new zealand electronic poetry centre

Bernadette Hall

online works


The poems must be of metal;
Etruscan iron cut clean, sharp,
tough as the lacework on the verandah
at Dundas Street, bristling with mosses,
cobbled webs, bird shit, rust enough;
thrusting bright chunks of hills, of sky
into my narrowed eyes; holding up my roof.    


From HEARTWOOD (Caxton Press, 1989)
Bernadette Hall

Last updated 24 March, 2005