John D. Duncan equal 3rd prize with Mary Kille Burnie Gold Pot 2012

Burnie Has Two Mascots New

The boardwalk is a favourite route

For those that every morn commute

From home to office or their store.

But then one day, along the shore,

As workers into town did hurry,

Beside the beach there was a flurry

Of thrashing water, foam and spray.

The unusual sight caused some dismay

And then, to everyone’s surprise

Some creatures from the sea did rise.

The passers-by all stood to stare

And now they saw what the creatures were.

“They’re octopuses,” said Peter Hyde.

“But are you sure?” Bill Thomson cried.

“They’ve only got six arms, not eight.

I think I’ll ring The Advocate.”

The police stood by in case of danger,

Awaiting advice from the wildlife ranger

On what to do with these creatures queer

That in the town were now so near.

Throughout the day the crowds did grow

To view these visitors on show.

Great consternation did arise

When they did see their enormous size.

As time went by, day after day,

It looked as though they wished to stay

And, happy to call West Beach home,

No longer did they wish to roam.

In academic circles too,

The interest and excitement grew

And scientists had to find out more

About these creatures on our shore.

Researchers to our town did travel

The myst’ry of these guests t’unravel.

And in the summer, right up to May,

Young children all come here to play

And frolic with their new-found friends

Throughout the week and at weekends.

Two hexapuses our mascots new,

For Burnie they have been a coup.

© John D. Duncan July 2012

Judy Brumby-Lake

To The Erudite One

I may be large and thus occupy a lot of space

But to you, erudite one, I am invisible,

For words from my   mouth

Do not adhere to your mind,

But drift off into the   wilderness.

I may have read books about the histories

And philosophies of mankind

And have been an observer of life,

Yet I have no

        credence among

        many academic document holders.

Have you, academic document holder,

Ever asked yourself what someone like me has been doing while you were busy

regurgitating

        Ideas from past dead thinkers

        to obtain a degree, a social passport through life?

I, erudite one, may not know who wrote

The Theory Of Relativity,

But I have been learning

From authentic

contemporary life

And have read many

non-prescribed books.

Yet the irony is often that tomorrow’s

Entombed but literary-alive thinkers

Are today’s self-educated prosaic drifters.

© Judy Brumby-Lake

David Leicester

Time Out - A Visit

To Chambers Bay

Walked down to the bay.

Tide was low,

So we could go onto the      

shelf where sea had  been.

To explore the rock; to   

wonder at its ancient formation

                and since, effects            

of relentless                     

erosion.

All about were amoeba, 

crabs, sea weeds and limpets.

On beach - shells of      

infinite shape and hue.

And at its perimeter,       

nesting holes in cliffs   

and spiders’ webs to view.

Returned uphill, mentally

        refreshed;

Ascending with ease as        

will the seas behind us

To again refresh the tidal      

zone we left behind.

© David Leicester

Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay) Winner Burnie Gold Pot 2012

Resignation

She waits in the dark

Infinite patience

Seemingly endless

Ready to die

She waits

Sat centre stage

Chamber, white motes

Shadow

Devoid

the seats empty rows

She waits

She waits

        without motive

Without sight

Without time.

Ire in ice

Bottomless pit

Pinprick of light

She waits

Hostage and host

Heisting a toast

raising a glass

of shadows

She waits without tears

without crying wolf

Statue and corpse

She waits

© Dripping Ink

(Lauren Hay)

Vi Woodhouse, 10am Sunday

10 a.m. Sunday

I awoke today at 6.15.

“Too early to rise,” thought I.

Next I knew ’twas 8.45,

Sun quite high in the sky.

I realised it was Sunday,

O.K. to lie late in bed.

Well, once it was alright to do that.

A day of rest it was said.

        But times they are a-changing

        Sunday is catching-up day.

        Things left undone must be done now!

        Sun’s up, but no making hay!

        A basket of ironing is waiting,

        A garden chock full of weeds.

        Orders come from an inner voice

        Which my mind momentarily heeds.

Then sanity quickly returns.

I banish that voice for good!

I don’t have to do all those jobs!

Can’t see right now why I should!

So! I’ve been up and had my breakfast,

Put on paper these words in my head,

Feel I’ve achieved enough for today.

I’ll grab a book and go back to bed!

© Vi Woodhouse

Joe Lake's Comments and poem

As you can see this is our 100th gazette we have produced to further Tasmania’s culture.

        On Sunday afternoon, October 28, at the Burnie Regional Art Gallery we will have An Afternoon With Poetry And Music with the BRAG Boys.

First Love

A beautiful woman

Came to his country town to stay at the local hotel.

She wore hot pants with legs up to her armpits

And wore a breast-enhancing blouse.

She had the face of an angel.

The young boy was in love.

He walked, unfocused, on clouds for days.

His mature friend said,

“Take $50 to room twenty-nine at the hotel.

But beware, Nietzsche was told of girl germs,

Went anyway and died of it in an insane asylum.”

The boy answered, “I don’t have $50.”

“Good,” his friend said.

© Joe Lake