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Hunter Writers Centre


By | Read, Write, Love

A Lament

By | Read, Write, Love

By Eva Harris

Well listen ladies, and I will tell
Of the sad, sad state in which we dwell
If looking for a cultured fellow
I’ve many tales of shock and sorrow-
In recent months I’ve looked online
For someone with whom to share my time
And let me tell you my lament
Of wasted hours vainly spent
In wading through the boors and clowns
The men on-show – it gets you down!
The downright scary, the awful frights
Enough to make you sleep well at night
Knowing you are on your own
Not wanting ever to leave your home

Let me tell you what I have seen
I’m being honest – not being mean –
Self – portraits taken where they look blind
Drunk, I mean, not the other kind,
Of spelling errors so bizarre.
Misspelling coffee, dinner and car,
Of thinly masked displays of lust
“I like ladies with a nice large bust”

Oh you can tell they’ve had a few
Then gone online to write their views –
“afeckshunate male who really likes
Fishin’ and campin and motor bikes”

And all of them are easy goin’
​They like their beer ,-fishin, and boatin’
They do not read; they cannot spell
They consider foreign movies ‘hell’
They love their footy
They love dirt bikes
They love their “country ‘n western” – yikes!
Look, that’s all fine
Just not for me
​I’m different and peculiar, see?
I’m looking for a different gent
Who’s mind is of a different bent
Who wouldn’t think his life was tame
If he never went to see a game
Who likes reading, writing, books and art
Who has a kind and gentle heart
So I’ll keep on, that much I know
I’ll give it yet another go
But meanwhile I’m not losing sleep
If my own company I keep
I live a really quite fine life
I have no wish to be a wife –
So off I dance to outings new
With wrinkles many, assets few
I do not know and don’t much care
Whatever that I do when there
I’m happy just to have a laugh
And walk my own distinctive path.

Memories of Grandfather and the Wildflowers

By | Read, Write, Love

Life’s Landscape

By | Read, Write, Love

The Circle of Time

By | Read, Write, Love

Screw You Science

By | Read, Write, Love

Love’s Circle

By | Read, Write, Love

By Julie Broughman

The Colours of Love

By | Read, Write, Love

Thirty Four Years On

By | Read, Write, Love

By Judy Johnson

I watch fireworks two streets away
spring the night of its entrapment

the way a magician springs
a waterfall of coloured flowers
from a black top-hat.

Don’t tell me nothing is as it was.

Distance closes and expands.

A million year eye-blink
calls the light of stars
to my reaching fingertips.

In the dark I am adult
and six years old
yearning for a space beyond
the scaffold of my bones.

In a year’s time when I am seven
an artery balloon will burst
inside my father’s heart.

Twelve months later
Neil Armstrong will take
his giant leap for mankind.

The second hand of the clock
holds each moment in suspension
just before, like a slingshot
it lets go.

The window’s four corners
are cardboard clips in an old album
holding in their freeze frame
that same photograph

the same clouds yawning
into black and silver rags
the same small footprint of a man
appearing on the ghostgum moon.

Dear Dad

By | Read, Write, Love