rs
who possessed that sense of the bigness
of the world? For Wells, an electrical
spark that arced across the white page, and
for Conrad, each word creaking on
the blocks, the woman pale before the moon,
her eyes black as tornadoes at sea.

Hoppalong Cassidy

nearly topples as the Jaffas rumble
down the aisle escarpment which in no way
disturbs Bully Boy in the back seat
corner of the matinee session on a Saturday
afternoon flick with it might be Bus Stop
Bev with one leg hooked in surrender
over the front seat that youd think shes
getting shod or something judging by the
whinnying which could be some sort of scuffle
but then Hoppy regains the ground & the
white Arabian stallion muscling to middle
screen his ten-gallon hat gum stuck atop
his head & his pearl handled six shooters
bristling at each hip as he thunders
round the dusty back lot who has just saved
the stage coach with the backward spinning
wheels out of last weeks cliffhanging
disaster when over it went packed with
the good townsfolk but it didnt all saved by
the man in the black velvet with the silver
studs & turkey gobble voice much to the hand
pumping appreciation of the circuit judge
too old to take the high jump & this
real paternal dude takes it in his stride
is off next week in search of the Lost
Dutchmans Gold Mine as legend has it but
not for long while Bully Boy will be
back sweaty as a farrier with Lemonade Lil
to catch what he can with Hoppy sure
is a friend indeed when a friends in need

Bob Orr

I called back down the unawakened
dawn of the Tasman sea and along the East
Coast from the pre-dawn light of
my sleep, I called out Bob Orr
soft as the punch of a howitzer to the
Hokianga harbour & still further over the
Waikatos billiard-table green paddocks.
I hailed Bob to the Great Barrier
Island & Orr to the Little Barrier,
but no answer came chasing after. I
sought you down the Harbour Heads &
Hauraki Gulf then all about the Waitemata.
I found a Thunderhead big as a
container-load of sorrows & nowhere hard
by were you toiling. Bob Orr I
called from Meola Reef to the outlandish
fishing-tackle cranes along the docks;
to Jellicoe wharf, Bledisloe wharf,
Marsden wharf, Captain Cook wharf to the
Admiralty Steps hoping I would find
you gazing out upon the glaucous slick of
trawlers, or catch you guiding a snub-
nosed tug under the Western Viaduct.
Bob Orr I called down the unending
roadsteads t