October, 2012

A Journal for Linking Poets  



Cara Holman (US)
Kirsten Cliff (NZ)

crescent moon
two cats sleeping
back to belly

seeing the breath I blow
to keep my hands warm

patchy sunlight
windfall apples
in the compost heap

a toppled pair
of muddy gumboots
below the tree house

the leaves I raked yesterday
already scattered

side by side
watching the sun ease
behind the mountain

the weatherman calls
for more rain

in my dream
the snowman wins the fight

departing year
moss and lichen
cling to the maple

no mail today
a taste of woodsmoke
on the wind

I stir some more carrots
into the soup

fog lifts
from the stream
wild ducks in flight
plum blossom petals
a shiny penny
on the sidewalk

at the dentist's office
I'm given a new toothbrush

spring break
the long line of cars
to the beach

morning rainbow
pegging out laundry
between the birdsong

the swish of my broom
across the deck

grapevine tendrils
the newborn colt's
first steps

by the sound of crickets
hot summer night

I straighten my hair
for the party

lingering awhile
under the awning
the scent of roses

dairy herd
the bull lies in shade
under a willow

sweat beads
on my ice tea glass

cloudless sky
two joggers turn around
at the road's end


Kirsten Cliff  (leukemia)  
Cara Holman (breast cancer)

raging rain
trying to forget
my nausea

pages of questions
for the doctor

finally having
my head shaved

hornet's nest
she says I'll feel
a little sting

a sense of safety
in the ward's routine

discharge day
a tumbleweed blown
by the breeze


summer again
the dress I wore
to hospital

this maple leaf's
thin veins

night sweats
a spider-web caught
in the wind

tranquility garden
the scratch of a rake
on gravel

a wall covered
in “get well” cards

dragonfly tails
she hands me a rose
at the finish line


another medical test
the thumbed pages
of this poetry book

cancer clinic
I silence my cell phone

faded bruise
a hot air balloon
on the horizon

finding my voice
the blank page
fills with words

a stray cat meowing
in the parking lot

dragon pose
my daughter tells me
to stay strong


the beating
of my heart
heavy moon

my threadbare gown

all the words
that mean cancer
blackbird song

a dizzying array
of options

he holds my hand

deepening rain
waiting for feeling
to return



Kirsten Cliff
Margaret Dornaus

decorating our first home
­our forever home­
with photos of travels past . . .
will I ever explore the beauty
of these landscapes with you

that couple
wrapped up in each other
like children
playing statues, never
growing out of love

crumbling brickwork
echoes across the canal . . .
with every bridge
I renew my faith
in a boundless sky

eucalyptus frames
the horizon . . .
a distant lover’s arms
fuel my night with fire

still showing me
the blessings of survival . . .
an ancient oven
and a stone wheat-grinder
in this deserted city

Sunday best . . .
the aged man takes a turn
around the plaza
at the end of his leash
a dog won’t budge forward

the angular roof
beneath marshmallow clouds . . .
an old Chocolate factory
             enveloped, even now
             in the sweet breath of summer

lobster shack­—
one letter missing
from the sign
            perhaps no one is ever
            completely welcome here

in that deepest green . . .
the mountain alone
has left its imprint
on my psyche

High Street­
a convex mirror reflects
the memory . . .
an ocean’s ebb and flow
the rhythm of the moonlight



273 MAYA

Haiga by Maya Lyubenova



Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall

first fruits of the climb...
the jewel colours of her lap
of blackberry stain
on the face of the mountain

wingtip to wingtip
above the dragon’s spine
ravens ride the wind
the same that scours rock from soil
and bends the tundra blooms

sung by mountains
this crescendo of silence...
the gong of the lake
still shimmering
from a swallow's wing

celtic knot-work wrought—
by swift pivot of pinion
are fates written...
moth lost in a burst of dust
but oh, how high he flew

stain on my fingers
the dust of unsmudged charcoal
is smut in the wind...
a sharp intake of falcon
breath of the crag

lapis lazuli
the realm of the Sky God
with kohl-smudged eyes
his name writ in cloud glyphs
his leather jesses, unbound

we stack our gold
beneath gunmetal skies
whip-cracked silence
the Thunder God
opens one eye

out of pity
lightning rips the darkness
into day
and dazzled, we wander
across Elysian Fields

late summer
in a field of gold
swaying towards me
with bread, still warm
and cider from the press




Frank Williams
Doreen King

countryside stroll—
along the shaded bank
small bursts of yellow           

a bird’s nest
with baby ribbon                    

at the country fair
an angus bull wins
best of show                          

the entry in her book
smudged by a “happy” tear    

with drink in hand
I sit on a patio chair
staring at the moon              

water in the pond
soon down to a quarter          

in a full shoebox
all John’s love tokens
carefully wrapped                  

lovers’ tiff and the dog
gets an extra bone                 

exposed by a landslide
an unknown fossil
on the cliff face                      

she joins a mystery tour
to escape from her world       

the small black cat
lost in snow
meows loudly                         

carol singers singing
somewhere out there              

for a lung X-ray
weather forecast                     

three buses arrive
one after the other                  

misty moon
she tip-toes
in silver sandals                     

hung in the bare tree
a cobweb full of dew           

after rain all morning
a rainbow appears
over the village green         

forest the colour
of the year’s best day           

hidden from view
a display of blossoms
for the rabbits only               

no need for a top coat now
showing off my new suit      

Composed via snail mail
Started: 10 May 2012
Finished: 23 July 2012



Jane Reichhold
Giselle Maya

on my knees
at the start of the new year
dragon bones
where will they carry me?
where will we go?   

beneath the surface
of a blue-green lake jewels
that will not fade
Smaug undone
by a single arrow   
lords and rings
the audio book CD
of dragons
what a relief from the wars
on everything google      

the first creatures
floating in water
they had a heart but how
did bones come into being   

drying on the porch boards
in puffs of white
my house body speaks
of what I have forgotten 

bone marrow
silently renewing itself
at the deepest source
secreting the body’s élan
helped by the waxing moon   

cat howling
wrapped around my ankles
another log
added to the wood stove
he settles back into dreams 

how do you know . . .
I feel it in my bones
it is marked there
eclosion of almond blossoms
the swallows  annual return      

the yard full
of fat balls of feathers
quail bones
shaped by the swirls
of tossed birdseed 

into your bones
we hold out our arms
fingers stretched far
to absorb the morning sun  

a bridge
arching over collar bones
the necklace
carries me until I give
it on to someone else  

a tiny leaf
caught in the amber bead
of a necklace
green memory encased
in petrified tree sap

the tie that binds
our memories of a day
in one heart
still touching the other
that no longer beats 

where do we find
all we have written
in our lives
flying from night
into day with the sun   

January 2012,  year of the dragon


Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson

(translation Helga Stania)

judicious time
uncovering roots
in the garden's labyrinth

morning light touches
the almond tree of van Gogh          

lotus pond ...
a drink of sake
for the turtle

under vines
West-Eastern Divan

swallows chasing
through Ravel's Bolero

Venus of Hohle Fels
... and we dream


Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson

besonnene Zeit
im Labyrinth des Gartens
Wurzeln freilegen

Morgenlicht streift
van Goghs blühenden Mandelbaum

Lotosweiher ...
ein Schluck Sake
für die Schildkröte

unter Reben
West-östlicher Diwan

Schwalben durchjagen
Ravels Boléro

„Venus vom Hohle Fels“
... und wir träumen


Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall

flash of moon
your wild horses
bare their teeth...
these invisible reins
that hold my tongue

how deceptive
the distance from peak to peak
the valley’s vastness
a good day’s gallop between
my words and what I mean

this darkest tide
breaking   ebbing   swelling...
on the wings of starlings
all the words I cannot say

a bobbing dipper
fossicking in the stream
for something choice
among my myriad thoughts
might not one be given voice?

the willow bends
to touch the river’s sound...
deaf to me, will you
put your fingers to my lips
and feel my soul’s song?

the river bends
coursing in that downhill way
of all weighty things
yours, the hand to pull me from
the gravity of silence

so many years
dropping stones into a well
of silence and yet
in the heights of you, my words
cast full-circle rainbows

reflecting in the water
a circle of sky
gaze with me into these depths
my story, yours to scry

an Atlantic
of blue sky between us
your night, my day
one cloud's fleeting cameo...
you, the other side of me

waves of words
washing back and forth
between us...
splashing on the strand,
these wild horses, running free



Jan Dean
Julie Thorndyke

  the road is long
  the river wide, the sky high
  no need to fear
  life has many favours
  when the wind is at your back  
  in this cave
  there is no hint
  of frost, sleet or gale
  the fire heats my toes
  and sends stories to tell            

  fireside fingers
  with wiggling toes cast shadows—
  the first cinema
  was a screen flickering
  animals on a stone wall               
  horned monsters
  shriek in the moonless night
  she stokes red embers,
  traces charcoal figures
  of hunter and prey on limestone  

  little remains
  of their victory dance
  beneath rubble
  tangled hair, a bone gnawed bare
  but thrills of a kill linger                 
  sounds of footsteps
sliding over loose gravel
  a reptile skin
  dry and curled
  too large for any snake              
  muffled drumbeats
  send warnings near and far
  ignored by sly ones
  a cape of scales comes forth
  on the beast of prophesy            
  lightning comes
  as if by his command
  this night, children
  pant with fear, women
  look over their shoulders             
  few understand
  why men and women rise
  again and  again
  to defy their fate, leaving
  torn petals, squashed seeds       
  on this voyage of life
  together we may
  travel even further
  than we have dreamed              

Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime

above a sea mist
the promontory’s peaks ...
pink heath in bud

spring sun rises from the east
blue sky leaping over the hills

down the tor
a waterfall

river gone underground
we walk in the dry gully

below brambles
a child’s yellow gumboot
in dried mud

father and son, elbow to knee
comparing tracks left by birds

at sunset
black swans in flight
paired for life

like a gold medallion, the moon
pendulous in the night sky

falling leaves
wood pigeons
drunk from berries

staggering home arm-in-arm
their songs off-key down the street

full to the brim
a storm-water gutter
blocked by a dead cat  

turning to Sudoku, I fill
in the squares with numbers



Claudia Brefeld
Gitta Hofrichter

fresh mould
at the ball of the boy
the spade cuts deeper

cobwebs – in the window corner
grandpa‘s cleaning oil

detached by wind
her grey hair
windfalls picked up

falling jasmine blossoms
carry home the scent
in the apron

tango – rock turns
on sheet of music

between wool socks …
she slips over
the garter


Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime

perfect concrete curves
spanning slopes thick with ferns . . .
a bridge to nowhere

from misty tidal flats
settlers sought this isolated
no-man’s land
their hearts sliced in half
for those they had left behind

listening too late ~
forest reclaims fields

the pioneer’s trails
a turkey vulture


273 fred

Haiga by Fred Flohr



Jacques Verhoeven
Silva Ley

rooms full of maquettes
time shrinks to mo(nu)ments
the eternal grass

sounds enlarge the expo
small ideas hitch on

 corridors shoot off
in wide white halls 
neo roman pillars

a flash  fires from the body
a town grows at your feet

abbeys, churches, factories
renewed for living
buildings built in

the past is slowly sinking
a daily shift of gears

thousands of hands
driving  lines and  paper sheets
colours  give winks

laughing school - summers
though freedom  was blocked

heads between fists
talents thrown away
learn to walk again

deep hunger to beauty
loneliness in groups

an empty party tent
new public appears
wild ducks in the pond

rules, the pious steps
burst out of tightening

long distances of dance
the utter tips nearby
the moon  lays shadows

museum nights whisper
swings from the ceiling

needles with long threads
tips of revelation
a hundred  brushes

 types, woven on dresses
abstracted costumes

a sudden row around
this screaming world

jeans-boys’ performances
prematurely wise

high-tech office buildings
rough oaken beams
the roofs well supported                                  

these tiny inner courts
jewels of the brains

video images fly
viewers’ eyes run after them
outside, the wind lies down

far in the fields a border pole
this campus, nearly limits

individual view, but sifted
each picture claims personal truth:
believe what I see!

days, months, years
stammered  decisions 

left memories
experiences saved up
happiness but painful

empty walls be mastered
dozens of quick strokes

eye contact on photo’s
the prisoners redeemed
arcades, light and high

a corridor to deep landscape
printed on gauze nets

‘We love ice cream’
 ‘to be’ the only game
 wear paradise birds’ dresses

noisy visitors, hot arguments
the display cools its spectrum

a new start, unexpected
one swipe of  the paint knife
chances for the empty sheets

greeting merrily again
crossing each other’s stories

photo’s, video’s  applauded
winners careless students again
take their flowers home

digital or by hand craft
let  vision  fuse contradictions

no drops were wasted
infinite possibilities
picture of humanity

increase of scale not to turn
newcomers at the front door

Breda, The Netherlands  03 -07 – 2012
At The  Academy Of Arts St. Joost, located in a former Seminary, surrounded by woods and gardens.
Final candidates show their artwork and  graphic designs  in renewed, light halls. 



Vasile Moldovan: 1, 5, 10, 14, 17, 21, 26, 30, 33
Marianne Kiauta: 2, 6,   9, 13, 19, 23, 28, 32, 34
Maxine Bracher: 3, 7, 12, 16, 18, 22, 25, 29, 35
Dick Pettit: 4, 8, 11, 15, 20, 24, 27, 31, 36
Valentine's Day—
the florists already sold
all the bouquets

the haystack shrinks
our horses forced to fast

photo - a pony's eye—
now riding past daffodils
in memory lane

the convex mirror
shows a curving high street

dragging leisurely,
the shadow of a cloud covers
the Moon Mountains

bowed down caringly she chats
with her daughter on the phone
"There were swingboats
in the horse-fair field—
'all along down along'.''

a pensioner stops
to let the boys rush past

her toothless mouth laughs
when she tucks in her doll
with the table cloth
at the latest fashion show
a mannequin in rags

her dress swathes her
like El Greco's Christ in the Temple
none can resist

en route to Church, the priest
carries her on his shoulders
on the pillow
my hair scented with incense
the moon too

wheat ears flutter
in the morning breeze

with papers and phones
commuters ignore
their traveling companions
as he reads by the window
lighter shades frame evergreen

let's come out
in the cherry orchard
at the Flower Fest

young girls wear polka dot bows
and butterfly clips in a row

between two banks
a world of uncertainty
and pimples

still wearing his suit
on the meadow walk

instead of a ring,
he sets on her finger
a dandelion stem
she is scared by a herd
approaching the river

frost flowers
diminishing to tears
on the window sill

shop girls view the busy square
through steaming cups
lichen grows
a setting for each cobble
the young wife scrubs

today at the stone quarry
the workers came out on strike

a crane driver
leans back in his seat
and opens another beer
out-of-season holiday home
the dahlias look thirsty

cloud cloaks—
she does not see her dog go
into the stubble field

among the faint quinces
the shine of moon
uncertain shapes
in the shadowed doorways
around the courtyard

the safety light switches on—
a thief or the neighbour's cat?

power failure
in the whole blockhouse
a very silent night

stepping down the stairs
her dress so light, so graceful

after she left
he pruned the lilac
which blocked his view

a fine display of blossom
waves in the neighbour's garden



Claudia Brefeld
Martina Heinisch

in the silence. . .
no one calls him anymore
by that  name

gusts of wind whirling leaves
around dead candles

...near the elm
without her

cold snow air
his own footsteps
come his way

stone carver atelier
an apprentice chisels - gnomes

twigs from her grave—
warming tea
between the hands



Ramona Linke
Helga Stania

Das Ungesagte
zwischen uns und dem Mond
dein Lavendelduft  

langsam verblassen
die Farben des Regenbogens 

Poetry Slam
Worte spalten
die Nation  

nach der Kernschmelze
Vögel finden kein Futter mehr  

im Hotel -etwas gr. Abstand- das Zimmer 
neben dem Brautpaar 

schlaflos in Sevilla
Semana Santa 

die Mandeln blühen
letzter Halt:

über lauen Lüften
wandert Saturn                                    

Sochumi ...
der Geschmack von

nach dem Tanztee
Haut an Haut 

langsame Schritte
des Enkels
helfende Hand 

seit Tagen Schneesturm
die  Geburtstagsparty fällt aus  

Silvester allein
ruhig löscht sie
einen Namen  

letzte Klausur—
der Spickzettel unauffindbar 

am Chomolungma Umkehr
zum Basislager    

Nebelschleier verlieren sich 
auf dem Grund des Sees  

raschelnd schwebt Laub
durch das Licht
der Himmelsschale  

junge Bäuerinnen
binden die Erntekrone 

*Tierschicksale - Gemälde von Franz Marc, 1913, Kunstmuseum Basel



Ramona Linke
Helga Stania

the unspoken
between us and the moon
your scent of lavander  

slowly fading
the colors of the rainbow  

poetry slam
words rive
the nation  

after meltdown
birds cannot find food  

The Fate of the Animals*
in the hotel         our room
next door a bridal pair  

sleepless in Sevilla
Semana Santa 

almonds in bloom
last stop:
flat tire 

beyond gentle breezes
Saturn passes by  

Sochumi ...
the taste of


after tea dance
skin to skin  

slow steps
the grandson's
helping hand 

snow storm for days
no birthday party

New Year’s Eve alone
calmly she cancels
a name

final exam—
the cheat sheet

on Chomolungma turning back
to the base camp 

veils of mist vanish
at the lake's bottom  

rustling leaves float
through the light
of the celestial bowl 

young countrywomen
twining a harvest crown  

*The Fate of the Animals* - Franz Marc, 1913, Kunstmuseum Basel





Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime

silver-grey lichen spreads on boulders

the duck's wake forms a vee

drifting downstream a tail feather

from the shelter trees birdsong

speeding towards town the mobility scooter

against the silence of the river, radio waves

from the landing, sound of a siren

a picnicking couple share their newspaper

midway along the hills ~ clouds cruise

winter clothes limp on the backpackers' lines

silhouetted, the perfectly groomed seagull

splashed with raindrops mosaic table top




Bambi Steiner
Jane Reichhold

old tin roof
with every weather change
    creaking bones 

sun-dried tomatoes shrink
seeming to be older and wiser

fresh swiss chard
learn to love the abundance
    bitter tasting

at night in Death Valley
the view of salt flats

trekking by the stars
footprints left behind
    in moon dust

the camera I always wanted
a Haselblad left behind as junk

worm holes
in fallen leaves
perfect tears

crying her heart out
a new space for compassion

unable to delete
the e-mail of her death
my fondness for him

waltzing hand in hand
field of daisies in the wind
neighbors’ talk
tales of when the sun
came to earth

soft summer haze
inhaling wildfire smoke

the howling
a frosty halo around
the moon

football jock loses the game
his girl dates another

bad luck
it comes in threes
and fours

what are the odds?
first love at first sight

cherry trees flowering

scattered across spring grass
dewdrops become prisms

childish laughter
bursting many-colored
Easter eggs

one of the many holiday rituals
how your Dad hated them all

again and again
the one god resurrects
    his own member

our lives as a religion
yet to believe in ourselves

intensely green
even the plants know how
to eat sunlight

bite into an apricot
feel juice on your chin

wide smile
revealing all the mystery
    between her thighs

the Olympic diver
wins gold and hearts

sharing a taxi
she finds his hand
in her pocket

the karate class announcement
school begins to be important

vicious gossips
still the moon child
 smiles inwardly

kicking at the fallen leaves
I decide to turn over a new one

bare trees
loving this time of nakedness
and the desire to dance

winged seeds cast to the wind
grass blades bend back to earth

the horoscope
charted 25 years ago
touches me    

born again this spring
the virgin rises from her bath

at any age
the cherry tree in bloom
is a bride

bone white petals
drift to the ground

Started – July 21, 2012
Finished:  August 21, 2012




The Booming Sea
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

            uncertain weather ~
            in the cut glass vase
            artificial flowers

He vacuums her living room: a piano sonata plays. He mops the entrance-way; a discussion about New Zealand opera. He scrubs the shower; can’t quite hear the distant strains. Puts soaps and cleaning agents back in place, bucket and cloths rinsed, Electrolux in the cupboard. See you next week.

            the rains come down
            still he waits for
            the audition

The house stands on a hill, a deck overlooks the town, and from the living-room there is a panoramic view of the ocean. Hours have been spent in this bright space where the note of a red velvet chaise-lounge bursts among the oak of doors and paneling. So alive its colours – the black half-Persian cat, silver candlesticks, a stream of vivid paintings on the wall, dark green curtains, glass-fronted bookcases – set alight by the clarity of the crimson couch.

It’s difficult not to feel happy in a place saturated with colour and light: days spent walking the hills, watching fishing boats approach the harbour bar, finding a lane that leads nowhere and the curious, tactile sofa.

            on the rocky shore
            fossicking for driftwood
            the sculptor

Between the booming sea of the distance and occasional crickets, this silence in which questions rest, stresses dissipate, worries laugh. It’s the silence of life, deep and wonderful.

            tea steeping ~
            a new poetry book
            open on the table



The First Badger
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

            Saturday 8 a.m.
            the sacred helicopter
            flies by

The distant bass of a chord sounds in the vast blue sky like a bar of music repeating in the inner ear. The lonely sound of the rotors awash in the heavens, unseen now but heard in its deep burr, composed of equal parts of childhood memories of droning bombs and V-2 rockets and nights spent in an Anderson shelter waiting for the sound of the all-clear.

On one occasion, when I couldn’t have been more than two, mum and I were out for a walk when we heard a V-2 cut out. A policeman grabbed us and shoved us into a nearby police box. It was one of those old-fashioned blue boxes like the Tardis in “Dr. Who.” When dad returned from army service in Germany he told us the rockets were called Vergeltungswaffe.

            Mickey Mouse gasmask
            too big

            family reunion
            a new baby sister
            in mum’s arms

I was the youngest child. I never got the belt and was allowed to roam free, even at night. My siblings thought I got away with murder. I used to walk home at two o’clock in the morning, age fifteen. Three miles, including the shortcut which meant walking up a steep hill for about half a mile, the narrow road edged by swaying, creaking trees. I was scared, but relished the fear. It was a test I put myself through often. I reached the track around the clay pit, off limits, officially, but no one ever ventured out of the hut at that time of the night.

            in the moonlight
            a rustle, the glimpse of
            my first badger

            plough sound
            the late worker
            sips a beer




Jann Wirtz ( Host and Hokku)
Alan Summers (Sabaki)
Susan Shand  (Scribe and tutor)
Cathy Richards
Fergus Rougier
Frances Corkey Thompson
Pat Marsden
Marie Dullaghan
Fiona and Sebastian ( age 9) Jackson
Leticia and Megan Welmers
Charlotte Duggan

in the wet grass
a red stiletto:
yesterday’s wedding    /JW

the woman reduced
to shades of grey         /CR

i hide in the mirror
as flies buzz
in dusty rafters  /FR

a roar in the distance
races towards me  /PM

through the stones, one dandelion
on the podium
the gold medallist     /MD

beast on a cave ceiling
touched by human hand      /FcT

the beat in our feet
brings down
sacred thunder   /CR, MD

Mario Luigi moves
Ki on Dosa               /SJ, FJ

robot box head
going viral    LMFAO   /LW, MW

would the legal disclaimer still stand
if I recover?      /CD

girls will be boys
when they have no choice   /AS,CR,LW,MW

mist blanketing the hills
cold beach pebbles         /PM

Composed at Broomhill Art Hotel,Muddiford , North Devon
On 8th July 2012.



Alan Summers
Susan Shand
Jann Wirtz
Marie Dullaghan
Cathy Richards
Mike Keville

indigo nights
weave summer rain
into Bradiford Water  /SS

purple stemmed Hemlock
bow to the flow         /JW

we all talk
about bread and cheese
around the table       /AS

live on the edge       /MD

catching me unawares
the Poacher’s Moon
pushes and pulls      /CR

she gives the pumpkin
starry eyes              /SS

exchange of looks
in the same corridor /AS

( for newly weds Ellie and Steve)
white rucked sheets
sweet Nag Champa drifting   /CR

in Thamel market
bright bangles, diesel
and buffalo dung                   /JW

so much blood
on the Pearl Roundabout    /MD

fox tracks
passing by
the snowman                       /AS

they wait for Mr Tumnus
in half a ring of lamplight      /JW

The House divides
to a clamour 
of jeers                                   /SS

honking geese
and brickbats                           /AS

two rows of five
on the moving bar
down vodka shots                    /MK

a ballet rehearsal
in the critical mirror                  /JW

Sister Wendy’s
habit of explaining
Post Impressionism                  /SS

we order cheeseburgers..
hold the Spring Onions!          /MK

bumble bees heavy
with crab apple nectar
still work the blossoms            /JW

sewing seeds
in the sculpture gardens            /AS

Composed in Broomhill Art Hotel Sculpture Gardens
On July 7th 2012.













Cara Holman
Kirsten Cliff

Kirsten Cliff 
Cara Holman

Kirsten Cliff
Margaret Dornaus

Haiga by Maya Lyubenova

Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall

Frank Williams
Doreen King

Jane Reichhold
Giselle Maya

Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson

Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson

Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall

Jan Dean
Julie Thorndyke

Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime

Claudia Brefeld
Gitta Hofrichter

Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime

Haiga by Fred Flohr

Jacques Verhoeven
Silva Ley

Vasile Moldovan:
Marianne Kiauta
Maxine Bracher
Dick Pettit:

Claudia Brefeld
Martina Heinisch

Ramona Linke
Helga Stania

Ramona Linke
Helga Stania

Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime

Bambi Steiner
Jane Reichhold

The Booming Sea
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

The First Badger
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

Jann Wirtz
Alan Summers
Susan Shand 
Cathy Richards
Fergus Rougier
Frances Corkey Thompson
Pat Marsden
Marie Dullaghan
Fiona and Sebastian Jackson
Leticia and Megan Welmers
Charlotte Duggan

Alan Summers
Susan Shand
Jann Wirtz
Marie Dullaghan
Cathy Richards
Mike Keville


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XVI:3 October, 2001  
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XVIII:1 February, 2003
XVIII:2 June, 2003
XVIII:3, October, 2003
XIX:1 February, 2004
XIX:2 June, 2004

XIX:3 October, 2004

XX:1,February, 2005

XX:2 June, 2005
XX:3 October, 2005
XXI:1February, 2006 
XXI:2, June, 2006

XXI:3,October, 2006

XXII:1 January, 2007
XXII:2 June, 2007
XXII:3 October, 2007

XXIII:1February, 2008
XXIII:2 June, 2008

XXIII:3, October, 2008
XXIV:1, February, 2009

XXIV:2, June, 2009
XXIV:3, October, 2009
XXV:1 January, 2010
XXV:2 June, 2010
XXV:3 October, 2010
XXVI:1 February, 2011
XXVI:2, June, 2011
XXVI:3 October, 20111XXVII:1 February, 2012

XXVII:2 June, 2012

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