JSMedia - Downunder
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  • Page 2
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  • Page 4
  • Intro
  • Intro 2
  • The Visit
  • Hill End
  • Sofala
  • Going Home
  • Feedback
Picture

Emma’s left her spaceship, she said the time has come,
Dear thing took some protein pills and popped her helmet on.
She wants to see some action on the Hastings River blue,
To check out Port Macquarie which she doesn’t often do.


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I hear there’s metamorphic rock at Flynns,
From molten lava that’s on the ocean floor.
Pillow shaped basalt with serpentinite streaks,
Mantle made of minerals― a beigy green in colour.


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Early morning you wake to decide what to do,
At times it’s blowy, you could be swept off your feet.
Stroll up to Main Beach and check out the view,
The first taste of sunrise is ever so sweet.


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It was a HOTA get-together with Gran Slam poets,
We gathered lakeside by the river at HOTA.
There were chats and competitions for highest scores,
A perfect day for discussing with one another.


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This extensive flowering plant is European,
Her general name is a Croton or Codiaeum variegatum.
Named after a mythical wrestler, Milo of Croton,
Who carried a large ox each day up the mountain.


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I wonder what this bench seat did wrong,
To be locked away behind bars.
I’m hoping it won’t be incarcerated too long,
A great place to sit at night beneath stars.


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While the afternoon sun moves away to the west,
There are things to see at the Beach.
Vandals came, part of her trumpet was snatched,
Stretching on a pillar― and high out of reach.

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A trip to the country, it’s refreshing on the farm,
Recent flooding brought many snakes around.
If they want to enter, the fence won’t stop them,
Even when wire twistings are barbed.

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At Main beach, pillows of basalt cover the shore,
Once molten rock bubbled ’neath the sea.
There’s a jail that goes back 100 years or more,
Far in the distance at Trinity Bay.


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Emma the Shoodle is my travelling companion,
She always revels in games we play.
She seldom likes it if I leave her alone,
And puts on a performance to beg me to stay.


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Such a perfect spot, overlooking Main beach,
With loads of foot traffic through the day.
Sunrise, moon rise, locals are admiring each,
A great time with friends― like an outdoor café.


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Here we have a moon on the rise,
Behind a galloping horse in the sky.
Below the clouds― a cluster of lights,
The Arakun area locals call Trial Bay.


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Must have been sixty Jersey cows,
Gathering close beside shady trees.
They’re always in a group in the milking hours,
Patiently waiting and easy to please.


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A simple bridge leads up a track to tall trees and a house,
There are rusty corrugations by the Jacaranda tree.
It looks dilapidated but cosy for a mouse,
Woodswallows on the run― one, two, three.


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Fences are used to keep the cattle in,
They also show the size of the property.
And when there are goats, they always win,
On the outside where they munch away happily. 


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Timber posts on a bridge are buried in clay,
This old bridge doesn’t seem to go most anywhere.
You hear water lapping slowly, it trickles away,
Below a bridge that has no reason being there.


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Little Emma likes to catch your eye,
So intellectual― I do declare.
"My seat at the lookout feels so comfy,
Nope, I’m not leaving yet― so there..!"

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A peep hole where the prisoner watches,
It won’t let much light on the inside.
There’s an early morn streak yet it is often sunless,
In a cell where there’s nowhere to hide.


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Here is the entrance to Trial Bay Prison,
In 1877 to 1903 convicts built a breakwall.
In 1915 came German internees under supervision,
In 1918 all were transfered to Holdsworthy jail. 


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A holding cell has walls two stories high,
A place to keep rowdy ones under control.
There’s no roof, just an opening to the sky,
Just like being left in a deep, dark hole.


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Here’s where Trial Bay reaches for the sea,
A sea which can be ruthlessly savage.
The currents are strong, if you’re swept away,
Standing in a safe spot is to your advantage.


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All this rock was once liquid below,
Heat, steam and pressure drove it up.
Slowly it cooled it’s solid basalt now,
You hear waves crash with a bump.


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This local figure is Big Boy the roo,
He saves you a spot when you picnic at Trial Bay.
But there is one thing that Big Boy wants you to do,
Is to offer him healthy food scraps in a way to repay.


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Built in the 19th Century for end of term prisoners,
To built a breakwater they were paid a shilling a day.
Passing ships needed to anchor in calm waters,
With roads few and far between, it was the easiest way.

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An hour further south is where the sunrise is magic,
Here at Oxley Beach the locals come to watch.
Get here early, it’s totally panoramic,
See you at 4.46 early― Totally top-notch.

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