(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby






Selby’s Hut


Still lives within these walls,
They were not made to hide the world,
But grow from it,
Living, ageing in
The shadow of and age-old land.
Words have echoed here
And laughter lingers still;
It mingles with the tumbling
Of the waterfall until
The voice is lost in sleep.
I know this place;
It is now part of us all…
Or are we now part of it?
David Kirkby


Another Autumn

Sun swallowed whole,
Campfire flares upon the dusk,
Tents flap idely in the glow,
Around the fire,
People of the town
Laugh together
A flame dapples in set
Within a night surround,
To each face there is a name
Distantely attached
And a life,
Carefully detached for now
And set aside
Till Monday drags us back.
For now the moments,
Strung like beads upon
The fragile necklace night,
Fall one by one,
Upon a dreaming land.
And with the ebbing midnight tide
Darken waves
Leaves us
On the shining sands of day.
Dave Kirkby
NBC magazine 1980