Europa Poets Tasmania Gazette No 186 October 2019

Joe Lake, Sleep, acrylic on canvas, 30/40

Little Leaf

Little leaf
Where are you going
Far from bole, branch and bough
Tumbling all alone
On brave wings of umber
Currents and glides
Meadows and streams?
Unexpected the feeling
Of being lost, then found
Two little leaves
Far from bole, branch and bough
Two little leaves
Casting out to sea
Two little leaves
Dancing in the breeze.
Catherine Burton

Love Finds A Way

For so long I wished for this day.
The day our love would find its way.
From my heart into your soul.
My feelings are strong.
I had no control when that day came.
When I found you again.
We walked hand in hand in a small mist of rain.
First kiss, my heart was filled with love again.
For eternity I will spend making you believe.
You are the sole reason I breathe.
My life is yours, you’re everything I need.

Liz Matthews

Joe Lake, still life, acrylic on canvas, 30/40ption

At A Moment

All happenings pass
As a butterfly in flight
Before losing her wings.

You, Day, wipe
The pleasures of
Touch and sight
Leave me moonlight
That I may be bathed.

Let me watch
The bird suck
From the bell flower
And trees be shaken
From the showers
By an unseen breeze
That flows through
Dark and light
Let me hold
The ominous cloud
That hangs dripping
Beyond a hill

Then gently disperses
And the void
Is blue again

Let me hear
Children’s voices
At a moment
As breath-blown music
From a flute
And let me soar
As an eagle
Until you, Day,
Have lost your light.

Kathleen O’Donnell

Watercolour with wax relief, Kathryn Conlin

Painting With Words

A picture paints a thousand words
But what do poems do?
A thousand words can paint a scene
So here are some for you…
               The sun sets in so many ways,
               Its vision, like a dream,
               But verbalise this wonder now,
               As though it can’t be seen.
So close your eyes and I will wash
Sunset from my palette.
I’ll load the brush with adjectives
And paint for you a ballad.
               In your dark, the colours start
               To morph with your emotions.
               The distance, now a shallow arc,
               Is washed by mindful oceans.
The blends of cool cerulean wash,
Like fingers in a stream,
Will quickly start to activate
Like crackling fire and steam.
               This then gives way to the warmer sun,
               The sky is now alive.
               The spice of sparks that touch your face,
               Make senses start to thrive
A scent of mango paints the air,
A tang of citrus too.
Orange, lemon, flavoured flair,
The sky starts changing hue.
               The grey comes in as dewy damp
               Like mist on naked skin.
               The taste of fading rainbow cake
               As daytime starts to dim.
The butter-sun is melting now
And drips on your horizon.
Reflections form, like molten wax,
As coating on the ocean.
               All too soon the darkness melds
               And fuses with the virtual.
               No need to open eyes at all,
               As night-time now is mutual!

Kathryn Conlin


It seems I can’t have a garden without weeds.
I have to weed before I sow my seeds.
Invariably there’s a shower of rain
And the weeds pop up again.

My seedlings and weeds vie for space.
Can’t they grow in some other place?
In my lawn would be a great spot.
Not in my garden! Thanks a lot.

Sometimes my veggies don’t look like they oughta
Despite me giving them food and water.
Yet the weeds are always good crops
My veggies are healthier than those in the shops.

Now I have to weed again.
Let’s hope there’s no shower of rain!

Robbie Taylor

Only A Plane

Your wings do shine of tin and glare
Yet nothing has the beauty or flair -
Of a bird with wings so soft and demure
We can see the style and marvel for sure
Of the soaring creatures with
All their features
A bird in the sky -
Oh my!


Margaret Court

Champion tennis player
Ill health
Is a pastor
Plot of trials and errors.
Took the path that healed her.
We all have choices.
We must eat healthy foods.
No smoking or drinking alcohol.
Good luck.

Yvonne Matheson

Party Girl

Brings my coffee, sheer delight,
Rages Saturdays into the night,
Tired next day, she smiles at the bar,
Gazes dreamily on things afar,
How many friends she might’ve lost and made,
Another shot glass where she laid,
Opened eyes and saw boyfriend’s face,
“Come on, girl, you’re a pyjama case!”
“Off you go, down covers, under,
“Then back to work and please don’t chunder.”
Eggs, scrambled, bacon, snags, oh my!
She still feels ordinary and wonders why!
“Have a good day,” to customer, she said,
Wishing all the time for sleep and bed.

Michael Garrad September 2019

Table Chat

I’ll come real quick…to clean your table,
More than that, I am not able,
Here are napkins to wipe your mouth,
Your other hopes are going south,
Your favourite coffee is on the way,
And more than that I cannot say,
For if I stay to stop and chat,
You might just think of this and that!
So when I say I might come again,
’Tis just with cup, menu pad and pen.

Michael Garrad September 2019


Lives in perfume of fresh cut flowers,
No more trapped in day’s exist,
Close, unseen, feel her there,
Softly watchful in garish light,
And in the choke of smother black,
There, as if to breathe this same sweet air,
To sense secure warmth of safe embrace,
Smile that lingers in ethereal place,
Eyes a-sparkle in gentle sun,
And in the mist-haze of spring drizzle,
There, for me to lean upon,
To survive, to live every hard, long day,
Exquisite, exclusive in this personal union of realms,
She is here, in me and of me.

Michael Garrad September 2019


Standing in my self-loathing
I feel my loneliness.
I feel my anger
I feel my pain.

Oscar Harding

Joe Lake, Dreaming, acrylic on canvas, 30/40

The Meteor

Last night we were watching television
As the house rattled and shook from the east.
I looked out the window. It was dusk.
I thought it might be the house settling
Or maybe a slight earthquake happened.
Judy told me that she saw a light.
I pondered. At the supermarket we were
Abused by a woman who thought herself wronged
As we cut into the line at the checkout.
The woman might have followed us home
And was now seeking some kind of revenge
By rattling the house to frighten us.
In retrospect, my thoughts were nonsense.
The next morning, my wife said that
A meteor had flown over Burnie
And social media showed pictures of it.
It occurred to me that the meteor
Must have been travelling at an incredible speed
To make the house shake and the air scream.
That night I saw on the television
The glowing ball streaming across the horizon
And then disappearing into clouds.
On the news that night, an astronomer said
That the meteor would be the size of a tennis ball
And would have broken up entirely.
Someone on television then said that
They thought Jesus was coming back.

 Joe Lake

Judy Brumby-Lake, Venus, (breast cancer)

Venus Victorious

Oh, Venus victorious,
You may not be like the Venus that people admire.
But you, through maturing
Or through a surgical knife,
May have had your body shaped
In a different image.
With the owl
You live your life by wisdom.

Judy Brumby-Lake

Natural Forces

Natural forces are at work today.
Trees moan, arched in battle with autumn moods.
Leaves whirl in motley amber cartwheel.
Seas heave in defiance of summer’s death
But all that concerns me is my long unruly hair -
Streamers in the wind.

June Maureen Hitchcock


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