This will hurt me...

There can be a solid argument made that the moon as viewed on Tasmania's north west coast is ideal for a zoomed photograph. I can almost see the cheese! I took this one in a paddock next to some Hereford cows one morning last week. While away, I will admit to enjoying the process of finding poems that I like and sharing them with you. Thus, my new series: Saturday Festival of *someone else's* Poetry ! Today, an oldie but a goodie... The Crazed Moon , by W.B. Yeats CRAZED through much child-bearing The moon is staggering in the sky; Moon-struck by the despairing Glances of her wandering eye We grope, and grope in vain, For children born of her pain. Children dazed or dead! When she in all her virginal pride First trod on the mountain's head What stir ran through the countryside Where every foot obeyed her glance! What manhood led the dance! Fly-catchers of the moon, Our hands are blenched, our fingers seem But slender needles of bone; Blenched by that malicious dream They ar...

To my mind, crayfish/lobsters rank amongst the most overrated of foods. It's not rubbish by any means, but it doesn't really rock my boat. That said, people must like it if they're prepared to pay through the nose. You don't have to look too far to find a cray boat here in Hobart at any time of the year. Who does she think she is.... , by Shel Silverstein I asked the Zebra: Are you black with white stripes? Or white with black stripes? And the zebra asked me: Are you good with bad habits? Or are you bad with good habits? Are you noisy with quiet times? Or are you quiet with noisy times? Are you happy with some sad days? Or are you sad with some happy days? Are you neat with some sloppy ways? Or are you sloppy with some neat ways? And on and on and on and on And on and on he went. I’ll never ask a zebra About stripes Again

This bloody great big hand can be found next to the children's park in Montague Bay, itself found right next to the Tasman Bridge. I think that it has something to do with man's inhumanity to man. Or something. Not Waving but Drowning , by Stevie Smith Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

Ezra spied these little fellows paddling around the pond at the Botanical Gardens here in Hobart. They're ducks, by the way, not tigers. Today's poem? The Duck , by Ogden Nash Behold the duck. It does not cluck. A cluck it lacks. It quacks. It is specially fond Of a puddle or pond. When it dines or sups, It bottoms ups.

Seagulls, council buildings, museum roofs, flags, it's all happening here! Today the gang and I are headed up to the loveliest coast of Tasmania - the North West Coast - for some well earned rest [HAH!]. As Internet access will be uneven, if at all, I'm programming the robot again to take care of the posting while we're on the road. I've instructed him to scan the archives and post some of my favourite poems each morning. Consider this week my very own Poetry Festival . Feel free to share your picks if you think I'm backing duds. First up? i like my body when it is with your , e.e. cummings i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of...

Even though they tend to dominate my day to day existance, I have been very good and not overloaded you with images of the silos down here in Salamanca Place. That said, I couldn't resist this one. I'm in a Galway Kinnell mood today. So here is my favourite short Kinnell poem. Prayer Whatever happens. Whatever what is is is what I want. Only that. But that.