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Cannot say this better than PM has!. Bill, it's a fine one, a rich one. Thanks. Sheila On Wed, Dec 18, 2013 at 2:13 AM, Patrick McManus < [log in to unmask]> wrote: > Hi Bill a snap! Thanks they seem short on the ground and brit pos seem to > be in a depth of depression > Here in Thunder sort of Idyllic it feels like the beginning of one of > those horror movies -old Ray Bradbury on Mars > > -----Original Message----- > From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On > Behalf Of Bill Wootton > Sent: 18 December 2013 04:26 > To: [log in to unmask] > Subject: Bakewell Street > > Bakewell Street > > Corner of Thunder Street, North Bendigo, > twisted wire front fence, groany gate, > springy Buffalo-grassed front lawn. > > Echo-less sound of tin-lid postbox > squeaking open, dropping flat shut. > The slight give of worn veranda boards > > on first footfall from top brick step > to weatherboard number 11. > Idle afternoons jumping > > from one pillar to the other. > Fumes of Uncle Rex's Abbots Lager > 'soldier' cheekily opened in kitchen. > > Thin water-stained plywood walls bulging. > High wall plate shelf. Framed photos, > Young Mum�s crimson colourised smile. > > Her sister Hazel in monochrome WAAF uniform. > Hovering inside in heat. Gal roof stretching, > popping in sun. Unused lounge room. > > Mum's three volume blue-spined > Readers Digest Encyclopaedia gift > to Grandma. Unused formal knowledge. > > In this room Dad proposed to Mum. > Grandma Beat�s winter woodstove position. > Walk-in pantry scullery, cutlery dead-clanking > > on sink muted by flour tins, cardboard containers. > Long rusted tin shed, once stables, powdery > dirt floor, spidery cardboard suitcases. Finding > > Black Sobranies. Striking a match, puffing. > Disused chookshed with dry, ignitable overhanging > vine. Long clothesline prop. Sheets blowing > > on high over Mr Kinsmore's backyard caravan. > Bait yabbies corralled in laundry trough overnight, > crawling about in wet hessian bags filled with pungent > > gum leaves. Dam-dragged carp stored in petrol tin. > Fishing nets, lines, spread out on back lawn. > Spring-loaded back door announcing - ping - entry. > > Full length dark brown leather coat hanging behind > laundry door. Framed, faded portrait of flowing-cloaked > de Valera, a gift from Mrs Hennerberry next door. > > Running the bee gauntlet up the lavender side path > under high white painted wooden lattice. Corner > post of trellis gate wonky in old mine shaft. > > One such shaft took Sonny, Grandma's brother, at 3. > Rich, warm bass tones from shimmying curtained speaker > of freestanding walnut veneer AWA valve radio. > > Kickable gravel path, offering sepia stroll to milkbar, > discordantly bristling with twentieth century product > - vivid ice cream wrappers, football cards, sherbert. > > Turning the page of new colour comic: > the smell, the crispness of unturned paper. > The Monkees. Phantom. Huckleberry Hound. > > Tysons Reef Hotel next to the Gasometer. > Sand-blasted front windows, no views in, broad > nasal radio drone of slow odds on fast horses. > > Serious hat-wearing men in flannel pants, rolled-up > sleeves, alighting at tram terminus on Bridge Street. > Popping into Ruffs' corner store, Beischer's bakery. > > Bendigo Show. Bugger the Dragon. Outside lurid tents: > Vanessa the Undresser and The Girl with the Twin 44s. > Small men parking big cars nose to kerb. > > Birds of Bakewell Street. Sparrows. Magpies. Sparkling > morning light. Groping in darkness for hiding place > in the back of sleep-out wardrobe. Grandpa's rifle. > >