Published in Overland Issue 234 Autumn 2019 · Uncategorized Judith Wright Poetry Prize, third place: Surfing at Blackfellas Ross Belton Blackfellas is over the edge a sheer drop beside a path perched against the limestone cliff down to a narrow ledge and plunge a fast paddle over dark water out to the swell rising up from the deep breaking swollen tongues against the silent jaws of the continent. Blackfellas is barely a carpark of loose rock and windblown gulls facing Antarctica another outpost on the massacre atlas bleached of all other witness only a squinting glare to honour the last cries of the frightened and defiant mustered from the camps and the stunted heath forced at gunpoint to fly from this world into the maw of the deafening south wind Image: Ian / Flickr Read the rest of Overland 234 If you enjoyed the results of this prize, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four brilliant issues for a year Ross Belton Ross Belton grew up in Esperance on the Western Australian south coast, graduated in environmental science and has worked in disability facilitation, zookeeping, and in the public service. He lives with his son Jacky Blue, and Jo the Cripster, in Fremantle, where he writes recipes for climate change lamingtons. More by Ross Belton › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 22 May 2026 · Friday Poetry Judas goats Caitlin Maling Because goats can climb / and cave, clamber to find cover / in the bushes of what they can’t eat / which isn’t much. 20 May 202620 May 2026 · Reviews Are you experienced? Louis Armand Pam Brown’s poetry has been described as both conversational and deeply layered, its historical consciousness seemingly belied by a fragmentary, diaristic style. An easy comparison might be drawn with the work of her long-time friend Ken Bolton, which often achieves a sense of over-arching unity of vision expressed in monologue form. Bolton’s work can appear exhaustive — long prose-like stanzas — where Brown’s seems to flicker down the page like dawn through the mangroves on the drive to Cronulla.
