supporting local Artists
supporting local Artists
by WAYNE POLLARD A flat sea absorbs my thoughts, its calmness almost from another time, what is being said, it is winter, the sun shines and the sea is flat, little ripples brush sand as disjointed clouds float waiting a…
by WAYNE POLLARD A soft moment drips into a transforming mind. A frog, hope for a future, croaks beside a waterway contaminated by too many greedy acts. Gum leaves rest softly on tufts of kangaroo grass awaiting a ride…
by JAYA PENELOPE there was a forest in my bed small forests on my legs cold stars blazed in my mouth in my mind dreams ran like clear water through the temple of my skull I built cairns of white stones …
by JAYA PENELOPE For my great-great grandmother Catherine Tobin Everything falters under the fierce light as you step blinking from the belly of the frigate, your hopes folded tight among the threadbare dresses in the weathered trunk you clutch between…
by REBECCA WEYMOUTH Loch Creek slithers and grooves out the hills Till the springs, where it plays We bathe in the sun, with just our togs on Up to our necks in mud Then back by blackberries Careful of cow…
by SUZI MEZEI They dot the silica-fringe like the dowdy remnants of Halloween, the size of small fists, a shanty of abandoned carbonate shacks; evidence of interior lives. An urchin’s derelict house disintegrates, its papuled walls splinter, slide merciless into bare…
by SUZI MEZEI We marvel at the vast expanse of the black hours which begin around nine when the hilltop stretches tenebrous all the way to the ocean where a moon lights only the water, where the surface tonight is…
by SUZI MEZEI The terracotta birdfeeder blends with the garden; even in July when mud-coloured skeleton-boughs balance it on disarrayed stick-fingers that point to nowhere. In summer it sways in torrid gusts above a matching bath of stilled water dotted…
by HEATHER McRAE Under the beach umbrella I watched Dad swimming far out past the sand banks and the pale shallows arms forking, dark head moving through blue ripples At the ocean beach Mum called the crests white horses, said…
by DAVID McCLUSKEY Grey Dull white Not so sliver Not so bright Breaking rules Between dark and light Childhood opposites Confused, not right Wayward pebble Skipping off from night Sky truant lost Concrete satellite