Show Me The Treasure

Home Archive for May 2022

at 13:09

Clouded Skies: Rescaling North Head

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Sydney Harbour’s North Head is always worth contemplating from any distance, the sandstone cliff faces are chameleons in the changing late afternoon light, and mostly upstage both Middle Head and the sky, but this late autumn afternoon cloudscape, with its impossible volume of cold grey cumulus under a vast acreage of pink-mauve tinted stratus, seems to the kind

at 15:51

Cold Times and Everyday Ambiguity

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There must be limits to insult even for inanimate objects, and I find no reason one should boast about being rude to Ice, yes, it it cold, and lacking in conversation, but for summer drinks, cold compresses and something to rattle in a glass, ice is hard to surpass. Vain boasting of this kind can’t last. There must be

at 15:26

Crow Bones and Green Grass - A Whitmanesque Curiosity

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Crow Bones and Green Grass - A Whitmanesque Curiosity Image

Crows have been dropping clean-picked bones into my garden. Spying this possibly macabre undoing of the buried, naturally brings to mind Walt Whatman’s Leaves of Grass. While it’s unlikely the earth has extruded what seems to be a duck femur, the ground is supersaturated and seven eighths mud after so many weeks of rain, anything, bone or water

at 11:57

A Glass of Clear Light Please

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A cocktail of wood grain and shadow, what better beverage for a little after midday - as the fall of light here reveals, than a patterned glass of clear light, in its wavering partnership with the cutting board’s plain surface. A cocktail of wood grain and shadow, what better beverage for a little after midday - as the fall

at 15:47

Blue Hills - Bart Brassica’s Alternative Italian Travel Scheme

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Blue Hills - Bart Brassica’s Alternative Italian Travel Scheme Image

Bart has been thinking of ways to break into Agri-tourism, and has fancied Lambertville as a kind of Faux Firenze - though how the Delaware and the Arno might be confused relies entirely on Bart not having ever been further than Swedesboro New Jersey, just once and at the time he was packed, he says by a mistake

at 16:10

A Bird in The Foot is Worth Two on the Barn

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A Bird in The Foot is Worth Two on the Barn Image

Bart Brassica, always one to take advantage of any proverbial good fortune has been trying to attract song birds to Brass Acres for some time, and has found the Big Foot has been adopted as a nest, or perhaps a rest in place for this Blue-Eyed Tin Warblette. Bart is aware that, as a rule, Tin Warblettes, rarely

at 16:32

Apple of My Eye Level

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Bart Brassica’s farming ethos has long been Crops One Can Look Up To, and here he has applied himself to good effect with what he calls his Apple of My Eye Level - an Appellation for which he has applied for a Pattern Ending, Mavis Eggwhistle has said, tartly, that Bart has designs on himself, which he takes

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Curiosity Cabinet

As a child I thought there was a jewel box hidden in my parent's house, I imagined there was a cache of pink cut glass rings - the ones with adjustable soft metal sizing - laid out in pink foam in the nailed tight plyboard box in my brothers' walk-in robe.

Years later, I realised the box was really the back of the bathroom cabinet. I got a lot of enjoyment out of those pink glass jewels that weren't there. Imaginery treasures are curiously satisfying.

Here is a central point where someone who might be interetested can see what bits of words, some links to work published in journals and ezines, and images that I have made.

Absent Knowledge

We are talking about knowing certain facts,

and he says, I know all that or used to,

it is only that I can’t remember.

Is this not knowing or forgetting

what you know? Perhaps the head holds

a trace of what was there,

perhaps it is there but can’t find

the way out; maybe it was there but left,

or there was a rumour that it was coming

but never did,

like the promised holiday ,

in Pennant Hills. At eight years old

I would lie in bed at night a hardly contained

precipice of anticipation that time

would take me to Pennant Hills and a big house

with a swimming pool. I can see

the façade of the house, the curve

of suburban street, where that house

I never went to might be - or even was.

Though I know I never went, maybe

somewhere, there is an unborn memory

of being there, and I am thwarted by absent knowledge

from enjoying what I did not do.

Carol Jenkins

From Voices from the Meadow Wollongong Workshop Anthology 2007 ( Five Islands Press)

Bambiraptor

The Going Down Swinging # 25 -special double CD edition has at last unwrappped itself in Sydney, with a lauch at the Last Bastion of Civilisation last Wednseday 25 September. I still don't know what is in this CD it apart from my spoken word poem Bambiraptor as I was incarcarated in an invention called Good Mummydom. I hope every one else had a good time at the launch party.

The fossil Bambiraptor’s importance in the evolutional of dexterity and the dissonant name gave me this rave by Blanche (Street Car Named Desire) - here she makes a play for Bambiraptor believing his tough and powerful persona is lined with tenderness, like Stanley. This poem is one of my bids to get fossils to colonise and take over the myth as the substratum of literature.

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