Gail Galloway


Originating from NSW, Gail's adventures led her to Tasmania, where after completing a sociology degree she unexpectedly met a white rabbit and fell into a mysterious black hole. Thereupon discovering the magic of writing she developed her art as poet and fiction writer and has also written for stage and video. Her works are noted by their sense of quirk and humour while still confronting the personal. Her first novel -- the Story Sofa, is a young adult time mystery.

Heart, Charm, and a Boatload of Stories

Click here for this week's local yarn.

As a writer, there's plenty to keep me inspired here in Franklin. It's not just the leprechaun-coloured hillsides, or mirror glassed river. The village folk are an intriguing cast of characters that could have jumped ship from Treasure Island. A close knit comic drama; at the end of the rainbow, Franklin has a heart of gold.

Readers are welcome to email Gail.


Waterhole

I am there
by the murky waters of the reedy pond

In these hues of brown and green
I like to sit
and listen for what might frogs have to say?

Sometimes I submerge myself
Amongst the reeds
And sink down into the watery underworld
where unknown creatures lurk

Hold no fear
I am addicted to the watermarked visions
that appear
In this pool of discovery

On this day
As I edge my way to the banks
you are there
Father and Mother
standing behind - watching

I have crept up to the waters edge
Brushing grasses, wade
But this time I stand
Only ankle deep

It is then that the waters
bubbling upwards parted
and slowly, rising out of the wet
comes a huge old goanna

An ancient black dragon
With skin so old dark and crisp
Like the leather corpse of
An Egyptian mummy

I am in awe
You are at ease
You seem to both know him,
so I am not afraid
Besides - he appears too frail
to be harmful

I am intrigued
I want to look closer
And move softly, so as not to scare him

Then I see he is painted
With aboriginal motifs
I gaze upon the dust covered symbols
Of his crusting hide

Some say it is evil
They are afraid of these signs
Yet I know otherwise

Amid the lines of yellow
brown and ochre dots
grows the rainbow serpent
and I recognize the creation story

He came home with us
Walking slow, gingerly now
To a place where he could rest
In our home.

Water poem

Previous poems 1

Previous poems 2

For other fine Tasmanian writers' work, visit The Tasmanian Writers Centre.


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A SturmSoft creation.

Jonathan Sturm 2001