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With chemicals, trays and an enlarger here.
Tools I once used in the century passed.
I'm showing a picture of my darkroom gear,
That grip on my heart is still holding fast.
 
Sydney’s Paddo Inn truly comes alive.
Early Sunday afternoon where stars meet,
The Big Band has a such cosy vibe.
Melodies are soft with harmonies so sweet,
 
Guitars strum and a voice takes flight,
In each corner sounds encouraging cheer.
As artists gather and friends unite,
Sunday has some great musos here.
 
I wonder if those days might ever return,
Where I can work in the darkroom again.
Reproducing each musician's twist and turn,
Print-develop-dip-fix-wash― silver halide grain.
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Have you ever seen a tool so fine,
Quick and easy, that's just right for.
Cutting, slicing whatever, at one time,
Pineapples, pears― wait there's more!
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This week I'll make a magic mirror,
With enchanted timber to hold the glass in.
There are many moments to help you ponder,
What to wish for and where to begin?
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It dips its bill in the bird pond here,
So majestic, so proud, so still.
A gentle splash when fish draw near,
Lunch for one rather Royal Spoonbill.
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Here lies a sleeping giant, so still,
He rests inside the caldera deep,
Mt Warning offers a shadowy veil
Nature's lullaby sent him to sleep.
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With Lulu and Adelle, over coffee we chat,
This spot is magic, so calm, so grand.
Currumbin Creek seems the place to be at,
Where huge fig trees stretch over the sand.
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I'm bored with bridges with pylons,
Unlike telegraph poles on the shore.
A pole on land has a hint of male dogs,
Nothing to sniff here, just barnacles galore.
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​Such a lovely park on the town’s quiet side,
This island in the stream seems pretty worn.
Locals like to share a yarn or two with pride,
About these bin chickens dusk to dawn.
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We're heading east to Currumbin Alley
To see what draws the surfers out there
We're under motor so kayaking's easy
Cos there’s not a lot of time to spare.
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"Did you see that?" Emma seemed to say,
A distraction from the smell that just hit me.
I'd better find a spot where you can do ballet,
Up ahead-- beside that Marshland tree.
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Emma and I are lured by water swishing a gentle ride,
Soft white clouds fill a heavenly blue expanse.
"By the creek's soft murmur, we wander, we glide,
Puffy clouds cradling― indeed nature’s romance.
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