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Posts: 139
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Poems by Kim Peart

Poems by Kim Peart are composed via an avatar in the virtual world of Second Life, where they are first set out in his Poems Galley, where words are enslaved to make oars to row the verse boats across the sea of poems, hoping they don't strike rocks and sink, or worse, become becalmed and forgotten.

He has written poems over the years, but so many more now. Writing via the avatar has been shaped into a writing technique since June 2018. Avatar Jaqi Bluh is in part an inspiration for Kim, a muse for the artist and a model for the art. To write a poem, Kim sends his avatar to her dream boat in his house in Second Life, where the yarn of lines is spun into a net of dreams. 

Each day Kim writes a Doggo Wisdom, on thoughts that may blow through the mind of a dog. This is a word exercise ..... walking the Doggo. The Doggo Wisdoms may be seen here .....

Some decades ago Kim developed a similar technique with art practice, clearing the head and make a drawing without thinking. And then another drawing half thinking. And then to work on a composition.

With any enquiries about the poems, write to ..... kimpeart@iinet.net.au

Kim's avatar in Second Life .....  Jaqi Bluh ..... in her dream boat .....

ne of Kim's poems, called ..... Mad as Mad ..... has been published in a collection of writings .....


The  Poems Galley  in Second Life, with two of Kim's avatars, Jaqi Bluh and Starfarer .....

Kim's art gallery in Second Life, called ..... Jaqi Art Explorer .....

quite like this portrait photo of avatar  Jaqi Bluh,  and wonders about making it into an oil painting, exploring the character .....

  Jaqi Art Explorer  galley by the Pawpaw train station in Second Life .....


Inside the  Jaqi Art Explorer  gallery, where there is a show of some of Kim Peart's art from over the decades. ~ The story of each work can be found in a Notecard in each board .....

Jaqi Bluh was meant to be a character in a novel, but the novel never happened, but Jaqi found a role as an avatar, a muse for a mad old artist with a focus on art and poetry, and a role as a model ..... and maybe, one day, there will be a novel .....

As a writing exercise, via the avatar, Kim writes a 4 line ..... Doggo Wisdom ..... undertaken when the mind is fresh, and when going into Second Life to look around. ..... Goes to the Free Range Dog Pound ..... Empties the head ..... Listens to the silence ..... And allows spontaneity ..... The Doggo Wisdom is a thought that might blow through the mind of a dog ..... which can be found in a Notecard in the ..... Dog Rocket ..... in the Poems Galley ..... and also here .....


A selection of Kim's poems can be found in the ..... Midgard Poetry Trail ..... located at the eastern end of Bridge Street in Ross, Tasmania .....

Denizens of and visitors to Ross can read the poems along the ..... Walk Around Ross ..... as they go for a walk through the farmlands of the central Midlands .....

A 4-line ..... Doggo Wisdom ..... can be seen below each poem ..... which children may like to read ..... and dogs too .....

One of my poems is hung next to the meter box of the General Store in Ross, with a map showing where the poetry trail is found .....


he poetry trail in Ross, of poems written in a virtual world, can be found at the eastern end of Bridge Street, where denizens of and visitors to Ross can walk through the farmlands of the central Midlands, and enjoy the view. ~ Dogs must be on leads. ~ In future the trail will extend further west to the Macquarie River, and north along the river to the Ross Bridge. In time a sculpture trail can be developed, and interpretations added of the history, heritage and environment around Ross. ~ Contact Kim Peart at ..... kimpeart@iinet.net.au ..... with any enquiries .....



Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #2 

Poem Index .....

Waiting at the Bar for YOU!!!   ~ 13 June 2018
Time   ~ 22 June 2018
Silence   ~ 29 June 2018
Talk   ~ 11 July 2018
Avatar   ~ 17 July 2018
InWorldz Disappears   ~ 29 July 2018
Age   ~ 9 August 2018
Boat   ~ 28 August 2018
Dead Phone   ~ 28 October 2018
NOT Talking!!!   ~ 30 October 2018   ~ Number 10
Rock Bottom   ~ 6 November 2018
Sand   ~ 8 November 2018
Cork with a Sail   ~ 11 November 2018

Page 2
Second Dawn   ~ 12 November 2018
Muse   ~ 20 November 2018   ~ Number 15
Feathers   ~ 22 November 2018
Lava Tree   ~ 27 November 2018
Bear   ~ 29 November 2018
Bell   ~ 3 December 2018
Listening   ~ 6 December 2018   ~ Number 20
Race Day   ~ 8 December 2018 ~ Lava Tree
EarthRise   ~ 10 December 2018
Postcard   ~ 24 December 2018
Mad as Mad   ~ 26 December 2018   
Magic Honey Pot   ~ 29 December 2018   ~ Number 25
Fireworks   ~ 3 January 2019
O Dear   ~ 10 January 2019 ~ Lava Tree
Moonlight   ~ 15 January 2019

Page 3
Morning Star   ~ 17 January 2019  
Fiery Rage   ~ 8 February 2019   ~ Number 30
Dreaming   ~ 3 March 2019
The Painting   ~ 11 March 2019
Lost Dog   ~ 29 March 2019
Thorn Bird   ~ 4 April 2019
Game of Fences   ~ 15 April 2019   ~ Number 35
Country Agent   ~ 20 April 2019
Ghost Cafe   ~ 4 May 2019
Butterfly   ~ 9 May 2019
Aurora Dentata   ~ 25 May 2019
Boulder   ~ 6 June 2019   ~ Number 40
Highway   ~ 11 June 2019
The Model   ~ 22 June 2019
A Big Old House   ~ 21 July 2019

Page 4
Venus   ~ 1 September 2019
Confession   ~ 8 September 2019   ~ Number 45

Mars   ~ 12 September 2019

Hay   ~ 29 September 2019

Silent War   ~ 3 April 2020


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #3 

Waiting at the Bar for YOU!!!

aiting at the bar for you,
YOU didn’t show,
I’m feeling blue.
It’s HOT at the Burning Man tonight,
so many avatars
lost their tights.
Me too fell in,
hid behind a chair,
was that a sin.
Mind over matter,
has to be so,
to make pixels flatter.
The spirit flies so high
and sees so much
that is so fine.
I’m waiting for YOU,
alone in the bar,
I thought you were true.
I’m feeling blue,
missing you,
it's true.

NOTE ~   This poem is reflective of the amazing interactive art project by Mind Carlberg, staged at the Buried Man art region in Second Life, where folk were invited to take a photo of their avatar, naked, with a chair. 411 Second Life residents participated, and thousands came to see. There was quite a buzz. Called ..... Naked with a Chair ..... the show is now on permanent exhibition at a nudist region in Second Life, where anyone interested can go to see the show, but to go beyond in those regions, one's avatar must be nude. Personally, the Naked Chair show sparked a whole new lease of creativity for me in Second Life, with a kaleidoscope of possibilities, unseen before. I had been moving in this direction, and preparing gallery space by the Pawpaw Train Station, but Naked with a Chair was like a strike of lightning, revealing a whole new dreamscape in the twilight of the unimagined.


The Buried Man region has closed now, which is a shame, as it has great light to capture images of the avatar ..... an eternal moody twilight.




Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #4 


The water in the bay is so very calm 
the morning air crisp
broken by the oars of a dinghy
sliding across the mirror of time
with every dip

The depths so dark
with seaweed and fish
with the smell of salt
and the wood fire on the boat
with a curried scallop dish

Rounding the Stack of Bricks
motoring up the Channel
dinghy bobbing along behind
Buster barking at the gulls
a child's memories wonder tell

Voices from time past echo
like laughter from the mists of memory
in a little boat upon the sea
timelessly putting along
in the safe hands of family

His piano accordion gave music to songs
played in the kitchen round
then silence fell when Tom vanished
how to tell a child the fisherman is gone
the body was never found

The Athena glided into the dock
as if steered by loving hands too right
greeted by the boat chandler
those leather soled shoes
they were blamed for his slip into night

The call of searchers fade away
and time mists up as decades slide
across the mirror of time
upon the sea of memories
upon life's ebbing tide


NOTE ~   I have the news story posted in The Mercury on Thursday 3 July 1958. I was six when told of the vanishing of Tom. The news photo of the Athena, slipped, with the dinghy still on board, and the sails ready for the wind ..... "The 40ft. ketch Athena, which nosed through Battery Pt. moorings yesterday and ran against a jetty - with no one on board. Police believe the owner, Mr. T. J. Martyn (75), of Rokeby Rd, Howrah, fell overboard during an attack of dizziness." When my brother Brian was taking up old lino in his house, this page from the news was found beneath. How time haunts.


My 1988 painting of Tom on the Athena, made from an old family photo .....


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #5 


Silence so tight
it's coiled like a spring
deep in the night
no voice to sing
no bell to ring

Silence so tight
it could snap any moment
whip like a wire
slice like atonement
slash like a comment

Silence so tight
it cannot be seen
hidden in time
secret and mean
so tiny and lean

Silence so tight
no heart can beat
no mind can think
no cold can heat
no sheep can bleat

Silence so tight
it sets the soul free
to fly in the night
like a bird from a tree
like a star that is seen


NOTE ~   With each breath, I seek the heart of silence, to still the mind, to be free of the illusion of space and time, free to be happy, free to be real.


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #6 


Me calling
I've been waiting here
Where ya been?

Its gettin' late
we missed the show
they all went in
I waited

When you get this message
where ever you are
know I love you
I love you

Beeps mean the end
no more talk
message ends
What happens?

Empty world, alone I stand
all grey like an old rainy day
ringing wet

You called back, me, you
OK, I'll still be here
What will we do?
That'll be good

Rainbows colour up the greens
and blues and flowers
I'll sit here and wait
for my special mate

My love and my heart
may we never part
one day soon
will do

So long now past and gone
like a river of time
flowing by
and all that talk

Years upon years of love
Then you were gone
but I remember
our talks


NOTE ~   Reading this poem, penned in the past, last July 2018, by an older me, I find it haunting. If a poem by the poet cannot move the poet .....


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #7 


Avatar, avatar
where have you been
when I was asleep
and you were unseen?

Did you go anywhere
that I haven't been
mixed with the stars
while I was a dream

Avatar, avatar
what do you say?
Tell me your secret
I'm willing to pay

You look rather pleased
it must have been good
Did you find a Romeo
some Robin the Hood?

Avatar, avatar
you are way too cool
your silence is deafening
I am no fool

You're a smart little lady
you move with such style
you leave me to wonder
by a country mile

Avatar, avatar
I'll have to give up
you're way better than me
at keeping mum

In future you know
I'll log out of the grid
instead of keyboard sleeping 
and waking to your grin


NOTE ~   Anyone who drives an avatar in a virtual world, has to wonder what the avatar gets up to when the avatar is left on their own and unsupervised. It's a big strange virtual world out there, with AIs lurking around the corner.


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #8 

InWorldz Disappears

It was once a place of magic
where sprites and pixies played
but then the ship of InWorldz
struck an iceberg
and sank beneath the waves

Avatars in the water
swimming where they can
to find a safe island
or a lifeboat
or find new land

Worlds may sink
disappear from sight
but dreams live on
beneath the stars
and in Moonlight

And dreams like seeds
grow again
in places unexpected
sending down roots
soaking up rain

My InWorldz forest is gone
my tavern but a memory
with its cheery fire
and crystal cave
and river flowing merrily

With love and hope
dreams will shine again
rainbows will glisten
flowers will bloom
beyond this sudden pain


NOTE ~   InWorldz was once the largest virtual world, where the user makes the content, after Second Life. When InWorldz suddenly vanished, due to loans going bad for the company, thousands of people suddenly lost all their invested effort in developing their dreams and second lives. I was not overly affected, as I was keeping a presence there as a kind of museum of past works. I was renting a delightful sky forest, a thousand metres up, with huge trees, and a river, and liked to dip in their, at least once a week. InWorldz had been an important step beyond Second Life in 2010, to explore ways to build large space structures, that could be used in the virtual world, as if in space. The cost of land in Second Life was a wall to progress, while in InWorldz we could afford a whole region (256 x 256 metres) to experiment with. Another brick wall in Second Life, is only being able to stretch a prim to 64 metres. In InWorldz a prim could be stretched to 256 metres. This enabled the larger builds, such as a torus space station shell, a large wheel 256 metres in diameter, made with one round prim. In Second Life this is only possible with many small parts. Lost now is my sprite avatar, which served as inspiration in making the space builds. Engineers love STEM (science, technology, engineering and maths), but I prefer STEAM, where the "A" stands for arts. Apple built a trillion dollar company, in part because they had an eye for the needs of art. Space development must also learn this lesson, to really fly and serve.


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #9 


Gripped by age
I tumble through time
what am I

Gripped by time
I look up 
an apparition
a muse
a changeless

Those knowing eyes
that gaze
that stare
watching me
never seeing

How can the simple avatar
shock the heart
an illusion
not real

Gripped by age
I slip through time
slide on space
like ice
and you watch

You watch

And you don't change
my avatar
my muse
my unreal self
my agent illusion

What will happen?
with this game
with this play
making art
like ocean spray

We are connected
like twins
the me I am not
out there
being free to be

Avatar agent
we have work to do
I am changing
and you are gaming


NOTE ~   I am looking toward an exhibition exploring the avatar as a muse. You are not amused? I am amused at the role of a muse in the life of an artist. Tis a tad like Serendipity in science, a kind of goddess, but not a goddess, who reveals unexpected discoveries. For the artist, the muse inspires, and an avatar can be as a muse. The muse is not who the artist is, but the muse can amuse. And also fit that other essential role of a muse, of being timeless. There is a painting of an artist's muse climbing through the window, deserting the artist. Why? That artist had fallen into lethargy. That is when the muse would leave. As the poet Dylan Thomas once amused ~ "Do not go gently into the good night, old age should burn and rave at close of day; rage, rage against the dying of the light." Anyone, of any age, can now rage through the day and into the night, with an avatar to run with, to inspire the unleashing of the creative spirit from within. One may also recall the way of the Vikings, to die with a sword in one's hand. What does that mean? It means to go out fighting. The word is a sword, a sword of the mind. With words we can fight, creatively, as with avatars we run. It may also be noted that many artists rage deeply into ancient years, like Michelangelo did, and Picasso. To live a longer life with a thrill, get creative. Some die young, as Vincent van Gogh fell as he painted. But, he burnt more life in a few years, than many could manage in a dozen long lives, and left a legacy of amazing art, which is now absolutely priceless. In Oslo, in the Norwegian National Art Gallery, there was a small self-portrait by Vincent, in three-quarter view, with an eye glaring out through time. You could see the rage that drove the man in that painted portrait. The rage. We need to rage. Tis the fuel of creativity. Tis the glowing coals in the heart of life.


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #10 


My dream boat takes me many places
when the spirit opens the way to the waves
of inspiration

Boat came to mind
mixed with soul
and me

Who am I
within the skin

Would you want to know me without bones
just a spirit sparkling
with ideas

With dreams that haunt my soul
across the ocean of space
among endless stars

I focus on a grain of sand
and see a universe of beauty
going in deep

Of molecules and atoms 
and subatomic particles
and more

How many grains of sand are there in our wondrous cosmos
how many amazing beaches
on how many planets

Imagine living on a world without a sun
flying through deep space
among the stars

Those worlds exist
flung from their star
to roam in perpetual night

Do people live there
with their dreams

I hope they have power for light
and a good heater
and laughter

Anything is possible
when we suspend the impossible
and dream

Would you meet me
without skin or bones
truly naked

A sparkling spirit of the imagination
with curiosity for anything


NOTE ~   We cannot take the body with us when we die, when we fly on as spirit to another life, or find that there is no room left for us in this tiny cosmic home, and find our time has come to be eternal; to finally awaken to who we really are, and be totally real, in the liberty of happiness. A long object flew in from interstellar space in recent times, unlike any object found in the Solar System. Was it a spaceship flying by, using the Sun to accelerate along the way? We cannot know. We could hardly see it. We could only tell that it was large, and it was long, very long. We will forever wonder now, what it was, where it was from, and where was it going to. One day, when we can build fast ships for space, we may catch up with the long rock, and find out it it really was a spaceship, flying among the stars, with living beings a'board. Our journey through life is a bit like that long rock from interstellar space. We fly from life to life, until we find our journey's end. Will it be this next star?


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #11 

Dead Phone

It was a really lovely funeral
all my friends brought flowers
read poems
all gone now
inside the earth
waiting for rebirth

The wind whistled through branches
the sun danced across the grass
my friends answered calls
as we reflected upon this sad loss
of a phone of choice
now truly dead and buried

"Turn off ya phone
and listen hard!"
everyone was stunned
but then they heard
from beneath the ground
the chirping of a bird

That twas the call
from my old phone
that woke me up at night
or late morning
calling me now from in the ground
to reach into the dirt and answer

No one moved
all looked stunned
how could this have happened
No one would act
until a cloud of fur made a cloud of dust
scattering all the flowers

Then there he was
as often he would be
with my once dead phone between his teeth
my trusty dog
my loving mutt Rover
with chirping in his beak

I reached down to take
that now slimed phone
come mud from dirt
who could resist
to silence the chirping
to answer the call

It was the police
with reports from the Council
about an illegal funeral
What could I say
Not I this day?
we all fled the burial scene

My phone once dead
now lives again
a new lease of life
from beyond the grave
only one chirp
and Rover is alert


NOTE ~   Imagine a graveyard for dead phones, each with a little headstone, to remember the device of choice, now passed away.


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #12 

Not Talking

I'm in a huff
and really gruff
from what you said
with your tongue of lead
Not talking!!!

Your words of honey
are really quite lovely
but you went a bridge too far
go fly away to the nearest star
Not talking!!!

Are the flowers for me 
those I can smell and see
setting so prettily in that jar
ya nearly had me in your car
Not talking!!!

It's very red
could go to me head
just how fast can it go
it'd be a hoot in the snow
Not talking!!!

OK, just one whirl
just one whizzy twirl
along the cliff top roads
and where else, who knows
Start driving!!!

Don't go away
please, do stay
it's you I really like
don't get on your bike
Keep talking!!!

I won't react today
if you say that again
I'll just be quiet and listen
and allow your dreams to glisten
Stay Talking!!!


NOTE ~   Sometimes, if we will stop thinking, and just be quiet and listen, everything will be OK. 


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #13 

Rock Bottom

When trolls see the daylight
they turn into stone
with bottoms of rock 
that no longer moan

Lost to the Moonlight
trapped in the day
stoned trolls are left
to silently gaze

The once ferocious troll
on the mountains danced
with lightning and thunder
along ridges pranced

At times under bridges
waiting for a traveler
to grab an ankle
and eat the rambler

Scattering bones
around on the ground
a warning to others
if that way bound

Now a troll of rock
no more to roam
trapped in the day
with a bottom of stone


NOTE ~   Rock Bottom is in the vein of a pun verse I made in the 1980s, when I had a studio and shop called ~ The Dragons Lair ~ in the Salamanca Arts Centre. This was an old complex of stores and factories, built in the early 1800s, with sandstone walls and great wooden rafters like a castle, and with bars on the first floor windows, where my place was located. I'd put a green dragon out the window, with it hanging onto the bars, and without looking, pour some water out, and then look out to see if a got anyone. Sometimes people would look up, but I think I always missed. Devilment. Once a Japanese publication made a story on the Dragons Lair, but I could not read Japanese, so who knows what they wrote of me and the Lair. Looked good, with the dragon hanging off the window bars. And when ere anyone ventured up the stairs to find the Dragons Lair, I would dare to share my pun verse ~

Fire breathing dragons may eat you at night
smoke fuming beasties consume you alright
fried or grilled or roasted
they don't really mind
as long as you are tasty
with ketchup on the side


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #14 


In the afternoon sun
by the ocean waves
I sit in the dunes 
with the gulls at play

One hovers on the wind
nearby in the air
with the smell of salt
and free of care

Where waves crash in
upon the sands
where children make castles
with their tiny hands

The sand is warm through my fingers
like sugar with a spoon
to add to the tea
in the afternoon

With cakes freshly baked
still warm from the oven
like a witches magic
from the home cookery coven

The fire crackles near
the log glows slow
and I turn back to the book
about a time in the snow

Long ago and so young
we built an igloo for our camp
glowing at night like a lantern
a cool exotic lamp

A gum leaf in the billy
to make bush tea
ya can't buy that flavour
not for any fee

I close the door on those memories
and find myself on the beach
where waves crash in like breath
where gulls happily screech

I keep returning to that moment
in the sun of the afternoon
to be with the salted breeze
with sand in my hand like a spoon


NOTE ~   Howrah was once a town, and may have been named after a city in India. There was a sign at each end of Howrah, declaring the ~ Town of Howrah. It is now a suburb of the City of Clarence. Howrah was once all farmlands, where I ran as a child on endless adventures, in the forested hills above our town, and to the beach, by the shore of the River Derwent, where it is a deep and wide harbour. From the beach there was a view to the ocean, and the sea breeze would blow in most afternoons. This is the setting of the poem, where I once played as a child, building sandcastles. And being by the ocean waters, sandcastles could have moats. Fond memories from days in the sun, like a dream. The igloo was built, on a National Fitness camp in the snow, by Twilight Tarn along the Tarn Shelf. Two groups built igloos, which were out of the cold wind at night. The third group went higher up to a ridge of snow, and made a snow cave. The tea and the book and the log fire is reflective of a wise old English gentleman I once knew, where I had my studio in his big old house, where he would offer a cup of tea, and in the evening, a glass of sherry. He kept his mind active by reading, and being wise, and having once trained race horses, many people would come to ask for Bark's advice on many matters. He told of taming the wildest horse, with the help of young women, who came to his riding school, and who frequently visited Bark. It was a happy time. As I respecting the wisdom of elders, I once asked Bark ~ "What is the most important thing in life?" Ever swift with a reply, the old man surprised me, with silence, for a time, until answering with one word ~ "Confidence." I took that lesson on board, and made it one of my cornerstones to build a life on. 


Posts: 139
Reply with quote  #15 

Cork with a Sail

A cork on the ocean with a sail
is quite unsinkable
and can take an ant around the World
if food it has
and something drinkable

Some people are like corks
sailing on through life
who go into a wave and seem to drown
but then bob up again
surviving the strife

There was a man from Denmark
who took to the sea
rounded the cape of Good Hope
to explore old Van Diemen's Land
adding gum leaf to his tea

The son of the royal Danish clockmaker
his life tick-tocked along
as an officer on a British ship
as a whaler across the Pacific Ocean
and as a sea captain for Napoleon

This man of cork resilience
ruled Iceland for 50 days
served as a spy for England
through Germany and France
until made a convict for his gambling ways

Sent off to Van Diemen's Land in chains
he found his feet as a policeman
hunting sheep rustlers in the bush
where he met an Irish lass
and asked for her hand

She could not read and could not write
and was in and out of jail
a wild young Vandemonian
with a rugged old sea dog
made an interesting tale

A legend in his lifetime
a myth that walked the land
popularly called the convict king
the Viking of Van Diemen's Land
the ex-king of Iceland

A highwayman sent to build a bridge
another convict in chains
made carvings in stone of stories
found in this wild new land
and there on the bridge remains

A king and a queen now ruling a river
an echo from the past
the man of cork who sailed the seas
the Irish lass who met his needs
now joined in stone to last


NOTE ~   The Danish adventurer, Jorgen Jorgenson (1780-1841) has often been described as being like a cork, because so many times he would seem to drown in the vicissitudes of life, but then bob right back up again, and sail on. There are a few books that tell his tale, and he wrote his own story, published in Van Diemen's Land, which was renamed Tasmania in 1853. Norah, the Irish convict lass, was younger than Jorgen, and they were an off match: such is love. Jorgen and Norah, having been married, were in the township of Ross in 1833, when Jorgenson was sent as a police constable to investigate why the bridge was not being built, even though the convict gang was busy every day. The simple answer, which everyone knew, was that the local settlers expected the convicts to supply them with building materials. So the bridge wasn't getting built. After six months of being throughly stone-walled, and quite frustrated, the Jorgensons departed Ross, to head south to Hobart Town. On the way they arrived in Oatlands, when Norah got into a fight in the street with another convict, and was locked up for three months in the Oatlands jail. Woe is me: and it was on Christmas day too. It could be a stormy life in those wild colonial days. Frustrated at the Ross bridge not being built, and being needed for the King's highway between Hobart and Launceston, a former highwayman in England, who had been sentenced to hang, but then dispatched to Van Diemen's Land for the term of his natural life, was sent to Ross to finish the bridge under a new supervisor, Capt. Turner. Well, the bridge was completed within a year, was opened in 1836, and is now the third oldest bridge in Australia. Built of sandstone mined at Ross, there are three arches, and along both sides of the arches, there are 186 large stone carvings. The Ross Bridge is the only stone bridge in the World with carvings along all of the arches. So why are the carvings on the Ross Bridge? They were not part of the original plan for the bridge, were never mentioned in reports during construction, and not commented on at the opening by Leut. Gov. Arthur. Why the carvings were made is an absolute mystery, which runs deep, because all details of the colonial administration of convicts and public works were reported on, in detail. Nothing, and I mean nothing, just happened, and for no explained reason. So why does all this convict art exist on the Ross Bridge? The only reason that I can find, is that it was a ploy to get the convicts to build the bridge. Folk were very superstitious, and stonemasons were held in high regard, even convict stonemasons. The story still surrounding the Ross Bridge, is that the art is Celtic in design. It is all very mysterious imagery, but the carvings are nothing like any known Celtic art found in history, or at the time of construction. My deep suspicion is that Turner and Herbert cooked up a plot, and told the convict gang that there were to be carvings on the bridge, and they would be magical Celtic art. That may have done the trick, so that when local settlers came looking for building materials, the convicts were found to be very busy, building a bridge. What a frenzy of work there would have been, to make so many large stone carvings within a year, as well as build the bridge. Daniel Herbert was newly married to Mary when they moved to Ross, and it can be pondered if the passion of the first year of their life together, was also driven into those stone carvings with a chisel. Herbert spent the rest of his days in Ross, working as a stonemason in the surrounding districts, but no other grand work in stone exists, beyond the odd head on a church, and gravestones. It is believed that the king and queen on the Ross Bridge, are portraits of Jorgen and Norah, as the convict king and queen, and for Jorgenson, depicting the myth he walked with, as the ex-king of Iceland. If this is so, it is significant, as there is no other portrait of Jorgen Jorgenson, our Viking in Van Diemen's Land. The original spelling of his name is with an "e", as Jorgensen, but he anglicised the spelling when among the British. Another mystery to boot, is that there has never been a documentary movie made on Jorgenson, or about the amazing story of the Ross Bridge. That drought may yet be broken, and hopefully before all there carvings weather away in the regular floods that strike the bridge, when the river rages. There is a song on Jorgenson by a Tasmanian punk folk group called The Dead Maggies, which is slightly hilarious, but does include strong language ~ and maybe that is fitting for an old sea dog, now sailing in stone above the waters of the Macquarie River .....

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