barker. Poets: Jane Crothers, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
52. Untitled, Rick Sullivan. Poets: Jan Napier, Jane Davis.
53. Untitled, Alex Colgan. Poets: Val Neubrecker, Maree Dawes.
54. Untitled, Sam Clarke. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, Virginia O’Keeffe.
55. Untitled, David Brandstater. Poets: Allan Padgett, Melissa Domiati.
56. Eruptions, Debra Long. Poets: Chris Palazzolo, Brigita Ferencak.
57. Bum Nuts (Meaning Egg In Aboriginal Language), Daryl Dempster. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Glen Phillips.
58 Martin’s Interpretation of Michaelangelo’s David, Martin Cahill. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Keren Gila Raiter.
59. The Fat Boys, Taj Dixon. Poets: Kevin Gillam, Zan Ross.
60. Bright, Katrina Barber. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Fran Graham.
61. The Abundance Tree, Aimee Dickson. Poets: Rose Van Son, Mike Greenacre.
________________________________
1. Spotty, Amelia Dainton. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Yael Harris
61 x 46cm – Acrylic on canvas
In a Quiet Garden
daubs of paint spread, forming
the circular faces of wild flowers.
bursts of purple, pink, and yellow
attract the bees and butterflies.
a white cat wends its way through
stems, leaves, and undergrowth,
nestling in a bed of fallen petals,
perfume of potpourri.
Carolyn Abbs
Spot spot spot
together
apart
jumping out of their own skin
some of them fly
some of them fall
some of them party on
like confetti they softly land
each with a message
no one meant to understand
Yael Harris
________________________________
2. Ladies In Waiting, Marisa Psalia. Poets: Ann Harrison, Sunny Blundell-Wignall
46 x 32cm – Texta, posca on cartridge paper
Come dance with me
at the Moulin Rouge
Come play with me
at the Savoy
Your clothes
your style
your walk
breath taking
Oh how blessed are we
who enjoy life
This is life in all its colour
Ann Harrison
How can I eat quiche
now it’s plump with pomp,
made gaudy with a sprig
of King.
Not simple pastry anymore,
nor the simple hands that rolled it.
Though, we don’t speak about such
things over dinner.
Suffice to say, the King won’t be championing
environmental causes now he’s anointed.
It’s funny, though, I found Lizzie and her
Coronation Chicken more palatable,
comforting even.
A well-thumbed magazine at the laundromat.
It’s a waiting game, either way you look at it.
Sunny Blundell-Wignall
________________________________
3. Flowers, Sean Stephen. Poets: Leonard James, Gillian Clark.
61 x 46cm – Acrylic on canvas
Moment You Leave the Cave
what was never invisible
had to burn brighter
a louder voice made
way for words prouder
everyday a fight
to make new memories
to crayon between the lines
of childhoods misunderstood
the world is shadow puppets
until you leave the cave
Leonard James
Pow! Zoom! Wow!
Memories of the Summer of Love when
the mood-altering lifestyle took hold.
Rich garden of youth;
poppies, tulips and daisies—
bursts of orange, red and blue—
twists of natural wonder.
Music of Woodstock arose with hippies
who danced to a nonviolent drum!
Flower power trended with
‘If you’re going to San Francisco be sure
to wear flowers in your hair.’
With the peace sign we have their origins.
Gillian Clark
________________________________
4. Some Kind Of Animals, Tim Maley. Poets: Coral Carter, Julienne Lee Juschke.
50 x 50cm – Acrylic, posca on canvas
here together
big small middle sized
we fly crawl walk
on land sea and air
we are here together
we love and share life
in all shapes colours
let’s celebrate and sing
because we all are
here in this place
we breathe the same air
we walk the same earth
here together
Coral Carter
Butterflies, sheep; a low plane roars
A hike: as conceived
But my heart twas deceived
From its depths, it believed
No way we could get
Much better, a day, than this
Then someone perceived: a bliss
An echidna that’s wild; I couldn’t
believe! The first I’ve ever seen
The best day ever, now definitely
has been achieved
Julienne Lee Juschke
________________________________
5. Untitled, Elizabeth Conquest. Poets: Liana Joy Christensen, Soul Reserve.
30 x 20cm – Acrylic on canvas
The United Union of Artists’ Models
are pranksters, so we know
it was them who
broke into the studio,
used the brushes as dusters,
and tried on all the colours.
When the abstract artist
arrived to break up the party,
they leapt on to the canvas
and hid between the lines.
You can just see their faces,
if you look closely enough.
Liana Joy Christensen
Silken
Behold! This painting, my ma’s saree.
The colour of summer evenings
in India, the texture of sweet
fruit flower, and leaf,
the flavour of chewed paan,
sung into one loving medley.
I know as you wrung it into existence,
your fingers pulled paint-thread,
its connection. You awakened
pink-cloud-dreams, soft
and silken like ma’s voice
stretched across all this distance—
calling my name. Calling me home.
SoulReserve
________________________________
6. Sweeping Skies, John Verjans. Poets: Gillian Clark, Christopher Kennedy.
97 x 83cm – Acrylic on canvas
Vastness of the skies with
seaspray that cleanses one’s view
buffeted by the winds—
here a turbine farm would flourish.
Swept beach scape uninhabited with
horizons of blue and white, and
the lone cliffs which surrender to them.
They carry one’s carrion cry
to the township beyond.
Swirls of mist obscure the cliff face
and the pink sands yield to the air.
Swept up in cascades of loveliness
greet the sun shielded by the clouds.
Aloft on the nearby cliff face,
all this beauty is revealed.
Gillian Clark
Blue Skies
Sitting on a bluff
taking in the air.
Blue skies floating past,
reflected in the water.
Again I look back,
on life, whatever;
sitting in the blues heavens,
I wonder which stars
will come out first.
Christopher Kennedy
________________________________
7. Fire Season, Richie Jasper. Poets: Melanie Locsei, Faye Teale-Clavi.
60 x 50cm – Acrylic, chalk pastel posca pen on canvas
You there!
Will you hopscotch
With me into this fiery sky?
Oh, Bold Paradise
Glowing with Promise …
Melanie Locsei
orange haze, as ravenous fire rages
blackening everything in its path
as ash floats, oppressive odour
chocking the air, a volatile invader
red hot coals seared, a reminder
as ghost coloured metal buckles
under the ferocious heat, scribbled
devastation lingers across the horizon
Faye Teale-Clavi
________________________________
8. Black Cat, Angelina Kell. Poets: Veronica Lake, Jane Crothers.
41 x 41cm – Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas
Leshy*
Shadow on shadow
a night time shade
slinking secret, swift and silent,
moving though treetops on velvet paws.
Lunar eyes peer down
pin-prick bright, brimful of mischief.
A sleek arc of darkness, slices the night,
leaps from branch to ground.
Suddenly, there! Chuckling and chortling,
writhing round our feet,
startling us out of complacency.
Suddenly gone.
Veronica Lake
*Slavic forest spirit
Here is a cat, of impeccable mien,
Who travels resplendent
Thru elegant scenes
Walks on wild beaches,
Sees dolphins at play
Wanders on mountains
Where wolves know the way
Saunters thru laneways of
Lost, fallen-stars
And intricate pathways
In foreign bazaars
He speaks to each stranger,
Like they were a friend,
And this is what matters
The most in the end.
Jane Crothers
________________________________
9. Billie, Rosie Powner. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Deanne Leber.
40 x 30cm – Acrylic, chalk pastel on canvas
Billie
When did Billie arrive in your garden?
How did you entice this gorgeous
bird? Perhaps the trees in bloom
whispered a message or the sky
wafted warmer waves of blue.
But I think Billie discovered
the beauty you created which sings
to be noticed. There he perches in the
creative world you’ve made, showing his
magnificent plumage, happy to stay.
Margaret Ferrell
The pressure of feathers
Of flight, of light
Crowds stars
As close as cells dividing
These wings
Crowd the page
Casts poems like shadows
We look behind
It’s bright
Flying feels like a memory
Pushing through clouds
We finally touch
Deanne Leber
________________________________
10. Fireworks and Ferris Wheels, Samantha Perrie. Poets: Shey Marque, Maree Dawes.
40 x 30cm – Acrylic on canvas
When the sunset turns
to stained glass
& throws back at us
something far brighter
than its light, I look up
to see you in a gondola
sailing into the night
like a gift to the moon,
you, sitting in the sky
in a basket
Shey Marque
Fireworks
All day our children
have pulled us everyway
fairy floss ferris wheel
farm displays and showbags
not one choice to please all
but at the first explosion
and spill of stars
we inhale and breathe out together.
Maree Dawes
________________________________
11. Majestic Flightless Prince, Hannah Valenti. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, J.R.Poulter.
61 x 76cm – Acrylic on canvas
Eyes, all I see are eyes.
Seeking, searching beyond
the trance of everyday living.
Eyes that hold the universe
escape beyond concrete realms
to fantasy. A story place
of dreams, of possibilities
with a prince garbed in blue
and me drifting along on a smile
beyond the who? what? where?
that anchors everyone
and everything
to a staid existence.
Gary Colombo De Piazzi
Pride of Place …
The peacock may
Take pride of place
In kingly courts
And palaces,
But does it say loud,
“I strut proud!”
As if colour and size
Would take the prize?
No, every bird
Was made to grace,
Perfectly formed,
Its natural place!
J.R.Poulter
________________________________
12. Three Sisters, Rebecca Johnston. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Melissa Domiati.
42 x 30cm – Watercolour, fine liner on paper
Vitality
We stand together
three vital individuals
exchanging ideas
sometimes in perfect harmony
sometimes in divergent dispute
but always moving towards
a better future
where women hold the reins!
Jacqui Merckenschlager
We are – more than sisters
one soul, three bodies
we are the sun, the moon, the sky
we share– more than the blood
that runs through our veins, the same
we share our secrets and our stories
we love-more than words
yet words unite our minds, remind us how
we love, where that love came from
a thousand loves before us.
They are our ancestors who walk our path
They share secrets of sisterhood past
They love, as high as mountains climbed
so we, can see
further than they ever could.
Melissa Domiati
________________________________
13. Flower Frenzy, Candice Raphael. Poets: Virgina O’Keeffe and Brigita Ferecak
41 x 51cm – Acrylic on canvas
Flower Frenzy
Edwardian garden of asters, zinnias
phlox, forget me nots, wall flowers, ivy.
A suitor’s impassioned desire My love
Gloves cast aside, tennis on the lawn.
Lemon ice and macaroons; side long
glances over the bouquet: red carnations
My deep love. Her return a white rose:
I cannot. Sigh. He presses with zinnias
My lasting affection. Shall she succumb?
Plucks sweet peas: Thank you for a lovely
day. Rejects with a yellow carnation.
Virginia O’Keeffe
A Mothers Love
Their love lingers within us
In silent Grace
Their light shining on us
Illumination from within
Each flower a promise
Each petal a piece of their heart
Whoever we are
With LOVE
We are ALL
ONE
Brigita Ferencak
aka The Wandering Gypsy
________________________________
14. Uncle Bowler, Greg Barr. Poets: Jane Davis, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
76 x 76cm – Acrylic on canvas
If Uncle glimpsed deliberate strokes
Flowing through steady hand, just for him,
Would he stroke his thick, wild beard,
Tilt a bald head and consider,
The efforts of your expertise
The flashes of brightness
In a distant landscape
Of dark yet calming beauty?
Would he see his reflection
In your finely tuned creation
Or would he announce
‘I don’t see bugger all!’
And love it dearly, all the same?
Jane Davis
gone
without her, the dawn sky is a bruise.
in her absence, wonder has become
ache. i am falling in love with day
-break in case i find her asleep
in her bed once more. but the sheets
remain made, which is to say: only
the cats sleep here now. only her
memory is awake
everyday.
Scott-Patrick Mitchell
________________________________
15. My World, David Guhl. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Jan Napier.
46 x 140cm – Acrylic on canvas
My World
There is a forest under a blue sky
In the hills above our town
The Marri trees have brown trunks
Where they have not been cut down
The foliage is dabs of yellow green
Signs state “Wildlife slow speed”
Roo and emu I see graze free
Respect their life, their liberty
Don’t smear the road with fat and feathers
Protect, enjoy our national treasures.
Sally Gaunt
My World
Great green flowings that are forests,
these trees that are so shyly wild,
leaves rough emeralds pasted collage
style on to earthskin, their every
breath a blessing, know in their
heartwood and human rootedness
oceans of blowing oxygen may only
swell when fellers, hands calmed to
amens, at last plant kinships saplings.
Jan Napier
________________________________
16. Paul Kelly, Tony Stanisheff. Poets: Val Neubecker, Kevin Gillam.
30 x 42cm – Pencil on paper
Pencilled eyes stare thoughtfully
into the distance
time stands still
his mind accepting
musical fragments, lyrical words
creating the birth of new work
the same process over so many years
nostalgically he visualises early times
establishing his reputation
a note, a chord, a change of key
a word, a phrase
small ideas developing
From Little Things Big Things Grow.
Val Neubecker
self to self
so you stand, slightly skew
whiff, in front of the mirror,
taking in the infinite bounce
between retinas, pouty lips,
tea-stained cardigan your
mother knitted, but it’s the
hair, so corduroyed, so
70’s macrame, so brilled
that sells self to self
Kevin Gillam
________________________________
17. Frog On Rock, Jeremy Gowing. Poets: Max Merckenschlager, Fran Graham.
30 x 42cm – Acrylic, ink and texta pen on paper
Frog on Rock
My hopes leap, Ribbit:
You frog off flippantly
in bouncy breast-strokes
when flood drowns your home
or burrow and entomb
beneath rock shelter
to miss wildfires and droughts.
Bravo, climate-changing-master
Freddo!
Max Merckenschlager
Holy Hop
A frog’s religion
is to prostrate itself
on a lily pad
or pond rock
and wait for night fall,
a fresh air draft,
a new moon,
croak a eulogy for faded light,
poised to pounce
on insect prey, croak thanksgiving
with a low gravelly grebbit
stamping gone day, a debit.
Fran Graham
________________________________
18. The Bushfire, Clint Carter. Poets: Allan Padgett, Mike Greenacre.
19 x 24cm – acrylic on paper
Hiding in nature’s fecundity are wisps
and core of threat / Awaiting
spark from match or lightning to
strike, inflame, tenderise – flavour
and consume / It breaks a heap of
hearts in its relentless pursuit of
harm, destruction, elimination /
Here, alive as life, you have
caught the bush on fire, flaming
towards opposing poles
of obliteration > < regeneration /
Blotches of radiant paint reflect
and refract this furious
conflagration – as our burning
Earth spins to less of less.
Allan Padgett
Fireballs exploding as bombs in the air
the bushfire scatters in reds and gold
acrylic across the page
heat smothering the cries of trees
and plants eaten by hungry flames
reducing landscape to charred remains
and the threat of its wild eyes
keeps us wary and prepared,
safe at a distance from its yearnings.
Mike Greenacre
________________________________
19. Ed & Eddy In The U.S.A, David Linderman. Poets: Chris Palazzolo, Yael Harris.
41 x 50.5cm – Acrylic and posca on canvas
‘Ed & Eddy in the USA’ –
that’s the hashtag we’ll run today.
Now the only other thing I need
is a selfie of you guys for the feed.
Get it to me quick sticks chop –
just on the road there when you stop.
They wanted a boxing kangaroo!
We’ll give them the ‘Ostralian Eemoo’!
Chris Palazzolo
Ed & Eddy
side by side
with large bewildered eyes
vivid layers to the desert
feathers smear the skies
prickly juicy cactus
stands by as if to say
hey hello
you visitors
I am here to stay
Yael Harris
________________________________
20. Untitled, Karina Sheridan. Poets: Ann Harrison, Glen Phillips.
51 x 41cm – Mixed media
A gnarled tree
death at its roots
but life somehow present
balloons of life spring from its branches
as wasps torment the air
is it a blessing
or is this something else.
Ann Harrison
Tree Of Life
What is the true tree of life?
Where are its fruits, its thick bark?
If I find where it grows, I’ll take a knife
to its boughs and begin to hack
those brazen gems on every limb.
Feast myself with sustenance.
And this tree of life we must trim
in order it may be strong, enshrine
our hope of brilliant sunsets,
seek rare treasures and behold
fresh green fields among dry. Let’s
give praise to this tree standing bold.
Glen Phillips
________________________________
21. View From Kings Park, Peter Furnell. Poets: Leonard James, Keren Gila Raiter.
40.5 x 61cm – Acrylic on canvas
View From Kings Park
skyscrapers like goal posts
stir ripples in an acrylic sky
a barbecue of incandescence
constantly streams to carve
through wind-rustling
velveted emerald and jade
those windows have knowing
this city is alive
Leonard James
Karta Gar-up (Kings Park’s Mt Eliza)
This is Whad juk Noongar country.
My home too. Now. Wasn’t always.
I was a child migrant born across
continents, languages, cultures,
before finding myself here.
In my twenties, I condemned this place’s
dispossession. destruction. mentality.
banality.
I escaped repeatedly for foreign shores.
Always returned, eventually.
Now: older, wiser I thank my lucky stars
that I call this place home.
Here I chose to raise my child, and
on Kaarta Gar-up, I buried his placenta.
Keren Gila Raiter
________________________________
22. Pink Purica, Blaz Delic. Poets: Zan Ross, Julienne Lee Juschke.
75 x 75cm – Acrylic on canvas
We may not know this story, but
it speaks … if not with the tongue,
then the hand through colour, shapes,
into our eyes, on our lips. It perches,
a murmuration of time/place,
a collusion of images.
Zan Ross
PINK PURICA
Did you meet Mr Turkey, in Australia?
From Croatia, he’s from, you see?
A Pink Party, we threw, to welcome
him here. Outshone us all, did he
A royal, majestic Turkey
Stepped out in front of the band
Pink from head to kingly toe
He strutted, like owned the land
His name changed that afternoon
Pink Purica like his turkeys back home
And if he ever gets his feathers in a twist
We just quietly hand him a comb
Julienne Lee Juschke
________________________________
23. Pink Car Church, Radko Medin. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Soulreserve
60 x 15cm – Acrylic on canvas
Is There Refuge?
he knows as he seeks refuge
we are one,
despite our differences
we are one,
side by side we stand
experiences shared
our senses the same
in birth
life
death,
whoever we are
we should find joy
in the others existence
Barry Sanbrook
Radko’s World
In his dreams this is how
Radko imagines the world.
Cars that run on clean energy,
there is no fossil fuel corporate
enterprise that drives the world.
We breathe clean air, feel a sense
of upliftment from the blue-sky seep
into our being. Everyday. He paints
large, colourful houses on his canvas
where we live as one big family.
There is coherence in his world.
And there is plenty of love.
I’d much rather live in Radko’s painting.
SoulReserve
________________________________
24. Gold Plated, Karen Shao. Poets: Hannah Valenti, Christopher Kennedy.
53.5 x 43.5cm – Acrylic and posca pen on canvas
Bright Gold Bubbles
Bright gold bubbles
shine through the chaotic pops of colour.
Encircling Karen’s world with vibrant sheen.
Floating through the shower of varying hues
gliding with the flow of the mood.
Where will she go
with creativity and opulence of her mind?
Will she sail the seas or fly high in the sky?
Or dance with flashy rings in her mind’s eye.
Hannah Valenti
Golden Cups
Golden cups are falling.
Grails of some sort
I should not wonder. Holy?
Only in the eyes of a farmer
dreaming of rain.
Christopher Kennedy
________________________________
25. Slimele And Slimeson, Loahna Brophy. Poets: Rose Van Son, Melanie Locsei.
45 x 32cm – Posca pen and acrylic on paper
When I walk past you I smile:
What beautiful colours you wear!
Sometimes I stop, admire
your fabulous coat—know
it will keep you dry in the coming
rain—morning is the best time;
we walk, we ta about the rain.
Sometimes there is no need to
talk at all! We just hang out!
—friendships are so good—
we walk, we talk, link arms
hold tight. Together.
Rose van Son
Twins here?
Or not?
Twins at heart
For sure …
Dreams entwined, if
Limbs are not.
Mewing, barking, in bewitching
Fugue,
Caressing my Life
In fondest truth.
Melanie Locsei
________________________________
26. The Rabbit in the Bottle, Joong Cho. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Veronica Lake.
44 x 32cm – Acrylic on paper
Magic Rabbit
Slick as magic, rabbit in a hat
squeezed into a seafaring bottle.
The bottle bobs around
like a boat on the ocean.
As I wander along the shore today,
I wonder how far it will travel.
I hope the magician will release
the rabbit; return it to graze
on the lush grass of home ground.
Carolyn Abbs
Stars of Heaven
With arms outstretched
reaching to the sun,
a nimbus of light envelops us
streams over our bodies
gilding our skin.
We can escape,
find freedom,
pluck the stars of heaven
to gleam bright in our eyes.
The world is ours.
Veronica Lake
________________________________
27. Balloons, Erin Murphy. Poets: Sunny Blundell-Wignall, Deanne Leber.
45 x 32cm – Ink on watercolour paper
Insect in Amber
Washed ashore, like a past self.
Hold you close to my skin
until eyes blink.
Stone brought to heart as rune.
Your long ago language
stunned in a queer emulsion.
Call it Deep Time, or God,
either way, a blessing.
Come out, come out!
Sunny Blundell-Wignall
Oil slick sticks to the horizon
In a blizzard of coloured straws
Sipping rainbows from the skyline
Spraying them out the car’s windows
Flickering in the distance
Confetti dripping from clouds
We hold our palms out to the rain
Colour by colour falls
I rub them into the page
Deanne Leber
________________________________
28. My Baby, Danny Tuckey. Poets: Faye Teale-Clavi, Shey Marque.
45 x 32cm – Acrylic paint and posca pen on paper
the ocean has come to life
in a rainbow of colour
swirls shimmer in twinkling light
as the sun dapples the horizon
transpose me to my baby
to create discernment in my day
where purity can be found
in the music of the sea
Faye Teale-Clavi
Over the pink water lilies
flies a blue-tailed damsel
from the lip of a broad leaf,
like a four-winged flower
& suddenly it’s a rainbow
unravelling, flickering
backwards, upside-down,
sideways, this tiny acrobat
& weigher of souls, is it
snatching or saving a baby?
Shey Marque
________________________________
29. Bunny Rabbit, Samantha Muller. Poets: J.R.Poulter, Coral Carter.
25 x 35cm – Acrylic on canvas
Whether or not …
I saw the clouds come rolling,
Rough seas in the skies,
Water pouring forth like rain
The weatherman’s prediction
Gave weather, not the whys …
Blue, was I?
The day is what you make it,
Put a smile in your voice not a sigh!
J.R.Poulter
Rabbit
nose twitch
whisker wriggle
loud foot thump
fur stroke soft
lippity-lippity
zig-zag hop
cotton tailed
strong white teeth
carrot crunch
lettuce munch
rest in a yoga stretch
nuzzle lick and nibble
is bunny love
Coral Carter
________________________________
30. Untitled, Angela Celenza. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Liana Joy Christensen.
27 x 23cm – Ceramic sculpture
Malleable
She feels the soft clay
responding to her gentle strength.
Her thoughts flow easily
as she imagines the final vase.
A break in concentration
a wobble, a push
and the shape
could be spoiled.
Keep it simple,
treat it with care and love
and it will be a pleasing
work of art.
Jacqui Merckenschlager
Word from Home
Animal dreams drift across
the Okavango delta. This
delicate, marbled.
envelope contains letters from
lions and leopards, selected
lines from zebras,
a kiss from the blue wildebeest,
fleeting thoughts from antelopes —
messages from the entire scattered
family, all sealed with a
Baobab sunset
Liana Joy Christensen
________________________________
31. Ursula, Adam Churcher. Poets: Maree Dawes, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
26 x 26cm – acrylic paint on canvas
Cecaelia
Ursula
did you get the 3 hearts
and blue blood
or solo with red?
Maree Dawes
Under The Sea
Oh, Ursula,
I would give you my voice
if it meant I could become
merperson, free-diving
the depths of Perth Canyon
& The Mariana Trench to
discover all the wreckage
of our world, drowned, sunk.
How I marvel at the aquatic
swimming around on those
– What do you call ‘em? –
Oh, fins.
Scott-Patrick Mitchell
________________________________
32. Untitled, Laura Sewell. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, Max Merckenschlager.
30 x 25cm – Mosaic on wooden tray
A world shattered in primary hues that
jigsaw to a kaleidoscope landscape.
The melding of joy and practicality
by a hand that looks for life in every
moment, stretches delight into
a smile and steps past the ‘what if?’
to ‘why not!’. How words and
images can blend on a page
and manifest in a tray
where ordinary turns
artistic.
Gary Colombo De Piazzi
Life Is a Mosaic
The shards assemble naturally.
Literal and artistic talents share
your passions and interests.
Still, space is left for future
surprises and gifts.
Your final mosaic will be
entirely unique!
Max Merckenschlager
________________________________
33. Abstract, Carolyn Shervill. Poets: Jan Napier, Brigita Ferencak.
17 x 13cm – Mosaic
You always meet my most pressing
needs, smooth wrinkles, leave only
warmth behind. No, I don’t mean
that Sunbeam Pro Steam which stands
upon the mantle next to the glass
cockerel, but you. While your iron
has moved from utility to beauty,
it’s you who damps down hotspots,
allows me to glide lightly as an ice
dancer over rough patches. Without
you, life would remain so rumpled.
Jan Napier
I am not weighed down
My thoughts do not wrinkle
When life throws me creases
I iron them out
It’s smooth sailing once I am done
Creating with Finesse
I allocate my memories to their rightful place
An Ocean in a Nutshell
Brigita Ferencak
aka The Wandering Gypsy
________________________________
34. Cactus Garden, Carol Kisiel. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Val Neubrecker.
17 x 13cm – Mosaic
Cactus Garden
One day an automaton
dropped pieces of stone
on to a flat surface to
make a mosaic.
Not true. Not that easy.
Carol shows us how she
places the pieces to
achieve harmony in her
unique and intricate mosaic.
Ingeniously, she uses contrast
and design to blend in cactus
shapes.
Margaret Ferrell
mosaic tiles randomly sized
placed meticulously
around the perimeter
cactus garden centred peacefully
all girded by a multi-coloured fence
cactus delights in the heat
happening suddenly
increasing
humidity swirling at times
heat slowly waning
revels in such atmosphere
making its situation
the perfect place for a cactus garden.
Val Neubecker
________________________________
35. Rupert the Piggy Bank, Terri Fulston. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Virginia O’Keeffe.
20 x 15cm – Ceramic
I am a pig made of white clay
skiing Victoria’s Mount Buffalo
with views of Hotham and Feathertop.
Into a spirit world of white,
snowflakes on my back
I tried my skis, used the chair lift,
tumbled into a large snow drift.
I was dug out by rescue dogs
who saw my blue eyes, my snout
poke out, curly tail wiggle about.
If I save for a holiday again
I think I’ll go see Big Ben.
Sally Gaunt
Rupert Pig’s Day Out
Oh look at his eyes, alert, full of hope
Can I come? Am I going too? You know
how much I love gamboling and bouncing
on the sand, at the park, surfing waves
tippy toes on the board. I won’t chase
gulls or kids or snuffle rudely or lick
your face, drool unbecomingly in front
of your friends; you know they LOVE me!
I will come when you call.
I’m your bestest mate.
Please, please pleees take me
with you. It’s so boring on the shelf.
Virginia O’Keeffe
________________________________
36. Untitled, Dwayne Curnow. Poets: Allan Padgett, Kevin Gillam.
10 x 24cm – Ceramic
This, your enfolding vessel of Proter-
ozoic eons, like a fossilised metazoan,
morphs our souls. So far back from now
it stings the mind. Takes us all to days
where radiating evolution stitched into
place a close to infinite stream of living
possibilities. These ancient forms
fought to be noticed, met same, made
more. Many were tubular, sessile – it is
in these fossilised memories that we
see such lives have evolved to fix their
shapes forever. Your sculpture mimics
a metamorphism – like a Marble Bar.
Allan Padgett
Shrine
black and red, yes
but so much more and
plenty to ponder –
hand without fingers?
stump of felled tree?
relic from Pompeii?
a still born thought?
or shrine to Kiss?
Kevin Gillam
________________________________
37. Pinky and The Brain, Kyle Cooper. Poets: Fran Graham, Chris Palazzolo.
10 x 10cm approx – Ceramic
The Interview
What makes you think
you’ve got what it takes
to be a head of department?
Well, I’ve never needed
a hand or a leg up.
I see eye to eye on most things
at grass roots level.
I can be relied on to keep
confidences on the low-down
and to see the big picture
particularly at ground level.
A managerial role
requires a good head
and I am certainly that.
Fran Graham
I’m going to be evil –
I see Death in that brain.
We danced around the monster
we welcomed it into our hearts
we hugged it though it was slimy
and wept voluptuously at its abjection
for its horror was pure sweetness
our sorrow its eagerness to please
we forgot all our distinctions
and become One in Ending Time
no sight. no voice. no taste.
no hear. no thought. no smell. no
Chris Palazzolo
________________________________
38. Flying Fox, Jim Jolly. Poets: Glen Phillips, Mike Greenacre.
17 x 15cm – Textiles
Companionship
Trailing a teddy in our youth even
for a boy was companionship’s proof
I guess. Weren’t we always put to bed
side by side, tucked up peas-in-a-pod?
Teddies were the pet you could bring
home even if you fancied a koala.
But shame if you took a sister’s doll.
And yet, grown-ups had their mascots.
Somewhere stored in cupboard or loft
must lie the teddy I once had. Asleep
forever even now. Companionship is
what even now we should never lack.
Glen Phillips
In its red fur cape
the little-red flying fox spreads its
wings wide to take to the sky
as a nocturnal hunter for
native blossoms and fruit
it welcomes with a smile
then gathers in large numbers
like a big family ‘yapping’ their
news with screeches and squeals.
Mike Greenacre
________________________________
39. Untitled, Ella Morris. Poets: Yael Harris, Keren Gila Raiter.
23 x 23cm – Ceramic bowl
A bowl full of little secrets
you can smell the secrets
touch the secrets
scratch them
scrunch them
smooth them
lick them
dream them
Yael Harris
He began as a concept, not even
as concrete as a lump of clay.
Eventually cells fused, multiplied and I
became his potter, shaping this miracle.
I say a word: he copies. My dance
becomes his. My accent. My cough.
There is much of him that is not mine,
His experiences. Circumstances. Context.
What he makes of it all; does with it.
I have some say on what goes in … but
chance and the wider world have a lot
to do with what solidifies in the
potter’s oven … and what evaporates.
Keren Gila Raiter
________________________________
40. Apple Core, Leanne Fairley. Poets: Ann Harrison, Zan Ross.
50 x 26cm – Papier mache
There it stands
used now
gnawed, chewed
except for the last remnant of life,
a leaf.
Still bright
still cheerful
but death hounds it
time will take all.
It always does.
Ann Harrison
My smile is this construction of
lips and teeth – what remains when
they have passed. That representation
remains – my content after consumption.
And though THIS is NOT an apple,
it IS my munched satisfaction.
Zan Ross
________________________________
41. Flying Birds #6, Ben Rosten. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Leonard James.
39 x 20cm – Mosaic
Harmony
looking down of the patterns of life
that show the discord created
by factions of men
not understanding
that a love for each other
and respect for all
will enable the prejudices
around us to evaporate
I am but a humble mosaic bird
that flies and observes
wishing to see all down there
walking in harmony
Barry Sanbrook
Flight
titian embers arch into
air and aethyr, ache gravity
chained to an horizon ablaze
as piece by piece
fire’s feathers demand
that the living bleeding land
be devoured by the slithering
breathing sky
and prometheus a-calling
there are no new names
for old ideas, long desires
the poison gods grow weary
Leonard James
________________________________
42. Dad’s Fishing Boat In Mandurah, Emma Dawson. Poets: Rose Van Son, Julienne Lee Juschke.
20 x 43cm – Mixed media, ceramics and wood
Cooking and Zumba, the bubbly lightness
of you. Mosaics painted with crystal joy.
Splashes of ocean blue: coloured dreams
redolent of warm sea and sky.
On a hot summer’s day you ride a blue
boat, with fishes in tow. Your smile,
your happiness, filmed for all to see—
that Disney you love, a fun place to be!
Rose van Son
I’m not too fond of sea sickness
And I really hate to wait
First time fishing, and rocking
While I don’t feel really great
But, I like to hang with Dad
And I love our Friday fish
So to see how they are caught
Was my biggest birthday wish
A snag, a shake, the reel runs out
Excitement lights my eyes
“Mum, I’m coming home soon.
I caught the fish supplies!”
Julienne Lee Juschke
________________________________
43. Zebras, Jonathon Wong. Poets: Hannah Valenti, Soulreserve.
21.5 x 52cm – Ceramic
Being Different, Being Happy
The two rainbow Zebra’s gleefully stride,
Squealing and whinnying by each other’s side
While the others slump in coordinated form
Black and White.
What a boring norm.
In a world where you can take anything in stride,
Why not be rainbow?
And outshine with Pride,
The repetitious bands of the dazzle and zeal,
Because in life, there is nothing more real,
Than being one’s self.
Hannah Valenti
Leitmotif
Savannah sings on ceramic and Zebras
appear still as shapes line
then shadow
drawn across the plains. Their flanks
rinsed in kiln’s fire-paint. Deep-set
colour trembles, even in the dark,
becomes the sound of flared nostrils.
Sunlight flickers, pulses electric
under their hooves as they pass,
on their neck and mane as they blaze.
Such secrets in their eyes.
SoulReserve
________________________________
44. Octopus, Sarah Sorbi. Poets: Carolyn Abbs, Christopher Kennedy.
40 x 32cm – Ceramics
Octopus
The yellow bulbous body confirms
it is art, and eight tentacles appear
to lollop about (you know it has
three hearts), but note the stare-
you-out black eyes, nervous gaze
keeping watch.
If you approach, it will swim,
swim away, hide beneath rocks,
intricate as a medieval castle
below the ocean; mischievously,
squirting a haze of blue-black ink.
Carolyn Abbs
Lemon Meringue Octopus
My lemon meringue octopus
with the tangerine legs
twiddles amongst
the multi-coloured fish
and the purple crabs
Christopher Kennedy
________________________________
45. Safari Lunchtime, Kaley Golding. Poets: Veronica Lake, Sunny Blundell-Wignall.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Acrylic on canvas
Serengeti Dreaming
Hot wind rolls in over dry grasslands
dust swirling between scattered trees.
The Serengeti is waiting for rain.
A lioness lies dreaming,
drowsing in late afternoon sun
her amber eyes half closed.
Tonight she will have her own safari,
select prey from feeding herds,
run with her sisters
through the blistering night.
Hunting.
Veronica Lake
Sometimes I forget differences,
shrug, disappear between things.
An animal floats
while clouds eat grass.
Sunny Blundell-Wignall
________________________________
46. Untitled, Delores Purdie. Poets: Jane Crothers, Deanne Leber.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Acrylic on canvas
One night,
When the moon was still,
And the stars sang blues,
When the owl closed her eyes,
And the breeze laughed low,
The Colours snuck out to dance.
How they danced that night,
How they leapt and soared,
How they turned and twisted,
Never heard their mother call,
Queen Iris was calling all night long,
But they were a-dancing
And singing their song,
Till they fell down together,
All fast asleep.
Jane Crothers
Nests of promises
Colliding hearts
I’ve been hoarding days
Diamonds, rings, gold
A place to rest from flying
Deanne Leber
________________________________
47. Rusty Two, Michael Frith. Poets: Shey Marque, Coral Carter.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Pencil, watercolour and acrylic
Minuet at Tin Dog Creek
after ‘Rusty Two’ by Michael Frith
Beatific/blithe/blushing
bark-fed & in cut-time rhythm
his entire recital
has a two-bounce forward
two-bounce back tempo
alongside a motorcycle ticking
by the water soak
littered with empty tin cans
where any utterance, if answered,
becomes a symphony
Shey Marque
Rusty
by your side
day and night
I sit and watch
rest my head
on your knee
my brown eyes
stare into yours
I pose as you paint
I don’t move a muscle
the perfect model
all this and more
I love being
Rusty—your dog
Coral Carter
________________________________
48. Zebra And Butterflies, Janine Noonan. Poets: J.R.Poulter, Liana Joy Christensen.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Posca pen
Rainbows All Around
There are rainbows
All around us,
If we’ll but stop to see
All the hidden beauty
In grasses, bushes, trees.
This feathery plant
Might seem a weed
But it provides seed
On which birds feed.
It has a purpose,
Fills a need.
J.R.Poulter
Resistance is Futile
A light switches on
in my heart. A spontaneous smile
blooms on my face. Child calls to child.
I count the rainbow flowers and
finally know what they mean by
beyond blue
Liana Joy Christensen
________________________________
49. Untitled, Angela Polsen. Poets: Jacqui Merckenschlager, Gillian Clark.
30.5 x 30.5cm Posca pen on canvas
Inspiration
Delicate lines twist and turn
like a web in the breeze.
Then an inspiration floats
through the chilly air.
Controlled straight lines
create a crisp snow flake
and another, frozen in time
on her snowy white sketch pad.
Jacqui Merckenschlager
Snowflakes cascade in whiteness,
pastels of pink and blue.
Huffing and puffing people merge and mill—
the icy snap is rife with chilly droplets
onto faces, necks and hands.
Softness from cold falls from the sky,
as they, confined in their overcoats,
seek out the beauty
from the shopfront windows.
Beacons of colour shine through
in light filled hues and they see icicles.
The latest fashion wear—
a look with pink tints—
eases the biting state of the people
now rushing by.
Gillian Clark
________________________________
50. Untitled, Kristen Cameron. Poets: Max Merckenschlager, Faye Teale-Clavi.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Paint and ink on canvas
Coral Spawning
Full moon over Heron.
November’s babies cast off;
graceful explosions filling oceans
with promising new life
in troubled times.
Max Merckenschlager
streamers and lights, eye catching
ready to be hung, an array of colours
ready to embellish the room
slowly swinging and swaying above
resounding laughter promised
as guest shuffle and swagger
sipping champagne, tapping
in unison to musical melodies
Faye Teale-Clavi
________________________________
51. Old Bird Donald Duck, Michael Barker. Poets: Jane Crothers, Scott-Patrick Mitchell.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Acrylic and pencil on canvas
I lay dreaming there,
On our warm, dark Earth,
I lay dreaming,
Under that hot, hot sun,
That hot, hot sun, burning down,
Warm breezes,
And I lay dreaming
All manner of creatures,
Passed me by
Some showing off
And some quite shy
Some could run
And some could fly
They all live here,
And so do I!
Jane Crothers
in dreams we dance
in my dreams, the blue twine
of my spirit dances in the ether
of forever
here, the ache of pain transmutes
into arabesque & pirouette
awake, see how i dance across
a page, dreaming of that other
place
Scott-Patrick Mitchell
________________________________
52. Untitled, Rick Sullivan. Poets: Jan Napier, Jane Davis.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Mixed media on canvas
Together
Oh look! Someone’s cut up a rainbow.
Scraps of red, yellow, green, litter snow.
Fallen stars glitter and sizzle in June cold,
sky isn’t blue and the moon has rolled.
What has happened? What can we do?
If I get some brushes and you get glue,
ask Ben, and Annie, and even Trudy,
and we work like bees till about three,
if we’re lucky and nothing unsticks,
as we lift up the bits and tilt until click,
we can stand back, heads on one side,
puffing out chests and smiling with pride.
Jan Napier
A hearty, kind guffaw
Intoxicating, contagious, audible fun.
If the sound of laughter could be seen,
It might look like this.
Stuck, splodged, thrown and squiggled.
Delightful, beckoning, chaotic buzz.
If pure joy, running wild, had a face,
It might look like this:
Stars, stripes, cacophony of colour,
Textures and mediums to match.
If diversity sat splayed upon a wall,
It would, yes it would,
Look very much like this.
Jane Davis
________________________________
53. Untitled, Alex Colgan. Poets: Val Neubrecker, Maree Dawes.
30.5 x 30.5cm – Ink on canvas
a slash of pink
a dribble of aqua
a stripe of blue
a drip of brown
a hurl of black
a blob of purple
a harmony of colours
exhibiting
a plethora of enjoyment
a rapture to the eye
a mini-Jackson Pollock.
Val Neubecker
Murmuration
pattern whorls in evening air
how close we fly together
how we part and reconnect
each bird tracks
neighbours and horizons
in this nightly invitation
to safety and warmth.
Maree Dawes
________________________________
54. Untitled, Sam Clarke. Poets: Gary Colombo De Piazzi, Virginia O’Keeffe.
30.5 x 30.5 – Mixed media on canvas
‘Who are we?’ catches on too many
mouths shaped around the “O”
of wonder, the straight smiles,
in a haphazard world of unknowns.
How eyes struggle to extract
reality from dreams, tremble
at the thought of endlessness.
It is the simplicity of things that stick.
How a line is an unravelled circle
and a circle is a line chasing its tail.
It takes a slant mind to create reality
from fantasy, hold the potential of all
in the confines of a canvas block.
Gary Colombo De Piazzi
O and L
What can you do with o’s and el’s
but play with them in sunny scrabble
spilled on the board; colt, dolt, colon
colonic, colposcopy, local, Laocoon
clove, clover, loquacious, scroll, flock
clock, occult, oracular, coracle,
liquorice, locksmith, oblique, loch
cuckold, luscious, obstacle, lobster
lascivious, clot, colander, yonder
clip-clop, calliopsis, yodel, ogle
golden. Oh I am so tired of o’s and el’s
Let’s play pick up sticks instead.
Virginia O’Keeffe
________________________________
55. Untitled, David Brandstater. Poets: Allan Padgett, Melissa Domiati.
21 x 29.7cm – Ink, pencil and posca pen on paper
Taken to a mauve & yellow dusky gloa-
ming by canvas to being: a pastel land-
scape of reinforcing forms. Is it
possible these tiny dots of red are spots
in our outer spaces, the origin of
cosmic strings, sent by forces beyond
faith or comprehension? Within is a
unity of string & thing, a striking
portrait of chance on the run. Take the
speed of light as your starting point:
swerve to avoid the chaos, sit quietly as
your eyes tune to order, your fingers to
structure, place & form. Alternatively:
fairy garden in a silent glade.
Allan Padgett
Your art, a world stitched together
a tapestry of inclusion, golden threads
of stories unfold, needing to be told
each a fibre a voice, once silenced
(like the white spaces in sentences)
now heard in full colour, your hues,
lines painted by you, speak truths
bold yellow like the sun you shine.
You are the knot to stop the fraying
of life’s tapestry, each brushstroke
knits a blanket of trust, love and hope.
Interwoven words which we wrap,
(warm, woollen around our shoulders)
within the frame of your art, reminds
our hearts—inside we are all the same.
Melissa Domiati
________________________________
56. Eruptions, Debra Long. Poets: Chris Palazzolo, Brigita Ferencak.
20 x 20cm – Acrylic on canvas
It erupted! As if God rammed his fingers
down the inner walls of the cone
and wrenched the searing rock apart,
a mighty thunderclap shocked the land,
fire flashed from the gaping rents
and a vast column of smoke and debris
leapt into the sky, billowing ever higher
as shadow fell upon our petrified eyes.
The mega-bees swarmed from the flame
and broken shears of stone;
we fell to the ground covering our ears
at the infernal hymn of beating wings
as they soared over us bound for Tokyo.
Chris Palazzolo
Ideas cascade through
a wondrous mind
Hot and tumultuous
Ever changing
What hasn’t been
Comes into Being
A lifeline to your heart
Erupting without pardon
Creation of a new world
Brigita Ferencak
aka The Wandering Gypsy
________________________________
57. Bum Nuts (Meaning Egg In Aboriginal Language), Daryl Dempster. Poets: Margaret Ferrell, Glen Phillips.
30 x 15 x 7cm – Painted papier mache
Bum Nut (Meaning Egg in Aboriginal Language)
Daryl, your creative flair
shines out from the page,
your imagination lively.
These bum nuts are almost
dancing, their colours
calling out to us of your
joy using paint and
papier maché—
with plans for more.
Perhaps when you are not
looking I will tiptoe to the
eggs and take my favourite.
Margaret Ferrell
EGGED ON BY NUTS
W
E
T
R
O
D
CAREFULLY ON
GUMNUTS FOR FEAR OF
FALLING UNDER A GUM TREE
BETTER TO BE UPRIGHT THEN
AS ANY TREE IN THE BUSH
AND THUS PRESERVE
OUR POISE
Glen Phillips
________________________________
58 Martin’s Interpretation of Michaelangelo’s David, Martin Cahill. Poets: Sally Gaunt, Keren Gila Raiter.
94 x 64cm – Acrylic on paper
Martin Cahill’s interpretation of Michelangelo’s David
Brave shepherd and warrior boy
Goliath laughed, he was just a mite
But God made him stand and fight
His single stone fired from his sling
Hit Goliath’s head, he fell down dead.
That was the start of David’s story:
he didn’t always do right,
but he wrote the psalms
became a king.
Sally Gaunt
David
When he was ‘just’ a simple shepherd,
David played his harp and led his
flocks to pasture.
He learnt to sing
act with faith and courage
hurl river stones from his slingshot.
Is it what we master in our simple lives
that can make us great.
Keren Gila Raiter
________________________________
59. The Fat Boys, Taj Dixon. Poets: Kevin Gillam, Zan Ross.
21 x 26.5cm – Pencil and watercolour on paper
the fat boys
are a curious pair,
both blue eyed, one
so sharply focussed, the
other in a blind-folded
haze, both with half-cut
cucumber ears and
irregular mouths, but
it’s the scribblings below
that create ponder –
comments too insightful
for belief, or too
honest for dreams?
Kevin Gillam
These are the fat boys – my PHAT boys,
maybe Buble and McGowan … they’re
really PHAT in this world of music,
making me laugh with chatter. Even
their big eyes are PHAT, shine like the
sky. … They only thing I like better is
the sea, and other PHAT people
that I meet there.
Zan Ross
________________________________
60. Bright, Katrina Barber. Poets: Barry Sanbrook, Fran Graham.
32 x 32cm – Poured ink
Melt Down
my core
burns deeply
a lava flow of emotions
that makes me think of the other
those whose fortunes
have never been strong
who struggle with hunger and disease
and the more I look at my core
the more I am pulled in
like a magnet I am pulled in
further, further
deeper, deeper
until I melt down
Barry Sanbrook
Kaleidoscope
Colours abandon the rainbow arc
to perform a variety show.
They loosen up, scatter
Into alien shapes,
tumble and drop,
find freedom behind glass,
a magical, compelling magnification
of tossed pieces
creating wonder and mystery
for the eye.
Fran Graham
________________________________
61. The Abundance Tree, Aimee Dickson. Poets: Rose Van Son, Mike Greenacre.
21 x 26.5cm – Pencil and watercolour on paper
Someone is hiding among branches
of the apple tree! I am excited here;
know there is joy and good times
to come. I will come to your party…
but what shall I wear? Reds,
yellows, blues, Striking hues!
Someone is hiding in the branches
of the apple tree. Could it be you?
I can’t wait to meet you!
Rose van Son
This creation speaks
with clear blue sky backing
our eyes raced through an endless
array of life surrounding a giant tree
bearing this fruit to the world
the artist’s strokes gently giving
words of peace and sharing.
Mike Greenacre
________________________________