Open Division Winner

Oceans of Ethnic Harmony
by Barbara Taylor (Nimbin)
There’s a sensory picture in my mind:
a red sun sinking behind silhouetted palms,
maybe water fountain trickles and
meditations in a Japanese rock garden,
of feluccas skimming rippled waters on
the great River Nile: sometimes tapas
flavours and Moorish walls, flamenco
frenzy; jazz and blues, a smoky nightclub,
the didge, dreaming under the Southern Cross sky;
bagpipes, sitar, guitar; bousouki, or flutes
and strings; gourds – drum rhythms from
West Africa, Indian or Celtic dirge. Folk songs:
all eclectic music. Emotive evocative
sounds connecting souls of nations
from countries near and far;
instrumental visions – one world musical
tribal treats transposed to vivid images
- dreams manifested while listening to
selected tracks of Lucky Oceans on our
treasured ABC. He takes me on a harmonic
journey, from east to west and north
to south, triggering memories and tastes
of distant places in a rich diversity of tones.
I’m subsumed on therapeutic global trips
around Daily Planet. Most afternoons
from three to four, I’m tuned in there,
blissed out, floating easily adrift on
mellifluous auditory waves of celebration
in a multicultural music, song and dance.

Other Entries

Little Towns
by Melissa Cliff (Goonellabah)
(Inspired by the ABC TV program: Reality Bites – A Loo with a View)

God bless little towns,
Lest we forget,
Heart of Australia,
Nearly spent,
Folk from these little towns built,
Our beauteous country,
Riding on the sheep’s back,
Bold and free.

When called,
They sent their boys to war,
When our nation,
Was under attack,
Wild colonialists marching to,
The bustling big cities.
With pride on their faces,
And a swag on their backs.

Now a threat has emerged,
To take out youth away,
It is commonplace in all small towns,
It happens every day.
The flowers of the country,
Are forced to move away,
When the mill or factory closes down,
Poor souls can’t make them pay.

Maybe God has forgotten,
The battler in the bush,
Who silently struggles on,
When most would have given it the push,
What the drought hasn’t taken,
The banks will surely mortgage away,
Many have already said,
Little towns have had their day.

So lest we forget.
Little towns and all they’ve done,
They made this country great,
Through the blood and sweat and tears,
Of their daughters and their sons.

A is for Aunty
by Fiona Pierce (Kyogle)

Performance section finalist

I am writing this as a spokesman
for the fans of the ABC
those who bravely
ride the waves
of changes in policy
and managerial instability
patiently
waiting for their window on the world
to find its feet.

Imagine our pleasure when dear old Aunty
Rises once again
In a blaze of glory.
We ignore the fact that she is in a bit of a state
worried she’s late
as she dusts off the evidence
left by the rough and tumble of
political debate
we’re used to it
we’re family.

In her 70th year
the poor old dear
is stretching a meagre pension
doing her best to make shifting ends meet
a situation she is often embarrassed to mention.
However what we the fans
know
and would have you remember
is that she holds the key to the future
tight in her hands
for what we are seeing and hearing
comes from the purchases she manages to make
they give psychic shape
to the
Australian landscape.

So give homage to her glorious past
and complain loudly with letters
to parliamentary members
about financial and ideological fetters
cramping our dear ABC’s future.

Talkback Addiction
Where it’s safe to share
by Fiona Wyllie (ABC North Coast, Lismore)

joy
help
news
guilt
sorrow
laughter
sorrow
pleasure
anger
colour
danger
friendship
advice
passion
knowledge
excitement
embarrassment
company
and
community

On Occasion
By Catherine Stewart (Lismore) Performance Section Winner

With most kind permission
I’ll take an occasion
To speak of transmission
By ABC Classic FM –
A radio station
Where programmes are woven
From music and comment. These aren’t
In the least an intrusion –
They leave invitation
Unfailingly open; suggestive and planned
To incorporate all the demands
Of the various
Movements and workings
You’ld most have esteemed.

Have you eve been able
To - hourly – anticipate
Methods to concentrate
Timeless accompaniment –
‘Pleasure’, that ‘never could’ surfeit or cloy
Have your ever been able
To summon, at finger tip,
Sound so full-swollen;
While sessions of thought
Would lapse, were it not
For reprieve – phrased so sweet…
For renditions unstinted,
You’d instantly offer
A highest endorsement –
Designed to commend.

Being able to amplify
Aspects that, notably,
Supplement – gratify,
Shape and expand
A sense of location,
Implicit, in rooms
Where the listening widens, and forms
Scope for transition
Not easy to quantify –
Hallways and chambers, evoked
Where distinct composition
Confirms derivation – thus
Serving, imaginable, to extend.

Should music be termed
By frail notions, that classify
As ‘incidental’, a sequence played out
To ratify changes of scene and scenario?
Should there be doubt,
Despite definition,
The radio answers: provides ‘resolution’.

Without fast revision
It’s mid-afternoon, and
You stand in the kitchen –
Meanwhile, there’s an air
Of piano, by Chopin –
Or what might quite well be
Piano, by Chopin –
Just as, incidentally,
You’ll be observing
The milk of an onion;
The feather-fine remnant
Of peeled garlic clove…

These details are given
A layered connection
Combined in a pattern
Of preoccupation, distilled:
Distilled into music –
Revealed.

And in recollection,
Imagining, also,
On certain clear evenings, you’ld hear,
When living was never more easy;
As sometimes,
A bracket of music asserted –
There, near
Thee coast’s break
Of easterly headlands. You’ld get
Back into the car;
Turn the key’s single click
Towards ignition – the radio tuned
To Classic FM,
So the late weekend sound
Of the jazz – jazz tracking –
Plays over your stops.
As part of your sunset,
A saxophone plays,
Variations in mind, once you’ve taken
A chance to retrace
The distance – reiterate
Improvisation.

‘Timeless’ accompaniment
Pleasures – permits of –
Each hour’s restitution,
Esteeming a measure
Surpassing completion
Of programmed transmission.
The measures; the cadences
Last – their composure
Endures. An occasion
For kindest permission
Assures recognition –
Asks, continuation, of resonance:
ABC Classic FM, being distinctive
In tone, is
In tone, also
Composite.

Morning Music
by Valerie Dunstan (Lismore)

To start the day feeling completely alive
Choose ABC Classic and listen to Clive.
It’s not just the music, it’s any pretext
To tune in and wonder, “What will he say next!”

With music that’s chosen by Felix the “king”,
We’ve instruments, trios and people who sing.
But Clive adds a touch that keeps bringing me back
For tidbits and snippets that others just lack.

A touch controversial, but isn’t that good?
He stirs up my brain cells to think – as I should!
But now just in case this might go to his head…
I think I’ll try Radio National instead.

Aliens
by Rod Gibson (Maclean)

1
Perceptive aliens,
monitoring Earth
from a distant galaxy
have noticed
that the ABC
has changed the music
for the evening news

.2
Aliens prefer the ABC,
it’s more civilized
than the commercial channels
and because of
the ABC
they have decided
not to invade

.3
Aliens like
Phillip Adams
Classic FM
and
Geraldine Doogue

4
We are
not alone.
Aliens
Watch ABC TV
with relish,
sucking up
weak signals
like spaghetti.

5
Aliens
might hear
this poem
one
interstellar
evening. The
regionals
are big
out there.

6
An exploratory craft
leaves our solar system
with intimate tapes
of ‘Landline’ on board,
so, because of the ABC,
aliens will now
understand us.

Air to my ABC radio news theme
Chris Hawke (Lismore) Finalist in the performance section

The fifties air crackled from the radiogram dial by day
News was swamped by Blue Hills and Argonauts in my daily play
Mum turned it off, not the Malay crises again, was her cry
The years and the news-themes did fly by.

Interview him again, my seventies producer told
That’s not good enough for Aussie air. Get out there.
Be bold. Drive to the heart of the matter. Be fair.
Listen with sharper questions, no barred holds.
I swam as an Aussie reporter, not sinking in despair.

Hot African sunshine statics my transistor’s BBC air
I miss my Aussie news-theme and it’s news back there
Kenyan colleagues collecting Idi stories of dubious renown.
Tanzanian interviews with lapel microphone captured many sounds
Ethiopian editing with armed guards all around
I posted off my reels from the post office in town.
I wondered if it would hear aussie air after customs, boats and clowns.

As millennium reality hits me, the spin doctors air truth and lie
I yearn and soak this radio news-theme for viewpoints far and wide
LNL and Earthbeat, Life Matters and classic music countrywide
I also tell my action stories using skills learnt inside.
Despite the budget cuts and worldly pressures something stays true
An ABC radio news-theme bringing news for me and you.

‘Jonathon Joe has a mouth like an ‘O”
And a wheelbarrow full of surprises.
If you ask for a bat or something like that,
He has it whatever the size is.
(From: Songs My Grade One Teacher Taught Me.)

The ABC Wheebarrow
by Doug Godwin (Banora Point)

National Broadcaster as seen by some:
An array of glittering prizes.
To others – nasty stone-in-shoe
More like the Bloody Assizes.

Like Susan’s morning talk-back show,
This one’s no surfing Gidget;
When she says “Morning Minister”.
You’ll hear a pollie ~ um ~ aah ~ fidget.

With Byrne, McKew and Geraldine
There’s no dust on the wattle.
Their programs serve up food for thought
These women have some Bottle.

That’s not to say the men are wooz;
This barrow holds no sleeper.
Topic engages? - Bet it enrages!
Sit tight on the seven sec bleeper.

Playschool’s low budget – batteries out!
Can’t afford to see costs steeple?
Just music, cardboard, finger paint ~
Let littlies feel they’re people.

The Big Smoke guys, sometimes in pain,
from duties intra-mural;
put on some Wellies I suggest.
The shrink’s right here, called Rural.

The Young today (a drastic phrase)
Are people still, despite their age.
Check out whatever turns kids on!
Hang in there late, man ~ show your Rage.

Drama, docos, jazzmen, dance troupes;
Play me music by youths callow.
Wheel me gently, Wilde, those unreconciled,
Just ~ don’t just leave me lying fallow.

We all know today that memory talks:
Grab Fleet Street ~ or some fleet and fly it!
My thing about the ABC?
No bloody potent-hate can buy it.

Saturday Night Complications
By Peaea Barnyngoz

I cannot accompany you on Saturday night,
Saturday night has a fever!
And there’s something not right, regarding,
Pushing buttons and pulling levers.

What if my pet swallows plastic
And I have to call a vet?
It’s an 80 km drive do you know?
I’ve clothes in files and dishes to do yet.

Could be I like to do pottery,
Bring up a completely new agenda,
And should I win the lottery tonight
I might wish to go out on a bender.

I’ve cactus bloomin’ in the garden,
And though I’m due for a trip to the ocean,
Better I stay home getting potty,
Than mess with unstable emotion.

Notice that it’s the end of the week
Here in the land of the Internet and Radio National,
There’s a re-run of a film called “Freak” on the telly,
So go out on a whim? It’s neither sane nor rational.

No, don’t ask me out on any Saturday night
Your car’s out of rego on Friday,
You can give the familiars a fright
The carpet’s got weird patterns

The town’s gone wild, are you a raving mad lunatic
Or a rediscovered autistic child?
I’m not going to stand out in public
And wear the 3 pointy hat of a fool

Will you realize the complications
Of being a socially disoriented mule.
So that’s it, in a nutshell we’ll conclude!
By saying there’s no fever on Saturday feeling,

And please don’t think me rude,
But my book - stack looks appealing and the bright lights –
They’re all yours DUDE.

More than Friends (We’re Family)
By H. Hartwig (East Lismore)

A most important fact that demands recognition
Is that the ABC’s more than just a friend,
If the ABC is Aunty, then where are her nieces and nephews,
We’re family, linked by blood, thicker than water,
We are relatives, relatively speaking and her appeal will never end.

Oh Auntie we salute you for your love and dedication,
Your undying devotion to this great nation,
It is unthinkable to imagine viewing without
The Bill, Gogs, Jack High and other important and vital information.

From Playschool to Lateline you cater to every need,
Don’t have to frantically operate the remote ‘til our fingers bleed,
No commercials is a blessing, without we not only survive we thrive,
No indoctrination from corporations that ruthlessly strive,
To gain our custom and feed their unsatiable greed.

There is nothing more dear than an aging Aunt
Young minded though the body does decay,
her heart still full of sensitivity.
Three score and ten, Ah, remember Gough said “It’s time.”
She recounts the past with smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye,
Time now to celebrate and dedicate afresh to our dearest relative
Aunty, our ABC.

Dear Auntie
By Keith Albert Stone (Lismore)

Dear or dear it doesn’t matter
Dear Auntie aren’t ya grate
Chopping information apart without axes
And then again to integrate all faxes

With facts finds forms from formalities

For mall to hide, In these ethereal vapours
Shopping for your company seems free

We don’t see the budgets
Your executives must budge
We don’t hear the subtle politicians grudge
As they control your form
Or try in many ways

Once we marched along
Left, Right, Left, Right,
The left was never left alone
The right had always deftly shown
That left is right
When right is all that’s left

Still I sometimes wonder if an institution’s
Invention is really all pretension
As information passed from pasts
This information presented
Now stored, now lasts

Is it truly unbiased, unprejudiced?

Is it truly? Is it true? Who truly asks the questions?
We know the truth will hold you fast
Seventy years is longer than most other organs last

While, how many words can actually be spoken
In your presenter’s present moment.
Why? Yesterdays and tomorrows you presently present
Form in your presence.

Twixt the mystery of the moment and the history of the ..past
Intrigued, I will continue, ask.
What do you represent
And I know, I know, I know,
It’s far too big a task

As staff’s cut and paste and mask
Continue in one’s “intrepitude” for meanings complements
“Thank you” becomes a senseless word
To describe our gratitude.