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2020 Overall Winner & recipient of the Babies of Walloon bronze statuette

2020 Ipswich Poetry Feast Encouragement Awards

2020 Picture Ipswich Awards – Open Age

2020 Ipswich City Council Awards Open Age – Local Poets

2020 Joy Chambers & Reg Grundy Awards Open Age – Other Poetry

2020 Ipswich Poetry Feast Awards Open Age – Bush Poetry

Remembering Bill the Bastard by Irene Dalgety Timpone (1st)

Where Angels Tread by Tom McIlveen (2nd)

In the book of Jeremiah and Leviticus they say…
‘as a man shall sow, then so too shall he reap!’
It would seem the world has changed a tad since Jeremiah’s day –
as the only things I get to sow are sheep!

I’ve been burying their carcasses to keep them from the crows
and the flies who always seem to find them first.
It is easier to shoot them, than ignore them I suppose,
or to wait until they starve and die of thirst.

We have hardly had a drop of rain since summertime began,
and the creeks and clams and bsllabongs are dry.
And according to predictions from our local weatherman,
it appears El Nino’s here till mid July!

I’d always thought that I was sound and made of stronger stuff,
till I started hearing voices in my head.
They’ve been telling me../ it’s over, and enough’s e-bloody-nough,
and to take the gun and shoot myself instead!’

So I chose my caliber of choice, an Enfield Three ‘O’ Three,
with an action that was steady, sure and sweet.
It was definitely guaranteed to stop the likes of me,
and could drop a ‘roo at seven hundred feet.

I was taking down a photograph that hung upon the wall,
when an angel suddenly appeared on cue.
She was dressed in frilly lace and barely stood a metre tall,
and her eyes they shone like diamond chips of blue.

“Hello, Poppy, where you going with that photo of my mum,
are you shooting kangaroos again today?
I’ve been baking cakes with Granma, and she said to bring you some.
Can I come and feed the hungry sheeps some hay?”

When I looked into her baby blues, I felt a surge of shame,
and I laid the photo down beside the gun.
Could it be that I was crazy, or was something else to blame
for the wicked deed I’d very nearly done?

I had thought I’d taken every punch that Old Man Drought could swing,
till the day I’d copped one right between the eyes.
T’was the day my daughter drove to town to hock her wedding ring
for a load of hay and grocery supplies.

She was heading home and hauling quite a heavy, awkward load,
when another truck had clipped her on a bend.
She had swerved and lost control along the graded, gravel road,
and then hit a ditch and rolled it end on end.

We had buried her on Christmas Eve eleven months ago,
on a day that should have been a joy to all.
We then covered her with roses and a sprig of mistletoe
that we’d taken from the local chapel hall.

I was bearing up until the final service had begun,
and was coping, as a bloke’s supposed to do.
But I lost the plot completely when the eulogies were done,
and the coffin slowly disappeared from view.

It’s the brutal, harsh finality of death that’s hard to take,
when you lose a loved one barely in their prime.
It will cut you to the bone and leave your heart and soul to ache,
and then haunt you till the very end of time.

It was though she stood before me now, with baby blues ablaze,
in the frilly lace that little angels wear.
So I picked her up and hugged her, as I’d done in bygone days,
and a strange vibration filled the morning air.

There were thunderbolts and lightning flashing all about the sky,
and the wind began to howl as if in pain,
when the angel turned towards me with a twinkle in her eye,
and she whispered, “Poppy… Mummy’s making rain!”

It began to trickle down at first, like dew before the dawn,
and then hammered on the iron overhead.
And in that magic moment all the shame and fear was gone,
and the spirit that had haunted me had fled.

It was pelting down and filled the empty corrugated tanks,
as the rusted gutters overflowed and spilled.
It continued fill the river peaked to burst its lower banks,
and the dams and creeks and billabongs were filled.

As the sun emerged, a rainbow formed around the angel child,
and refracted from the sodden ground below…
and the image in the photograph had turned to me and smiled –
and she whispered…“Dad, it’s time for us to sow!”

Bringing the Cattle Home by Irene Dalgety Timpone (3rd)

Forgotten Heroes by Kay Gorring (Highly Commended)

Fishing for a Gucci by Tom McIlveen (Highly Commended)

The Mask by John Roberts (Highly Commended)

Dining with the Devil by John Roberts (Highly Commended)

Freddy 'K' by Tom McIlveen (Highly Commended)

2020 Ipswich City Council Award – 16-17 Years

2020 Queensland Times Award- 14-15 Years

2020 Broderick Family Awards 11-13 Years

2020 Ipswich District Teacher Librarian Network Award – 8-10 Years

2020 River 94.9 Award – 5-7 Years