Claude Monet, 1903–04
When in early morningLondon fog throws its veilof thick organdie over the Thamesdawn espouses dusk.Confetti is spread over the townand sequins of frosted dew glitter on the ground.Victoria Tower, Big Ben and Central Towerstand like gothic ghosts.
Fog makes London beautifulgives breadth to buildings that become grandiose under its mysterious cloak.
Warehouses become palac ... (read more)
Christiane Conésa-Bostock
Christiane Conésa-Bostock was born in Lyon, France and has lived in Hobart since the 1970s. Christiane, along with The Grove Road Poets (Karen Knight, Liz Mc Quilkin, Liz Winfield, and Megan Schaffner), won First Prize in the Fellowship of Australian Writers competition in 2010 with their book Of Things being Various which was published in 2011.Christiane’s solo poetry collection De passage de France en Tasmanie was published in 2011. Her poems, essays, and stories have explored the migration experience. She has been published online, in literary reviews and books in France, Australia, the United States, and Algeria. She has read her poems at various venues in Australia and in Paris. She is presently working on a collection of poems based on Claude Monet’s paintings.
The fly lands on the schoolboy's wooden desk.The boy spots four dark strokes on the fly's thoraxand a body slightly downy. Like his.Sunbeam plays ... (read more)
Claude Monet, 1908
Monsieur Monet has a new lover.She calls at two every afternoonand invites him to stay a few hours. Worshipped by Whistler, Boudin and SignacSanta Maria della Salute is not like the others.
From the steps of the Palazzo Barbarowrapped in a bestowed fur coathe impregnates the domes of his mistresswith a nacreous afterglow. He washes her feetwith glistening tufts of pink, blue a ... (read more)
Claude Monet Circa 1865–70
It is my life. I must recognisethe future is called the past.I turn around to contemplate my youth.
My destiny resembles youand your shadow follows my body.You are walking in the garden of my eyes.
I owe you everything.I am no more than your dusta fine particle of your step.
This dark intimate abyss which rests within me.It would be so simple to bring it to an end. ... (read more)