Treasure Island

Bruce Beaver

(14 Februrary 1928 - 17 February 2004 / New South Wales / Australia)

Comments about Bruce Beaver

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  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

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  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

  • Michael Walker (5/9/2014 8:34:00 PM)

    I thought Bruce's poem about the Sydney Harbour Bridge was highly imaginative and impressive indeed. Michael Walker.

Death's Directives (II)

Death beckoned me towards the beach
the same one on which I’d spent days,
weeks, years made up of the hours
of my life as a child —
The hidden in the warm salt hazy dusk
of summer evenings I’d moved mesmerically
from end to end of the darkened sands
feeling their mush of powder between my toes
at the phosphorescent tideline

[Hata Bildir]