Gilly Flower

Sitting down to write a piece for my blog was not part of tonight's plan. The idea was to join fellow writers and poetry lovers for Launceston's annual Poetry Cup - that much anticipated Festival event where the winner is decided by the loudest and most enthusiastic audience applause.

I even had a poem to read, one I've been practising on and off all day to ensure I performed to perfection on the night. It's a poem (a political poem naturally) that I wrote several weeks ago, but which those at last Saturday's writing workshop afternoon suggested was 'a good Cup poem'.

This event does tend to attract entries that deal with topical and current affairs, be they global or local, so it's fair to assume Tassie's political situation will be well represented this evening, as will the global financial crisis, and America's presidential (and Wall Street) respective soap operas.

So what happened? Well, admittedly I was running a little late (I'll blame J for returning home late from his fishing trip which delayed dinner), but I followed the directions on the flyer, and drove up and down the road where the Bowls Club venue was supposed to be, but I'm blowed if I could find it. No signs anywhere, no obvious car parks, no familiar-looking vehicles. Nothing at all. And because I was really late by this time I wimped out and drove home.

Doubtless somebody will tell me tomorrow where I should have gone, and what a great evening I missed. In the meantime this satirical take on our late and unlamented premier is what could (at a very large pinch) have won me the Cup!

Spin doctors

They can crop his face
from the photos
airbrush him from the picture
but it seems
his fingerprints
cannot so easily be coaxed
from the records.

We're rolling up the blinds
you see,
exposing the view,
and it ain’t pretty.

These manipulative medics
don't want the world
to witness how
an eye for a lie,
or a tooth for a sooth
are extracted.