Brief 4 – Ben’s video in response to Leanne’s Poem


Brief 4 – Poem by Leanne

It is a limbo

between the unknown.

A rip, stretching, pulling apart

of casing, sheathing.

Pulling apart the flesh

to emerge into reality. 


To exist is breathing

between the haunted.

Exorcise the demons 

contorting within

your limbs. Splayed

and stretching 

outwards to the

point of splintering,

the webbing of your

fingers rupture into

wounded fissures until 

you are the between. 


Your neck, like your

dune-carved back, 

torn taut into a

violin bow tension

and you hear music

even though you cannot

see. You are flickering

through dimensions,

quivering through

minims and quavers.


Everything is 

compressed. And 

you, submerged, 

until only remnants and

fibres tether you

together, let out a 

scream from your 

inner. Eternally, from

the in-between. 

Will edit with intention and theme ideas gleaned from Leanne’s poem in a few days. For now, tis a mystery.

Brief 4- Sophia and Kyah

Kyah and I followed the Option A instructions, where I chose to respond to the ‘Boxers’ video:


Watch the boxers

Brawling, but there’s no hate towards each other.

Just their sport.

Watch the lovers

Sparring, but there shouldn’t be hate towards each other.

It’s just their love.

A stroke towards his cheek

A blow that emits

An effect that drifts sweat beads supersonic.

Their words strike like fists

Their affair is like boxing

There’s only peace after the bloodshed.

Bodies slicked with wet,

Blood or sweat?

Bodies slicked with blood,

Does red mean war or love?

Bodies slicked with sweat,

Exhaustion from aggressive amusement or destructive desire?

Watch the boxers dance,

And then

Watch the lovers dance,

Is there a difference in what you see?





Relax into the mess

The mess that is your mind

Enjoy your thoughts

Bad, good

Dirty, chaste

Whether they are helpful or detrimental

Wallow in your thoughts


Venture to the corners of your conscious

Uncover secrets not even you knew

Travel through your thoughts

Feel as if you are in an unknown place

Recline back into comfort

A place where you are completely you

Where you know the inner workings

Where you can steer the path of your pleasure

Become reckless

Defy what you thought you knew

Thrash and smash down your barriers

Your psyche, a prison cell

Holding you captive from expansion

Run away

Leave your thoughts behind

What you know no longer matters

What you want to know is who you are to become

Destined for greatness, held back by nothing


Realise that running isn’t always the answer

Being in a place of comfort

Doesn’t mean being in a place of immobility

A flower blooms best in its natural habitat

Enjoy your thoughts

Set yourself the task of exploration

Come home to your true self

Break down the walls of comfort

Run through unchartered territory

Fall back into yourself


Relax into the mess

The mess that is your mind


Brief 4- Video and poem response

Hi all, my partner, Zahra and I responded to the poem “The Earth Shakes” by Steve Stanfield. This post will include the poem we responded to, the film I made in response to the poem and and poem I made in response to Zahra’s film.

Initial Poem

[The earth shakes]

The earth shakes
just enough
to remind us.
Video Response 
link to youtube below. The video is called “to remind us to notice”
Poem Response to Zahra’s film
I have included an image and a text version, just in case the image is too difficult to read. Blackout poem using the first two pages of Song for the Blue Ocean by Carl Safina. Titled: a relationship with the ocean.

I stood,
I watch
slowly circling the
void upon the waters.
The eternal sea.

molten glass
seemed to meld
into blue night,
the sun a moist watercolour
freshly created and laden with

the sea
breathing gently on my lover’s chest
the atmosphere a curtain around
planet Ocean
my eye was a faint molten sea,
the surface like a suspended moment
backlit from another world.

The tear it left was
emerald and wild
a watery jungle
we examine the surface
while the ocean may look
for millennia

Meghan – Response

This poem is in response to Ambriehl’s video (attached) based on the poem “The Earth Shakes”

Have you looked outside today friend?

Did you wander through the canals of familiarity?
Let the rivers of concrete pull your feet in a direction they knew by heart.

Are the gentle bustles of your city like a lullaby?
The kind that is soft and dozing, lulling you as you travel.

Did you bask in the warmth of comfort?
Cocoon yourself in the soft fabrics of safety, a fluffy shield of security.

Did you fill the air with the rhythms of quiet?
A docile peace reserved for the inner caverns of your ears alone.

Did the branches of nature weave a net over you?
One with small holes, so only careful sunlight could seep through and caress you.

Did you look over your vast kingdom?
Feel the waves of sanctuary, and bask in your impregnable haven.

But friend…
When you looked outside today, did you see?

Can you hear that distant marching and the voices that scream?
The filth that crawls into crevices and violates our screens

Did you witness morality crumbling?
White lips that spew lies and silence the rainbow of oppression

Can you see the pain in the streets?
Pyramids of tears and waste creating a child playgrounds.

The world is burning

Do you see it?

Ambriehl – Response


This poem is in response to Meghan’s video (attached) based on the poem “The Earth Shakes”

entirely too placid—i’d spend hours trying to catch your gaze. call me asinine, call me puerile, hell, call me down right foolish. i’ve spent days floating, mind wandering. all i can do is day dream.
picture this; it’s summer and we’re at the beach. the sand grains make a home between our toes and the salted air belts through our hair, twisting and turning—-and god, is that fucking yearning, too? the sweetness of the sea kisses us when we enter it. how does it feel? never mind, the answer is written on your face.

what do you think of when you hear the word ‘peaceful?’
my mum always answers with the same thing; the sound of birds chirping in the early morning. my dad says a thunderstorm on a particularly miserable day.
you told me it was the cabin your family owns; tucked away in a tiny corner of the woods. the lights don’t work and it’s always splintered with a chill in the air. you told me it’s the one place you don’t feel lonely, and i think i understand that feeling.
me, though? i think of you.
you are the tranquil waters on a small lake—the first drops of rain from the overcast sky.
i’ve never known the embodiment of serene before. i’ve known angry words and fist fights, bloodied noses and bruises.
i’ve known silence—and it was deafening.
it’s not with you.

Brief 4- Zahra Muhammad (with Madelynne Herrmann)

Prompt: ‘The Earth Shakes’ by Steve Sanfield

The earth shakes
just enough
to remind us.

My video response:

My written response to Madelynne’s video:

How could something
so beautiful be so
bad for you?

It’s sitting there
in a field of green,
reaching for the sun.

You’re drawn to it,
for it looks innocent,
blinded by beauty.

So, you lean down
to touch it, fingers
brushing against petals.

Now it’s got you in
its grips, tendrils
hooked to your veins.

The poison is spreading
fast, sinking its roots
into your brain.

Like a leech it sucks
your blood away,
leaving you drained.

Your body starts to
wither, your limbs
and organs decay.

And then, it leaves you
there to die, rotting
from the inside out.

brief 4 – gifting activity

Partners: Darvey To and Jaidyn Attard

Group: B (make an audio visual based on a poem, then write a response – poem or 400 word prose – based on the partner’s audiovisual from the response of a poem)

NOTE: Just realised that whilst many chose the same poem to do this, we interpreted that we both do a DIFFERENT one…so either way uhhhhhhhhh….just roll with what we got? 🤷🏻‍♀️



Pay over attention to all things,
standing at the edge of fury; or don’t—you might not need to
be strapped down, with your eyes
held open like Alex ‘The Large’ to see the destruction, to be reminded of the failure of our kind
to save this precious earth.
it sounds like a plane flying low,
rumbling, a dragon’s cavernous belly.
The uprooted trees spin and snap, shrapnel-dirt leaps from the ground
leaving warzone shellholes behind to remind those who want not to be reminded at all;
and the ground under me shakes
with the force of a bus lurching to a halt, throwing me down
on my face.
Open your eyes now,
tell me of the ruin scattered before your poor, shocked body.
How did things get this bad?
Ask the soil, the waters, the clouds and they’ll tell you the story of the earth that shook.




clouds are grey

and i’m heavily dazed 

wind is heavy

and my world is rippled


wonder and yonder

desolate spaces 

lurking and searching

for home



so far from you


i can’t see you


sunlight glimmers

fog lingers

birds twitter 

nature prospers


there are so much of you

but which one is you?

step, step, step,

till i walk to you


colour blooms before you

and yet

i am blinded 

in shades of grey


it’s cold here

It’s empty here

am I here?

are you here? 

Brief 4 Alannah Burr (with Jenna Duffy) – The Earth Shakes

Hey! So I worked with Jenna on brief 4, and her post can be found here ( ). In this post I will include my video response to the poem The Earth Shakes by Steve Sanfield, and my prose response to Jenna’s video.


  1. My Video Response –


  2.  My written response to Jenna’s video


Tick Tock.

Watch the clock.

Can’t be late.

You know what happens when you’re late.

Rushing about your life, swerving people on the streets, the cacophony noise of the city surrounding you becoming white noise as you speed walk to your next meeting. Unable to tell a police siren from a baby’s wail. As long as they stay out of your way so you aren’t late.

The clock tocks faster.

Are you early? Are you late? Where’s a phone? Should you call him? And dare admit you lost track of time? What would he say?

Passing by the boutiques on your way home where time seems to stand still. Layouts of chaise lounges and tea tables, only for those who have time. Which you don’t. Why are you stopping?

The Grandfather clock in the corner always taunts you. Running exactly a minute behind. Thinking you have a minute to spare. A minute to breathe. There’s no time for breathing.

You can hear it. A tick in one ear. A tock in the other.

The click of heels being the only sound you can hear. They sound like a clock. You finally find a phone booth. You hear the ringing. You miss the tocking. Ringing means waiting and who has time for that. The ringing lasts so long you realise you’re seeing him tomorrow. You’re a day early. Which means you forgot tonight’s commitment.

The tick’s tock so fast. Since when was a second this short?

You run back from where you came, as fast as your legs will carry you. You’re way behind schedule, how could you let this happen? Clocks stare at you from all directions. You can hear the biggest one chiming now.

A relief to not hear a tock for once.

You know this place well, running around every-day past the same boutiques, through the same subway where the trains are never on time, in and out but you don’t have time to stress. Otherwise you’d slow down.

And you can’t be late. Not when someone is waiting. They say it’s too much on your shoulders. That all you’re running around will get you killed. But they don’t know.

The tick tock in your head won’t stay silent for a second.

You get off the train and speed off on your way. Passing people who stroll about their day. A drop of sweat drips down your forehead and into your eye. You stop outside the boutique and look inside.

Your reflection is screaming. A pocket watch tocks.

Brief 4 – Hayden, Nathan, & Greta

Silver Mirror (Hayden Andipas)

Prompt: Archaic Fragment (Louise Gluck)

Response (Greta Egan)

Plastered layers, A cast

Over my face that wraps up my identity, my feelings

Obscuring the body I see, the body that I materialise

from sight, I feel constricted, the pressure in my head twofolding with the adhesion of more tape

How do I get a handle on this?

Where I once saw the reflection of myself, I now see a glamour of blue

No shape or silhouette.

Sometimes I barely see at all.

Will you please stop blinding me? Will I stop blinding me?


Fireflies (Nathan Fumberger)

Prompt: Blizzard (William Carlos Williams)

Response (Hayden Andipas)

The Furious static fills my head. It tells me to move, go forward,
writhe in silent anger and let the static be your lens.
And then, the light.
At first I saw a solitary glow, just out of reach it floats idly. With no
expectation or purpose the light grows. At first a silent whisper it
builds and grows, bigger, brighter more intense. The light multiplies
its green, blue single then numerous. How long has it been now? A
second or an eternity, it doesn’t matter.
It cuts the static penumbra and brings with it something new…
Hope? Maybe.
And then, as quickly as it began it is gone…
What does the world look like now after the light? I see nothing but
the path ahead of me, lit by the sun and carrying with it something,
something, something.
Perhaps I was never meant to know where the path leads.

Green Matter (Greta Egan)

Prompt: Earth Shakes

Response (Nathan Fumberger)

The emergency was known to the trees.
Acolytes of an old god stood in judgement;
Silent, recording sins on every inch of themselves.

We were a threat to them – we twisted them,
cut, burnt, and bruised them.
Slept in their bones, as they watched us remain.

The climate was felt by the birds.
They were the messengers, the seekers, the remnants
of an old desire to touch the sun, now to fade behind it.

We wielded blades, loved, birthed and named as
we desired – war, blood, extinction.
Paradise, paved by burnt feathers.

The action was begun by the clouds.
Change in the air, the breath of the world
arresting, exhaling, holding, choking.

We saw the gates close to us – our armies
starving and rusted.
Survival watched us stand on our wasteland.

The emergency gripped the world.
Once temples, now threats, the trees
hid the monsters that grew from their blood.

We picked the stones that rained
like fire from the sky and filled them
with coal dust and anger.

The extinction was upon us at last.
The bones, the stars, the land lays cold:
all screaming for our action.

We could not change, return their bones
or their feathers, nor our fear a heartbeat.
Our broken weapons promised our survival.

The end.