JSMedia - Downunder
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  • Page 2
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  • Intro
  • Intro 2
  • The Visit
  • Hill End
  • Sofala
  • Going Home
  • Feedback
  • Jan 2024
Picture

I jumped on top of her. “C’mon Mandy, I’m taking you home before you get a belly bulge. It's the last time you're coming along for a bush picnic...!"  I coiled my carpet snake on the back seat and we drove back home.

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​Some people visit Broadbeach for games and to swim,
Locals choose the doggy park where their pets can run free.
There are many activities that help keep you slim,
Others chat in the shade of the poinciana tree.

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This large poinciana is extending it’s limbs,
Reaching out to apartments opposite.
Well, not really, it’s a wide angle lens,
It’s an illusion, a way to exaggerate.


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The full moon orbits away to the west,
It was hovering overhead most the night.
Could the sun and the moon be in protest?
The moon still waits at first light.

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Ever seen the Swell Festival during a full moon,
When the sunrise begins a new day.
It’s the most unique thing that I have ever seen,
A new dawn, a new day
―  seldom way…

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I found this village standing on the beach,
It is a full moon but no-one seems to be home.
It could an ideal spot for cooking a quiche,
Might be easier to order take-away on the phone.


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Have you ever been on a rocket to Mars?
There are piles of crates everywhere.
There are hardly any Vegemite jars,
Where sunbeams filter through your hair.


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The sunrise is a backdrop for artwork on the beach,
Twirling and a twisting the colour changes.
A rainbow of colours stretch far out of reach,
On every breath it flicks through the pages.


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Colours are changing, let the new day begin,
Find a front row seat on the sand.
Soft splashes and a hiss as waves roll in,
A crescendo when sunrise takes command.

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Sometimes you see it, sometimes you don’t,
Wet sand shows reflections from up there.
Early morning leaves you refreshed, content,
Kaleidoscopic colours fan in warming air.

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This little dachshund has four human feet,
I wonder if it could be called a sausage dog.
He’s not really moving much― his feet are concrete,
Any night you could mistake him for a log.

Picture

Three starry maidens drifted from high above,
Carrying enough stars to fill the milky way.
Why are they here? Is it a mission of love?
And after daybreak, I wonder if they'll stay.

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