It’s not often that you are sitting quietly on the couch watching the news, then find yourself confronted by a streaker wearing nothing but Doc Martins and a smile.
Well, not every night, anyway.
I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...
Comments
I just hope that Henry doesn't rebel against you as a teenager after finding out that u posted a butt-naked pic of him on the global platform.
One year we went to the Boxing Day test - the highlight of the day was the streaker.
I think Henry will have to choose more appropriate footwear in future if he has any chance of outrunning the streaker tacklers.
My kids always preferred being nude--me too, when I was a kid!
Weddings are nightmares.
And I still recall Helen D'Amico very fondly.
I regret to say that the news programs I watch feature ladies who never wear jackets.
Nudist colonies can live without me, I think.
Nice shot !
If necessary, I will paste a tasteful nude of myself as a gesture of goodwill to him.