Pete Spence 1946-2046…does various arts!! His books include:

5 Poems (Nosukumo)
 (Red Fox Press)
Perrier Fever (Grand Parade Poets)
Excurses (Picaro Press)
Grasp (Red Fox Press)
Kynetonbury Tales or Dog Days (Rochford Street Press)

Fast Talk

sitting around and walking to the door
opening it to the glueish sky
of September the sixteenth and a barking dog!
i’m stunned by a crisp strip of Spring air
and sunlight edged in early warmth
a sprig of cloud falling apart

leaning away and talking fast
i’d rather be listening
to Prokofiev or Schnittke
while hunting the dips
and valleys in the kitchen
for the evasive species called lunch
than out talk a door knocker
trying to shovel the unseeable over me
out talk them until they drop!

Survivor!… for Alex Chapman

it’s 2:27 afternoon Central
Railway Station Sydney and sunny

while i’m having a coffee
the lady at the next table
seriously marginalises
with a green pen in a thick
serious looking book

meanwhile back at my coffee
i watch a pigeon dance seriously
and with eloquence
between the gathered feet
of passengers it probably thinks
its a Passenger Pigeon
aka ectopistes migratorius
and i’m happy to think that possibly so!

The Brink.


some buttered toast
the sky limps through the window
it’s 9:23am in the flight-path
of the great outdoors
the plantation’s abuzz
a buzz of light
after this coffee
i think i’ll inflate the canoe
and paddle across the savanna
to The Brink


i bought a mountain
from the taxidermist
at The Brink
it should look good
on the mantlepiece
beside the glacier
i bought from him
some months back
though i may have to
return the glacier
for repairs a minor
leak is cause
for concern in the outer
reaches of the kitchen


i remember asking
the taxidermist
if i could place
an order for the sun
he turned me down
fraught by the idea
of leaving everyone
in the dark! then
tried to coax me
with the pacific ocean
and i refused
the offer of savanna
how would i get
back home?


a large apricot
settles on a hill
crushing it
it’s 8:45 am and news
of the world trickles in
from the Isle of Jethou
where the poets
lazing around
the Creux du Diable
are shat upon by puffins
and not the pigeons
of the great outdoors
where cheer squads
daunted breaths reeking
of iambics and garlic
avoid emergency
a telegram
from Tanganyika
finally arrives
“the restless
are restless tonight”!

Western Fringe.

Calamity strides
towards me
and means business!

i stammer
like an office boy
that i have posted
the posse
registered mail
this very day!


My sincere thanks to Pete for allowing me the privilege of publishing these on here.


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