2009 Art and Poetry

Artists and Poets

  1. Adam Bosich / Natasha L Adams & Andrew Burke & Sue Clennell
  2. Dennis Goater / Sue Clennell & Sally Clarke & Saz Campbell
  3. Harry Wheeler / Maureen Sexton & Sue Clennell & Helen Hagemann
  4. Jay Morris / Sue Clennell & Christopher Konrad & Deanne Leber
  5. Emma Tamblyn / Val Neubecker & Sue Clennell & Glen Phillips
  6. Emma Biasin / Caroline Sambridge & Flora Smith & Sue Clennell
  7. 7. Emma Biasin / Trisha Kotai-Ewers & Michael Williams
  8. Raymond Thomas / Gary Colombo De Piazzi & Scott-Patrick Mitchell
  9. Craig Essler / Glen Phillips & Sue Clennell & Gary Colombo De Piazzi
  10. Joanne Schoenfeld / Paula Jones & Sue Clennell
  11. Avril-Jo Copping / Helen Hagemann & Kevin Gillam
  12. Tony Santoro / Christopher Konrad & Jaya Penelope
  13. Tony Santoro / Sally Clarke & Val Neubecker
  14. Trevor Mitchell / Maureen Sexton & Jan Napier & Nathan Hondros
  15. Tony Pedrochi / Deanne Leber & Scott-Patrick Mitchell & Maureen Sexton
  16. Tony Pedrochi / Sue Clennell & Gary Colombo De Piazzi & Annamaria Weldon
  17. Graham Hoffman / Jan Napier & Annamaria Weldon
  18. Graham Hoffman / Annamaria Weldon & Nathan Hondros
  19. name withheld / Mardi May & Jaya Penelope
  20. name withheld / Michael Williams & Maureen Sexton
  21. Graham Soulsby / Val Neubecker & Paula Jones
  22. Graham Soulsby / Jeremy Balius & Saz Campbell
  23. Kathy Adair / Liana Joy Christensen & Natasha L Adams
  24. Kathy Adair / Mardi May & Jaya Penelope
  25. Alfie Campbell / Val Neubecker & Julienne Juschke
  26. Alfie Campbell / Natasha L Adams & Catherine Szathmary & Nathan Hondros
  27. Kristen Cameron / Natasha L Adams & Deanne Leber
  28. Kristen Cameron / Christopher Konrad & Christina Gammon
  29. Michael Hoey / Natasha L Adams & Jeremy Balius & Maureen Sexton
  30. Peter Layton / Paula Jones & Sally Clarke
  31. Jodie Leuba / Mardi May & Julienne Juschke
  32. Lisa Bernic / Catherine Szathmary & Caroline Sambridge
  33. Meryl Harris / Trisha Kotai-Ewers & Sue Clennell & Glen Phillips
  34. Lisa Williams / Peter Jeffery & Sue Clennell
  35. Vivienne Sharp, Lisa Williams, Graham Soulsby & Kristen Cameron / Andrew Burke & Jeremy Balius
  36. Peter Iland / Christopher Konrad & Maureen Sexton
  37. Ken Reedy / Jan Napier & Sue Clennell & Flora Smith
  38. Terry Cousins / Jaya Penelope & Caroline Sambridge
  39. Mark Peacock / Kevin Gillam & Paula Jones
  40. Keith Meakins / Liana Joy Christensen & Saz Campbell
  41. Keith Meakins / Natasha L Adams & Nathan Hondros
  42. Keith Meakins / Jan Napier & Caroline Sambridge
  43. Keith Meakins / Annamaria Weldon & Gary Colombo De Piazzi
  44. Robbie Wiltshire / Jan Napier & Sue Clennell
  45. Barry Tonkin / Helen Hagemann & Jeremy Balius
  46. Cheryl Ham / Catherine Szathmary & Julienne Juschke
  47. Millie D’Rozario / Christina Gammon & Andrew Burke
  48. Millie D’Rozario / Scott-Patrick Mitchell & Kevin Gillam
  49. John Tilbrook / Sally Clarke & Jan Napier & Maureen Sexton
  50. Jenny Travers / Christina Gammon & Saz Campbell
  51. Reg Mitchell / Liana Joy Christensen & Mardi May & Kevin Gillam
  52. Klyrisa Drane / Glen Phillips & Catherine Szathmary
  53. Elinor Doddrell / Sue Clennell & Maureen Sexton & Deanne Leber
  54. Warren Brass / Peter Jeffery & Sally Clarke
  55. Odile Frichot / Liana Joy Christensen & Andrew Burke& Sue Clennell
  56. Janelle McMahon / Sue Clennell & Christina Gammon
  57. Jeffrey Loh / Peter Jeffery & Trisha Kotai-Ewers
  58. Dennis Tomlinson / Sally Clarke & Helen Hagemann
  59. Dennis Tomlinson / Mardi May & Scott-Patrick Mitchell
  60. Colette Deavin / Julienne Juschke & Deanne Leber
  61. Tony Langmaid / Trisha Kotai-Ewers & Val Neubecker
  62. Tony Langmaid / Michael Williams & Flora Smith

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  1. Adam Bosich

 1 Adam Bosich Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2



Free as the spring rivers that flow

or the summer breeze that blows

I’m a leaf on the wind, drift wood on the sea

I’m easy going, I’m just happy being me!


            Natasha L Adams



You’ve got to hand it to Adam –

He gave it his all and it came off.

Any other artist may have tried

Variety: not simply hands

But a nose, perhaps an elbow.

Adam stuck to his hands,

And, hence, didn’t put

His foot in it.


            Andrew Burke



Pat a cake Pat a cake, Baker’s man.

This is a game to play if you can.

Take the blue of sky

yellow and green

pat it all over

with black in between

mix it all up

with the handprint of man

this should remind you

how art began.


            Sue Clennell

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  1. Dennis Goater

 2 Dennis Goater Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


The wind’s eye spies

on my red breasted birds and

lush green hills.

A kiss of grapes and wine,

mandarins, oranges, pears,

softens the farmer’s cheek.


            Sue Clennell



if I had a car,

I would drive

through this countryside,

race along enjoying the scene—

cows grazing in green paddocks,

birds winging in blue skies,

distant mountains.


perhaps you can come,

bring a picnic,

plenty of cake.


            Sally Clarke



The Space (Ships) Between You and I

Cosmic law invites me to dine

upon secrets


the many unknown phenomena

bigger than you and I


E T beings

springboks galore


ancestors evolved

soon coming in ships


dissolving the space

between you and I


            Saz Campbell

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  1. Harry Wheeler

 3 Harry Wheeler Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


The flavour of the valley

with its red and purple grapes

under a golden sun

and masses of bougainvillea

lining the fences.

Try some cheese or

a taste of chocolate?

Perhaps a three-course meal?

How refined can you get?


            Maureen Sexton



Purple grapes explode

against the roof of my mouth,

Lemon ice-cream rains down.


            Sue Clennell




The wind scatters the heads of thistles. The crowd roars and all the bottle tops flip to the floor. Cotton balls fall from the bathroom cabinet to the sink. The red pom-poms of the marching girls float in the air. Blueberry muffins line the tea tray. All these objects assemble: thistles, bottle tops, cotton balls. The muffins meld into shapes like the wayward fluff of pom-poms. You can no longer hear the wind, the click of the cabinet door, the roar of the parade, or the crowds at the football. Only these little shapes, chuckling; colourful balls interlocked on canvas, where they never want to leave.


            Helen Hagemann

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  1. Jay Morris

 4 Jay Morris Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Here fairy dust is

sprinkled in a magic circle.

Let the child who will,

dare to put her foot in.


            Sue Clennell



The dimension of depth

I look behind her eye

it takes me to other universes and

leads me to my nebula layers


There I am bereft of any knowledge:

your iris

it has depth and dimension that leaves my tongue

dry as a desert

Speech has no sound in your place of creation

but a crescendo

through this glittery gossamer dragonfly


            Christopher Konrad



there are galaxies

millions of suns

squeezed into paint

your fingers

absorbing rhythms


some days

the whirl of earth

barely contains your skin

dancing across canvas

suns twirling irises


            Deanne Leber

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  1. Emma Tamblyn

 5 Emma Tamblyn Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2



A confusion of options –

which way to go?


you could take the road ahead

but what about the others

where do they go

what might they lead to



you have to make a choice


It’s just like life, really.


            Val Neubecker



Great grandmother’s quilt

stitched up births   marriages

deaths and other misfortunes

poverty      war     homecomings,

poetry made from life’s scraps

to wrap around our limbs.


            Sue Clennell




A tanka for Emma Tamblyn


I like to know where

the road to the road leading

to my house (our house)

is to be found. For only

when I know that, am I ‘found’.


            Glen Phillips

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  1. Emma Biasin

6 Emma Biasin Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2 


Sun, rain, sand and surf

I prefer staying on the turf.

We need our dose of winter rain

otherwise the water will go down the drain.

They’re like a bunch of precious jewels –

if we lost them we’d be a mob of fools.


            Caroline Sambridge




I sing songs of summer. My soul stretches, sighs

for beaches, river walks in flaming evening skies.


I have learned to love winters of wild weather,

trees weaving in majestic dance, the snow of hail.


I have not yet learned the stillness of the seas.


Waters always moving, always fed by rain

or river, they seem calm as a sated lover.


What is this trick of duality,

this transmuting of opposites into a unified whole?


            Flora Smith



For me the clouds

all have silver linings,

with raindrops as big

as blue rubies.

For me the sun

tosses its curls

and the sea bows



            Sue Clennell

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  1. Emma Biasin

 7 Emma Biasin Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Smiling leaves embrace me

while flowers

dance around my feet.


Earth sings

with those who love.


            Trisha Kotai-Ewers



sunshine brings blossoms

winds beat fruit to the ground

is nature crazy


            Michael Williams

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  1. Raymond Thomas

 8 Raymond Thomas Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2



Music plays my brush

conducting symphonies

with erratic strokes.

A splosh here, a cymbal there

strings weave and wind

blows pure notes of gold.


The colours music play

make me smile.


            Gary Colombo De Piazzi



duplicity to the

a ray on in blue

crayon. i shall

tumble & trail

, i shall star as

mango snails a

curl of the chin

. i am everything

, at the same time


            Scott-Patrick Mitchell

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  1. Craig Essler

9 Craig Essler Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 1 


Longing For Second Sight

Unbeknown to me, as a four-year-old,

I must have been terribly short-sighted.

My own world then so much tinier

that the next farm seemed about three

miles away instead of less than one.

I could see every bristle on dad’s face

and the print big as billboards in picture books.

But now, as the joke of old age proceeds

I hold books at arm’s length, seeking second sight.


            Glen Phillips



Some people collect shells but

I seek mermaids’ tales.

Where ships with spillage cannot go

and the water still bubbles and breathes,

scales wink behind the seaweed.


            Sue Clennell



Final Preparations

Sunset kissed clouds

make their preparations

before going out.

In warm hues cloaked

against sky’s blue

madly scramble

and rush to night’s



            Gary Colombo De Piazzi

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  1. Joanne Schoenfeld

 10 Joanne Schoenfeld Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


My Land is the sea

My land is the red clay

My land is the rugged bush

and the creek that runs through it

My land covers the four points

North, South, East, West

My land is the animal tracks

and the roads that lead anywhere

Here anything is possible


            Paula Jones



My roads lead to mangroves

desert      wattle       banksia.

I skim the Australian skin,

swallow chunks of land

through my eyes,

map it out

cut it into edible slices,

for those of you

who come after.


            Sue Clennell

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  1. Avril-Jo Copping

 11 Avril-Jo Copping Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


crossing the night

the stars are raindrops

glass pearls of the sky, night a dome of yellow

and the wind arrives on horseback

we wonder about the woman waving her umbrella

is that her steed, harnessed and pulling her along?

the woman dabbing each raindrop

bluing the night

as if each sway of indigo, purple, cobalt

might leave a mark

where she has been


            Helen Hagemann



your dreaming

your dreaming is done in water-

a jaundiced sky, daubs of cloud


sucking at blue to wrestle with

bushfired yesterdays, tomorrow’s


blood sunsets, then you,

surfacing, blinking, screaming


            Kevin Gillam

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  1. Tony Santoro

 12 Tony Santoro Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Hidden biography

And there you were

as suddenly as I could imagine


Your painting stood before me like a prediction


The colours of your art dreamt me and

I could not hide under your vision


I taste bubbles:

on their convex my visage is realised


This, my hidden biography


            Christopher Konrad



Under a marzipan

sky on the night

of ten fat full moons,

a solitary strawberry

on my tongue, oh,

my hot hearted secret.


            Jaya Penelope

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  1. Tony Santoro

 13 Tony Santoro Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Chinese lanterns

illuminate shishkebabs

skewered on the barbecue,

red peppers, yellow squash.


sweet-tooths wait for fruit salad,

strawberries, watermelon

pineapple and mango,

served with butterfly ice-cream.


            Sally Clarke




I usually restrain myself,

Today I had a lapse,

I purchased an assortment

And removed the outer wraps.


Some barley sugar, raspberry jubes

And mini licorice straps,

It’s far too much for one to eat,

I’ll share them out – perhaps!


            Val Neubecker

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  1. Trevor Mitchell

 14 Trevor Mitchell Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 1


Mila, the Sea Canary

Did you cluck and whistle, squeak and

squeal when you sensed the diver was

drowning? Were you tempted, for a brief

moment to let her die? Hunted by humans

I wouldn’t have blamed you.


But not you, magical creature, gentle white

whale, not you. Play now in this ice blue

water while you still can. Let me watch you,

while I still can.


            Maureen Sexton



Multiples of Melville’s albino beast

sport       dive          spout.

Great tails smack blue into spray

as these flukes of nature

proclaim their presence.


            Jan Napier



a white canvas cannot

escape this sheer blue –

this art has flown from the hand,

and purchased its empty space,


(shapes he didn’t paint

grow wings and fly


terribly far


            Nathan Hondros

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  1. Tony Pedrochi

 15 Tony Pedrochi Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2



ties itself in

loops and swirls


chase cheese

green herbs


our laughter

folded into napkins

wriggling free


            Deanne Leber





peel this all back. find the point that

paints first kisses, stipulates &

bristles the rush of colour


. i am not an artist, i am an





            Scott-Patrick Mitchell



Mediterranean Vista


This is true Italian.

I can almost taste

tomatoes, red wine

parsley, artichokes

mozzarella cheese.

The flag is flying

above the olive tree.


            Maureen Sexton

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  1. Tony Pedrochi

 16 Tony Pedrochi Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Mexicans say butterflies

are the souls of children

flying to heaven.

God smiles on all

their colours.


            Sue Clennell




i Dolomiti lo convocano

(the Dolomites summon me)

The cool, brisk mountain air

enlivens as nothing else.

From my vantage point

the world unfolds. Conifer and

chestnut splashed with primula

negritella and sparviera.


Freedom is a breath of fresh air

on a mountain in Italy.



tongue tingles

caught in kaleidoscope colours-



            Gary Colombo De Piazzi

The Dolomites are a mountain range on the Swiss/Italian border. Primula, negritella and sparviera are alpine flowers





Beauty yearns to be visible

in gentle mirrors, leans towards

stillness that like water will hold

its image tenderly, colour

reflections transparent and trace

veins delicate as petals just

unfurled, their scent ephemeral.


All brilliance seeks its light, splits

the chrysalis, parts the clouds.


            Annamaria Weldon

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  1. Graham Hoffman

 17 Graham Hoffman Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 1


A joyous hose

puddles lawn beyond

the bluestone wall

sprays Billy’s yellow ball

a bounce upon the path.

Colour it fun.


            Jan Napier



A shape shore dreams

Looking back from this far out at sea

the city seems a dream shore shaped

between waking and sleep.


Sun dance on water, sky and wind.

All belong, red waves breaking

in the foreground, a distant steadiness

of green beyond fragile walls

we hide behind or hang pictures on

to live inside.


            Annamaria Weldon

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  1. Graham Hoffman

 18 Graham Hoffman Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 2


Soft eyes

On days of yellow

sky, when bright leaves float

like shoals of fish, soft

eyes are all we need

to see infinite possibilities.


On days of yellow sky, the hidden world

shakes its cloak like shards of jewel-coloured

glass, spins its random orbit like a dance.


            Annamaria Weldon



Colours in relief. As though leaves or mouths are against the yellow glass, he’s come through with the       colour and direction of things,          as though taken        by the weather’s strength. All this gropes out the blond sun. We alone see the cold day warming in light, none of us above the autumn wind. This language cannot be exact, the way that he speaks it across the page, but I grope out its paths, thinking of a day I                remember – cold, then warm, the leafy autumn colours running through it.       (Somewhere else I speak as though on a telephone, getting down the blue and green any way I can


            Nathan Hondros

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  1. name withheld

19 Glenn Reynolds Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 1



Bowerbird wanders through

a field of scattered jewels,

rakes aside the fire-red rubies

and emeralds of jungle green.


Closing his eyes against

the dazzle of sun gold,

he flies blue-skywards

with a harvest of sapphires.


            Mardi May



a speckled galaxy

of broken egg shell

& one wet winged bird

walking this trembling

grey world.


            Jaya Penelope

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  1. name withheld

20 Glenn Reynolds Lilacdale Rd Hostel 09 1



Now, in winter down-under,

blustered by winds

and drenched by rain,

I dream, in the occasional periods

of warm July sunshine,

of last summer’s strawberries;

only one dollar a punnet.

Served, in small glass bowls,

with a liberal sprinkle of sugar

and a pouring of cream…of course.


            Michael Williams



my guitar gently sings

in this sea of green

a concert springs to life

there are yellow submarines

and i say it’s all right

‘cos i can see the sky of blue

now the walrus gave me wings

goo goo gajoob to you

as my guitar gently sings


            Maureen Sexton

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  1. Graham Soulsby

 21 Graham Soulsby Bristol Hostel 09 2



The rain won’t keep them away

they have scarves




the gates open

and they rush forward

into the stadium


eyes as intense as

the club colours.


            Val Neubecker



Have you seen a snowflake

floating in the blue blue day?

Have you made a snowball

and tossed it into the wide open sky?

Have you watched the way snow

falls like feathers to the ground?

No, not me, either.

I live on the sand by the sea.

I paint myself a snow-scene

so we may imagine it together.


            Paula Jones

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  1. Graham Soulsby

 22 Graham Soulsby Bristol Hostel 09 2


A thought is formed (3 haiku)


In the birth of a

thought in the shadowy cor-

ners of mind, clouded


the epicentre

modulates while the run-off

is forgotten soon.


Clarity will come

With direction and purpose:

a shining pure thought.


            Jeremy Balius



Stories of Me

Harry Potter’s tree



explodes on the canvas

the wonder of Me


roots of stories

and listening trees


freefalling me into

stories of Me


on the script of my canvas

of all of the Mes


            Saz Campbell

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  1. Kathy Adair

 23 Kathy Adair Bristol Hostel 09 2


Not the white album


Forget the white album


this impassioned impasto conjures Sgt Peppers


crowded flowers, hours filled with music


from before the fall


In a Gadda da Vida


this iron butterfly knows her mind


is wise enough to assert the primal


colours of paradise


            Liana Joy Christensen



Many Hands….

Sun rays lazily stretch

golden arms

Yellow light spills and runs

over the orchard


Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, Brothers

Friends and Family gather

She claps her hands and rubs them together

Let’s make a start!


            Natasha L Adams

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  1. Kathy Adair

 24 Kathy Adair Bristol Hostel 09 2


Songs For Kathy

In my garden of music

I plant songs I can sing,

old tunes, perennial

as wildflowers in spring.


They are songs everlasting

with words that I know

and they brighten my life,

these tunes that I sow.


            Mardi May



in the greenwoods

we shed our shame, dance

in the soft pink animals

of our skin,


            Jaya Penelope

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  1. Alfie Campbell

 25 Alfie Campbell Bristol Hostel 09 2



Shafts of sunlight

dive into the depths

to illuminate

the lollypop kingdom

of the underwater world


while the tide


its way through.


            Val Neubecker



The breeze engaged with autumn leaves

Played on the toes and into twirls


Wonderful sounds heard in the trees

Wonderful sights seen in my world


The sun, the grass, the cool fresh air

Be there true, or stories told


These moments bring a wealth of life

More precious than a box of gold


            Julienne Juschke

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  1. Alfie Campbell

 26 Alfie Campbell Bristol Hostel 09 2


Can You See Him?

He sits there watching them come and go

Like the tide, they ebb & flow

Peak hour rush and crush in the train

No one notices him at the station

The homeless man


            Natasha L Adams



Irises and daffodils

Dance in syncopated harmony

Boldly, brightly

Colour my world

Memory of

Butterflies in spring.


            Catherine Szathmary



proving the struggle of colour,

his form collides on the canvas;

we both know perhaps that art will not always

follow the hand’s intentions,

no matter how precisely

executed in the mind,

(none of this matters,

only that the page is covered in words,

that the empty canvas

is burdened with colour.


            Nathan Hondros

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  1. Kristen Cameron

 27 Kristen Cameronl Bristol Hostel 09 2


Forever Yours

Steven Hawking says there are 11 Universes

Stacked upon each other

I wonder which one we are in?

Take my hand and come with me

‘Til the end of time, my love


            Natasha L Adams



I’d love to dance

in strawberry fields

squeeze pulp between toes

leave traces on canvas

a sweet path to follow

framed and pinned to a wall

I would dance that distance

for you.


            Deanne Leber

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  1. Kristen Cameron

 28 Kristen Cameron Bristol Hostel 09 2


Where We Are

This lithograph form you cast

this image you weave

speaks of people

of sweet embrace

it tells the story of nests and homes

where stone is a hearth and

our reach is like threads to one another

a weave through which we are bound in the everyday


This print is a wild thing

it is the heart of where we are


            Christopher Konrad



The Dance

There is a dance floor


Behind my eyes

and a mirror ball

that spins

to the sound of

a Viennese waltz.

One, two, three

stepping, turning and

moving to the music,

my mind is never still.


            Christina Gammon

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  1. Michael Hoey

 29 Michael Hoey Bristol Hostel 09 2



Close your eyes and come with me

to the night garden in my mind

A full moon is the illumination of my imagination

Wisps of clouds float past on star light

Moon flowers smile in full bloom

A galaxy of dreaming here in my mind


            Natasha L Adams



Luigi Russolo Writes A Song

while sitting at his purple desk with

enharmonic notation strewn ab-

out, the objet trouvé state of feel

conswirbled the SCENE of micro-

tonal stars and quarks: resem’ling

rrrumbles and whissspers. he

murmursss “my purple horizon creak-

rustles and crackle-screeches and

my sun has scatter-buzz wheezed!”

the touch is the sound is the sight.


            Jeremy Balius



A Place of My Own

gooey marshmallow flows

past chills of silky water

‘round a wisp of rabbit tail

through gleams of warm-gold sun

aside the jolt of electric jewels

and rising up, the caress

of a cheerful, bulbous sunflower


            Maureen Sexton

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  1. Peter Layton

30 Peter Layton Bristol Hostel 09 2 Not for sale 


Flowers for Gran

Rose is for her sweetest smile

Yellow is her happiness

Blue is for her smooth hands

White is for her softest skin

A rainbow from the earth

A rainbow for my Gran

Smell the flower rainbow

I picked it just for you


            Paula Jones



my Gran loves flowers.

I’ve painted this nosegay,

her favourites,

all the colours I could find.


smell the freshness.


you can’t have this painting,

I’ve created it,

especially for Gran,

her present, for Christmas.


do you think she’ll like it?


            Sally Clarke

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  1. Jodie Leuba

 31 Jodie Leuba Bristol Hostel 09 2



In the beginning,

a brush tip, tentative, across

an empty canvas landscape.


The creator’s hand, filled

with primary colours,

paints life cell by cell;


a simplicity of form

vibrant with promise,

waiting for breath.


            Mardi May



The rain outside falls like colourful strings

An Indian curtain of shimmering beads


Beads, so gently, nudged to the side

On a slide of a warm morning breeze


            Julienne Juschke

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  1. Lisa Bernic

 32 Lisa Bernic Bristol Hostel 09 2


Red and blue and purple too,

Hydrangea blooms

Cool and inviting

Cast your eye upon my majesty

And tell me again how you don’t believe


            Catherine Szathmary



My favourite colours are blue and red.

I also like purple and black.

When I’ve finished painting I’ll rest my head.

I’ll turn the light off and hit the sack.


            Caroline Sambridge

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  1. Meryl Harris

 33 Meryl Harris Bristol Hostel 09 2


You smile


fireflies whirl around our heads

cherry blossom

rains upon our shoulders.

All that was broken

mends itself anew

and everything

bursts out



            Trisha Kotai-Ewers



A single black shoe

among the confetti.

What has passed –

tragedy or comedy?


            Sue Clennell



Beach Picnics

An englyn for Meryl Harris


Is it not strange beachgoers wear bright clothes—

Bare faced, bare chested here?

Are they sea worshippers, near

To god and hoping good cheer?


            Glen Phillips

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  1. Lisa Williams

 34 Lisa Williams Bristol Hostel 09 1 Not for sale


Two Little Vegemites

Dear Lisa, I hope they call you a ‘little vegemite’

Because  I think I’m one too. You’ve painted something

Good enough to eat, and you ask me what I see.

I see worming around some wriggly spaghetti,

And though the Italians eat it with pomidori,

If we eat it with vegemite and give lots to others,

I am sure we can export it like vegemite jars,

To Italy and certainly to China,

where their iron chefs will say there is nothing finer

than “Spaghetti Australie a la two little vegemites.”


            Peter Jeffery



Coco pops

chocolate powder

sugar highs

loving mother


vegemite tick-tack-toe

salty tongue

six o’clock shadow

playful father.


            Sue Clennell

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  1. Vivienne Sharp, Lisa Williams, Graham Soulsby & Kristen Cameron

 35 Mural Bristol Hostel 09 1 Not for sale


What do you see? Me? Paint

is no mirror glass. There is

a moment I was

here, a human doing,

another becoming,

never the same

Now, do you see?


            Andrew Burke



We Only Ever

We don’t ever listen to the weatherman’s speeches

We only ever skip flat stones on the lake whatever the season


We don’t ever borrow silhouettes from dark thrillers

We only ever collect glimpses of colour-seas for our memories


We don’t ever cross-examine the narrator or characters

We only ever set sail at night and let the wind decide direction


We don’t ever let the subject matter harangue the experience

We only ever rattle the shackles and manacles of our languages


We don’t ever masquerade as the talk of the shadow-towns

We only ever descend into evening with alert eyes and hope


            Jeremy Balius

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  1. Peter Iland

 36 Peter Iland Booker Group Home 09 2


Rivers Of Space

It is the rivers of space that define me

as much as the palette of this world

as much as all the reification the senses have to offer


The realm of colour can, at times, leave me dry

like an island in the moisture of imagination


My poems are a pointillist portrait

where the dots are all gone

nothing left but an empty hologram


This is not my concern

this is my new, wild freedom


            Christopher Konrad



An artist’s palette full of colours

or an artist’s plate full of pies –

rhubarb, apple, blueberry

beef, chicken, spinach –

which colour shall I choose?


            Maureen Sexton

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  1. Ken Reedy

 37 Ken Reedy Booker Group Home 09 2


The dark beast bows his head

brings a tribute of lesser blooms

to lay before Apollo’s rose.

Feels all sunshiny inside.


            Jan Napier



We all look for

the ultimate,

the golden fleece,

I think I have found it,

in people’s smiles.


            Sue Clennell



Pure Bull

I am Blue Ribbon, Best in Show,

my head held high, my testes low.

Reliabull, dependabull and infinitely capabull

of impregnating any old cow

from paddock runt to well-bred dam.

I show those cockies what I am

and when and where and how!

Adaptabull and sociabull, I charm them all;

so affabull, so truly incomparabull!


            Flora Smith

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  1. Terry Cousins

38 Terry Cousins Booker Group Home 09 2 


While the world’s asleep

let’s spatter sunflowers over

the eyelids of the sleeping

or send scarlet sombreros

spinning. Let’s paint this night

the wild colour of our dreaming.


While the world’s asleep

I paint the night with wild

colours of my dreaming


            Jaya Penelope



At night time my mind comes alive.

I’d love to go out for a drive.

I’d love to go and see the sights.

I’d like to see the colour of the night.


            Caroline Sambridge

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  1. Mark Peacock

39 Mark Peacock Booker Group Home 09 1 


flying east

its a bird, a yellowish bird

flying east,


east across the scribbles of suburbia,

across red blemishes

we call prosperity


a yellowish bird, a bird flying


            Kevin Gillam



muddy puddles

sloshing swirling

summer-blue to winter-grey

finger squishing

splodging slurping

the blossoms from the trees

yellow red blue

sit upon

the brown-muddied mess

floats upon the mud


            Paula Jones

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  1. Keith Meakins

 40 Keith Meakins Norwich Hostel 09 2


Music of the Spheres

this god of small things is a landscape gardener

of the miniature

spare, particular, precise

the palette mutely invites

take the time to look twice, take the time to hear

the music of the spheres ringing truly in the night

no commandments say you must choose

to revere such exactitude,  yet if you do

you may glimpse this god of small things

smiling quietly in the day


            Liana Joy Christensen



From My H/Art to Yours

Palette of my h/art

makes music of Ireland


enticing engaging

Celtic circles of life


charm me, excite me

exposing my h/art


my desire to sculpt you

the palette of my h/art


            Saz Campbell

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  1. Keith Meakins

41 Keith Meakins Norwich Hostel 09 2 


Nana’s Patchwork

My Nana made me patch work

She sat up every night sewing

Before I was born

Perfection in cloth

Made to wrap me in and keep me warm

She thought I’d be a girl!


            Natasha L Adams



Harbour lights.

Six PM sunset crowns us with red light that is there in pools around our ankles as well; suburban hymns sound across the harbour. This is the memory this painting evokes of the waterside approach of evening, but these red spears are not all sun and receding illumination, they are also the capital bold poetry of resistance, an impression of something possible.


            Nathan Hondros

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  1. Keith Meakins

 42 Keith Meakins Norwich Hostel 09 2


Saurian and sabre tooth

settle down

sink their differences

in La Brea’s tarpits.

Bone idyll.


            Jan Napier



Guess what’s hidden inside this pic?

It will really make your brain go tick.

It looks just like a stormy night.

That would be a brilliant sight.


            Caroline Sambridge

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  1. Keith Meakins

 43 Keith Meakins Norwich Hostel 09 2


Before Rain

Paint me a treasure map, guide

back to this bright ground, keepsake

shapes and colours for fading

hours to come. While warm winds loop

clear sky, capture the sunlight

before rain blurs the lines. Then

we’ll divide the page, taking

a piece each and find our way

back here some day, separate

halves joined, the picture complete.


            Annamaria Weldon




In shades of green she stared at me.

Oblivious, I danced the river.

Hands on hips, feet swift

tempo rapid and hard.

On I danced, resplendent in blue

till the floor reverberated.

I danced to her, took her hand

and together, colleen and boyo

we tapped the floor to the

beat of our hearts.


Gary Colombo De Piazzi
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  1. Robbie Wiltshire

 44 Robbie Wiltshire Norwich Hostel 09 2


Pitcher of Woe

They kneel     pick up the potsherds.

Mother skims eyes skywards

watches tears well

wishes her favourites

weren’t so fragile.


            Jan Napier



My heart bleeds blue

for the tuskless elephants,

lost whales       white bears

disappearing frogs,

and for all of you out there



            Sue Clennell

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  1. Barry Tonkin

45 Barry Tonkin Norwich Hostel 09 2 


Tibetan temple

a worn rattan mat welcomes

the bleeding sandals


            Helen Hagemann



When The Fields Stand Up And March

When the fields stand up and march,

The billowing dust clouds exhale and

Exhume the buried rays of sunlight.


When the fields stand up and march,

The trees and valleys scheme and con-

Spire; raising their fists and stamping.


When the fields stand up and march,

The red-hatted farmers dance circles

Singing: “Hurrah, hurrah, let the harp

Of the wind carry our parade home.”


            Jeremy Balius

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  1. Cheryl Ham

 46 Cheryl Ham Norwich Hostel 09 2


A garden blooms

In summer hues

Red roses nod in drowsy haze

Bring on sunny summer days!


            Catherine Szathmary



There’s nothing like a Subi game

Opponents wearing away-game stripes


A well-played field on muddy ground

With hopeful teams who’ll lose the fight


Where stormy days of rain and Eagles

Leave stripes all covered with mud and grass


West Coast Eagles all the way

Our Subi guests must rank in last!


            Julienne Juschke

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  1. Millie D’Rozario

 47 Millie D'Rozario Norwich Hostel 09 2



I watched it from the window,

as it bloomed

from fresh green bud

to sea of crimson waves.

I wondered at nature’s radiance,

and could not help seizing it

to hold it close.


Now, on this side of the window

it only looks



            Christina Gammon



This hieroglyph is

History drying.

Only emotion endures.

We are on the

Cutting room floor

Unspooling as they edit

The evening news.


            Andrew Burke

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  1. Millie D’Rozario

48 Millie D'Rozario Norwich Hostel 09 2 


your salt inside me

liquidity makes the seascape

sway. i breathe through imaginary

gills, am shadow in a bed. here

, coral splays, plays to create

shapes, is a garden for my octopi &

  1. they are orange to my indigo. we

both flow. we don’t know where the

water ends & the salt begins, only that

we contain both, are the machine’s dream



            Scott-Patrick Mitchell



mustard souls

a man in tails doffs his hat and

reminds himself of his adages –


seek out the green and chafed sea,


walk in bare feet across the

relief map of red soil,


make time for mustard souls


            Kevin Gillam

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  1. John Tilbrook

 49 John Tilbrook Norwich Hostel 09 2


in deep water,

broad-leaved weeds

swing, sway,

sunlight illuminating

beneath surfaces—

shifting, silent, sensory place.


swirling greens, yellows,

I create a dreamy,

underwater world,


visit secretly.


            Sally Clarke



A sinuosity of dragon slinks

through succulents.

Her first birthing.

Other nests are warm

with squirm and squeak.

She watches     broods

curls around cold eggs.


            Jan Napier



this is a secret garden

where vines twist and curl

and water, like magic

swirls and twirls, takes

flight through the trees

a woman in a sun hat

holds the world in her hands

and calls to the flowers

to come out and sing and dance


            Maureen Sexton

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  1. Jenny Travers

 50 Jenny Travers Norwich Hostel 09 2


Sweet Fruit

Sun shining on a

squashed strawberry,

wasted and destroyed,

sweet fruit

never to reach lips,

be appreciated or enjoyed.

Hidden seeds however,

deep in dimpled skin

are a promise for the future,

all is not lost.


            Christina Gammon




Beaches of colour

burst onto my page


goldfish crocodiles

sand and sage


connections connect

to family, to sea/see


waterful colourful

bloodlines of me


            Saz Campbell

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  1. Reg Mitchell

 51 Reg Mitchell Norwich Hostel 09 1


from Connection

The goanna laughs its yellow delight

Shouting here I am

Here is the highway/Here is my way

Here is the radio up loud and the

campfire down low/The guitar and the soft

Singing the spinifex and the salt

and the sure line of the shoreline

Down on our bellies/Up through our feet

We know the connection to country/This particular country

cannot be cut


            Liana Joy Christensen




Follow the spirit pathway,

its serpentine twists and turns,

a journey mapped in ochre

on the timeless face of rock.

Hand over hand across

a night sky of dreaming,

the long climb to sunrise.


            Mardi May




hands have chased and caught

the sun, thoughts have gathered tread,

gripped red earth


together they’re wandering,

painting a flag of the land


but leaving black history as a

blinkered, pristine white


            Kevin Gillam

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  1. Klyrisa Drane

 52 Klyrisa Drane McDonald Studio 09 1


Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb

A settina for Klyrisa


My dad loved to plant rhubarb

In his backyard garden plots.

Somehow they grew straggly there.

Was it lack of water or was

There not enough manure? Some

Plots did well. Those we pissed in.

Rhubarb in a pie? Oh, my!


            Glen Phillips



Mystery world

Beneath the surface

Sea grass writhes

In coral garden

Golden fish

Dart out and in

Tempting fate

Potential bait

What audacity!


            Catherine Szathmary

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  1. Elinor Doddrell

 53 Elinor Dodrell McDonald Studio 09 2


Spanish dancers flamenco

on hot purple nights,

pretend to flirt with the bull.

Passion colours the setting.


            Sue Clennell



in this pool of pink and

blue, where monkeys leapfrog

over you, this is the place of

let’s believe where golden

ribbons are floating by and

may I stay here for a while?


            Maureen Sexton



You are a spiritual warrior

a golden dragon

breathing flames of wisdom and light


from dragonfly to butterfly

your spirit elevates the paint

and the distance between us

is as nothing

I hold on tight to colours

and fly!


            Deanne Leber

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  1. Warren Brass

 54 Warren Brass McDonald Studio 09 1


Storm Clouds Amassing On A Footy Afternoon

Warren, are we going to the footy or not?

From your painting  I can see the crowds streaming

Into the oval and wanting their team in the finals,

And then I look again and see higher than the Eagles,

Huge billowy clouds amassing and piling up,

And wonder whether we’ll go to the footy or not.

A long soothing massage in the warm room might

Soothe us, but if there is even a touch of liniment,

We’re off on your wheelchair and when we’re there,

We’ll boot goal after goal through the stormy air.


            Peter Jeffery



on the way to the football,

flowers bloom,

soft irises, roses

in autumn gardens.


at the match,

stands fill with fans,

mingling football colours.


on the pitch,

mud and movement.


            Sally Clarke

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  1. Odile Frichot

 55 Odile Frichot McDonald Studio 09 1


The Day Mare Dances

All spirit and pride the day mare dances

swishes her diaphanous skirts, arches her elegant neck

glances archly back to her would-be partner

catch me if you can, I am the quicksilver girl

the sun glinting on foam

If I dissolve in your arms it will only be to withdraw

and gather my power again and again rolling in

immerse yourself and feel the surging freedom

release all control and ride

fall into the buoyancy of my embrace


            Liana Joy Christensen



Dancing in the whistling wind

Dancing to the song in ourselves

The rhythm that beats our hours

Loosens our fingers and our toes

Dancing in silver moonlight.


            Andrew Burke



A gentleman and lady

mince and minuet.

She looks for Mr Darcy,

he seeks Elizabeth

or perhaps the milder Jane.


            Sue Clennell

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  1. Janelle McMahon

 56 Janelle McMahon McDonald Studio 09 2


In my garden poets play

and prophets pray     among

orchids that think they are bees,

orchids fringed and tattered purple,

Iris flirts saying ‘kiss me quick.’

In my orchard of flowers

you can taste the rain and

violets bleed into the air.

Look, and you too will see

the growth of such sweet sensations.


            Sue Clennell




Why so serious Archibald?

Is this not a portrait you like?

A painting of her golden curls

and the brightness in her eyes.

Within the soft curves of her face,

don’t tell me you can’t see her smile.

‘Cause I painted her as I saw her Sir,

but I don’t see her with my eyes.


            Christina Gammon

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  1. Jeffrey Loh

57 Jeffrey Loh McDonald Studio 09 1 


Great Blossom Blooming

Dear Jeffrey, I can feel you pulling on your gloves,

But are they the soft ones from the sensory room

Or the tough ones for gardening?

Oh, you’ve put one on from each pair,

And just as you dig in the dirt to plant the seeds

That become great blossoms blooming,

You dig the paint on your gloves into the canvas,

But there is no roughness from the toughness of the glove

But amazing fragile gentle colours

And yet  another great blossom blooming.


            Peter Jeffery



The soft edges of clouds

all texture and air

pink trimmed at dawn

against a sky singing blue.


Today the sun will shine for us


            Trisha Kotai-Ewers

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  1. Dennis Tomlinson

 58 Dennis Tomlinson McDonald Studio 09 1


Colour my landscape

every shade you know,

sunset sky to beach,

sea blue river running through,

houses on the foreshore,

green forest ceding to red earth,

pink lake reflective,


all my desire is a rainbow.


            Sally Clarke




The streets seem less hostile, save for the mud. Nothing is left of the artist’s hut, all the doors and walls are missing. In a state of exhaustion, he leaves his worthless home. The road to another town, a battle of wagons. The streets converge. There are more streets than he remembers. The man looks out and all he can see are colourful blues, ochre lines and carmine. His whole perspective changes. He goes down into the richer shades, away from the battle of his life. Inside the brilliant hues of wool and cotton, the rugs soften him, as a child might play in the tunnel of their weave. When he comes up again from his hiding, he is smiling, embraced by the warmth of this beautiful kingdom of rugs.


            Helen Hagemann

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  1. Dennis Tomlinson

 59 Dennis Tomlinson McDonald Studio 09 2



Life’s a lasagna,

a multi-layered

meal of moments;

high tech,



or the slow savouring

of culture and time.


            Mardi May




it is at the point that the sun runs

down behind everything that a slight

cellophane effect kicks in & a

transparency of landscape is hinted

at, is eluded to, can be glimpsed in

that moment yellow transcends

spectrum to set ablaze day



            Scott-Patrick Mitchell

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  1. Colette Deavin

 60 Colette Deavin McDonald Studio 09 2


She looked through her eye

Saw rainbow cake layers

Exploring the bright blue sky


She swam without care

Past marshmallow clouds

Floating on nothing but air


With a brush in her hand

And a song in her heart

She smiled. What a wonderful land


            Julienne Juschke



I spy dolphins singing rainbows

whales dancing to colours

and I’m wobbly in my mother’s high heels

lipstick smeared across teeth

I clink her good crockery

have tea parties in the lounge

before she wakes

I share poems with crabs

small cakes with jelly fish swirling

I imagine and it becomes.


            Deanne Leber

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  1. Tony Langmaid

 61 Tony Langmaid Belstead Group Home 09 1


Steps stride to and fro

crowd here and there

hustle and bustle

until –

all is still.


I stand enclosed in a space

where leaves hang down —

trees invite communion

and the earth

hums peace.


            Trisha Kotai-Ewers



Peak Hour


Parisians returning home


twelve streets collide

in the maelstrom

at the foot of the

Arc de Triomphe


no traffic lights

just a gendarme


to little effect.


            Val Neubecker

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  1. Tony Langmaid

 62 Tony Langmaid Belstead Group Home 09 2



Although ‘tis now mid-winter,

there are, from time to time,

warm summer-like days

when disaster can strike;

when, having sought

to replenish my store

of colour wrapped chocolate bars,

I leave my shopping basket

in the sunshine

outside my front door!


            Michael Williams



News Item – “The Hard Yards In America”.   

These are cars below, new cars, and this small area

that fills our television screens a smaller part

of some ten acre lot that General Motors cannot move.

Each matchbox toy stands for a family that cannot pay

its way or keep its home, intones voice-over commentary.


I am torn – I cheer for the saving of so much fossil fuel,

for carbon off-sets, a cleaner world and greener, smaller cars.

Are my goals so unattainable that if pursued by some of us

it means the loss of jobs and houses for the other sum of us?


            Flora Smith

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