Everything about it was good; the tugging wind trapped and cornered by buildings, steep short cuts bordered by garden escapes, precipitous green gullies where throttling green creepers blanketed the trees beneath.
Barbara Anderson
Barbara Anderson’s concrete poetry can be found in a little park away from the city in Oriental Bay. It’s not exactly hidden, but like all the other concrete poems, is not immediately obvious. That’s ok – you need the exercise anyway.
