“But look, you found the notice, didn’t you?” “Yes,” said Arthur, “yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying ‘Beware of the Leopard.” 

Douglas Adams, The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy






This poetry is all copyright Amanda Collins. 
It's here for you to read and enjoy - if you choose to share it please use it with an acknowledgement. Thanks.



Tidal Pools (a sculpture by Stephen Walker, 1970)                                                Hobart, Dec 2011

Tidal pools at the very end of Elizabeth Street.
Go any further and you're in the drink.
Tidal Pools long gone from here;
These have been imported from Sydney.

Intersections of spirals in dark dark bronze
sea-dredged ruin
of propellor and weed
bollard and bone
wing and fin
weathered fans of bronze
        colluding to capture the slightest drizzle

        to feed itself
balancing joint upon joint
   sitting lightly, while behind it
   hunker the fishing fleet
   snickering at the temerity of art.

A sparrow waits modestly on a frond,
   then dips behind his curtain of
     bronze; his bath is curtailed as I stroll into view.

Tidal pools at the ends of the Earth
A bronze reminder of what once was
No longer briny, a still life now.

I can't wait for it to rain.


Stephen Walker's Tidal Pools, 2015. Photo: TripAdvisor

Stephen Walker's Tidal Pools, 2015. Photo: TripAdvisor

A note: Tidal Pools was originally created by Tasmanian artist Stephen Walker for Sydney's Martin place. At some stage it was brought back to Hobart. When I came across it, it felt to me as though it was languishing in the shadows of office buildings, as I said, at the end of Elizabeth Street. As I add this poem here, I googled Tidal Pools, to find it has been relocated. Hopefully the fishing fleet's sneers are now a distant memory. AC2015

into Victoria Street 2014

into Victoria Street 2014

after Marianne Moore                                                                               Dec 2011


I do like poems

so discrete

so complete.

The way a poem can hold a whole

a nut

a red bicycle

a heart.


Sometimes an unexpected saltiness makes you stop.


Like the best of chocolates,

a really good poem

is to be savoured.

Not gobbled with other treats.


Sometimes there’s a hard centre

which takes a bit of consideration.


Sometimes an unexpected saltiness makes you stop.


Sometimes it’s an old favourite

making you smile when you think about it.

Either way it’s a pleasure to be anticipated, savoured (with a good coffee), 



Here's one from 2012

A man
arcing his hope northwards
a head turns on a tram 
following him till the corner is reached
No answer is found in the watching.
Another man sits
              within the memories of is friends
Not one of them knew how much he was loved
until fate boiled it clear
I should like to think that the seeking man
can tell his beloved, and be told,
    I love you
    I love you
    I love you
             you are loved.