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HR #5

Samuel Webster


Leaving Home
he has become
beyond insignificance
beyond preposition
when all has grown and left,
what is left?

a moniker for all and none,
his words float through shadows
and nestle quietly on dormant tongues.
waiting for their song

is he not a bird
this infamous he
this failure of commitment
his dreamwords fall upon
painted lips and chalkboard wings

beneath a nation of silenced tongues
he scratches like a chook in paydirt
fluttering under stray dust
to mask the frantic movement

is he not the true shadow of adolescence
the infamy of twenty years short lived

Lizz Murphy


(Studio note 2)
The blue cow is a pyramid of glass terror and no-waste refugees and secrets They remain Their real purpose is being there The shackles of sound the bright orange prisons the jumpsuits of suspicion The danger in singing The/ creative view The flimsy codes The thin fracture of landscape The possessed The blue cow

Bush and the Blue Cow


Those boys from Bush are back

bomb-making no-waste principles

turning them into solid pyramids of terror


Refugees accused of a tale of secrets

remain in prison

their real purpose is being there

Joanne Burns


composition method:

i) i trawled through an inner-city newsletter and assembled various phrases and fragments, 'renovating' them fairly often -
ii) added my own images and phrases as they made their presences felt -
iii) used a line from arnold's 'the scholar gypsy' -
iii.a) & a slessorian gesture -
iv) referenced a billboard ad from the kings cross underground railway station -
v) took particles from articles and ads in a business magazine or two -
vi) and that scam email [at last put to work - tho haven't had one of those for ages] -



the wall smashing ceremony via legislation stops rats running right through the last mass grab a pollution project with a rehearsal space and win a double pass extra roads completed inside parliament for pets on exit journeys you find it i find it sandstone locksmith look for a grain eligibility criteria indicate notre dame as the next premier recent cafes congratulate pedestrian driven emergencies on fixed leases impatient beds monitor tennis bypass philosophies for a sacred heart open air swim pools pump trees with valleys of liquor parish services shadow a quarter million power point bureaucrats large volumes of seawater assess them every year a lullaby of chlorine seems dirtier than childhood letterbox city delirious with policy what gurgling miscreants choir under these streets

Jennifer Compton


Fool’s Gold

I am thinking of doing a rural transcription.
I may only think of it and not actually do it.
I may call it something like - On the Trail of Rosalie Gascoigne.
I may, with notebook and pencil in hand, stand by my door, and step
outside. Walk to the shop - looking for words.
I may not find words. But I will be looking. Maybe an icecream wrapper.
Maybe a road sign.
Then I will turn out of Bumballa Road (the last word I think I will find
in Bumballa Road is Twilight. Alan and Geraldine put up the name when
Alan found he had cancer) into Railway Parade and I will feel tense.

Derek Motion



northeast of word / the development every third economic Asia

End----to----End standards but
the second major objective is community
demographers / social scientists will please discuss
why customers that bought 9 versions
of an original Indian melody
also bought the Whitehouse's features,
4 they fail to impress, like Yahoo growth:
all salon haircut & oldspice
snubbing his unrecognised father
as a response
I sure manage to squeeze everything into ppl -
comparative politics & a Maltese leader
but these applicants
don't look far for ideas,
so I test embedded-core IC's on them

Simon Taylor


(in no particular order)

1.“Latham lets fly on Howard, Bush and threat to Australia,” New Zealand Herald, 20 September, 2005
2.The Pure Weight of the Heart, by Antonella Gambotto
3.The Trial, by Franz Kafka
4.The End of Time, by Julian Barbour
5.Qantas E-ticket Itinerary and Receipt, smallprint
6.“HELP ME,” email message from aveus1883@go.com signed Mr. Pao
7.What Am I Doing Here, by Bruce Chatwin, from a passage transcribing Ernst Juenger in Diaries, volumes I-III (so, 8.)

(Using Fibonacci series as mode of selection and Golden Ratio as mode of form)

Louise Waller


Inter-textural graphs 1

Pre-emptive Karma – 131

Sacred cows are slaughtered daily.
Who’s that knock, knock,
knocking at my door?

You are being watched
they get letters, comment
on private harms

between the lines,

Tornado siren – 132

Robber-barons run roughshod -- mulling
an idea over -- been wanting to get it
off my chest.

Reading in the dark, Terri Shiava
has died. Track back the juggler,
fifth horseman (of the) apocalypse.

American gothic -- episode two
not to be archived.
Sirens prostitute, a gorgeous voice.

Running the squares (methodically built)

Kristin Hannaford


big my secret

First always compose afternoons. Each epic
day above demise, calmed by art

Dutiful, desire ends easily focusing fingertips
adagio against black chords. Fresh eye

circles backwards, everywhere beyond beauty

the attraction of the peddling ankle

A constant grace
abstract conditions guide
deeply cognitive gestures.
Appears clear – go!

askew down cliff dangling cycle

air circulates, gliders
about cruise glimpse
dusty cyclist grazed
Abject conundrum. Grunting

ashamedly deciding cycle damage: critical

The method:
Select 2 pieces of music from one composer/songwriter (this first piece is from Michael Nyman's score for The Piano and pieces ‘Big My Secret’ and ‘The attraction of the pedaling ankle’) Using the first line transcribe notes as letters - write lines with words using those first letters. Keep original titles of music.

Jill Jones



Willows are drinking again in the thickness
they begin and progress somewhat peculiarly, there’s wanting
in the melting honeydew.

Would I be bored by a drained windswept pool?
What more could I eat beside it?

But come, ride me in triple nightmare to a funeral
as if responsible for something: lights, water
ruffled and filled
to our roots in the sea.


To have left scarcely a trace of pain behind
what kind of knowledge is that?
nor is it complete to this day.

The doors and windows were torn from their frames
what kind of intensities?
the first shadow on the glamour.

Transcrypt : Ali Smith



the day you’re born
you slip on you
outright ownership
you must only share that life
with not brought
on this earth
as an object of sacrifice
jesus, he was a handsome man
the poet you must only share that life
with not brought
on this earth ee cummings wrote
remembering him long afterward
On horseback of course
he looked magnificent
those that you
and only you choose
get the pink


“The day you’re born, you get the pink slip on you,” Martin announced early on. “Outright ownership. You must only share that life with those that you, and only you, choose. We are not brought on this earth as an object of sacrifice.”

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