"Silence" by Thomas Hood

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave- under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hushed- no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox or wild hyena calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan-
There the true silence is, self-conscious and alone.

From "The Penguin Poets The Centuries' Poetry 4: Hood to Morris", published 1956 by Penguin Books Ltd, pp 20

Underbelly Fantasy

After watching Channel 9's debut of Underbelly Razor last night, I realised that we seem to be more fascinated by the fantasy or dramatization of history, than the actual facts. I whole heartedly jumped on the band wagon and enjoyed the depiction of Sydney's 1920's underworld, loving the clothes, glamour and suspense- and the lives of gangsters.

But- even though the rival between Melbourne and Sydney may still exist in relation to fashion and cups of coffee  (i admit i am not up to date on the underground scene in modern times)- in reality, how glamorous would prostitution and gangs have been at that time?

When I think about most reactions to the concept of a brothel or prostitution in our society now- or even gangs or drugs - most people stay way clear. But when we see it glorified- somehow it's ok, it's a lot more approachable & accessible, and it's just on tv, right?

Whilst I love the twenties, I think I'm more in love with the concept of it, rather that the reality..

(Just some thoughts ) x

"Almost" is Ready!

Almost by Emily Mcintyre | Make Your Own Book

HATTAH – The Murray River In Flood

Underfoot,

crusts of dust shiver

as day breaks.

Breath.

In,

out.

Colour emerges: the sun is lifted by

sulphur crested cockatoos

across a kaleidoscope

of movement;

soaring through the blue wash sky.

Below,

a mirror rich in reflection

shimmers pigments as they swirl.

Beady eyes watch fish dance

under their translucent

coloured blanket.

Breathe.

In,

out.

The landscape sighs

as roots bathe in nutrient soil,

spreading as the gum tree unfurls

drought-stricken leaves.

This is the land

of dreams.

Breath.

In,

out;

alive,

in sweeping

brush strokes.

By Emily McIntyre

www.emilymcintyre.com.au