Wollondilly sequence a tanka string another spring rain dandelions vibrating between kikuyu and clover — the jerry can sits empty my teacup full on the counter A kitchen, Picton, NSW purple topped thistle beside a crushed gravel path in late…
by Veronica Troup Our picnic rug once strewn across the spinifex arms wrapped, melting skin our footprints followed the tiny yes of seagull tracks our names scrawled deep in wet sand did not spell n o t g o o…
by Veronica Troup Vast greywacke mountains elbow sky rolling under snow’s unwoken fleece liquid shale blue-wrinkles shore veined in poplar, silver birch higher, sunbathed tussocks clump alone their roots warm beneath mist touching earth Our snow laugh tastes of lemonwood…
Suzi Mezei now lives in Naarm, on lands traditionally owned by the Boonwurrung People, having been born in Sri Lanka. Her work is published in Australia and overseas in journals and anthologies in print and online; it has been performed…
they bow their heads weighed down by raindrops as nature’s cups – roses bearing the burden if only to blush brighter dreaming of vistas whose breezes dance on my neck as seen before with sillage sensed – memories adrift at…
by Pauline Cleary When I reach the gate, the call of a mopoke cuts through the night, haunting and melancholic, a two-beat song, repeated. The moon rises, glowing and evanescent, floating on orange-rimmed cloud; tossed into the sky by some…
a scritching sound wakes me from deep sleep – a grey possum with large yellow eyes staring through the window night sky satellites track across stars filming earth below my solo retreat deprived of true solitude spring sunset – dotted…
by Andrew Hede Hamas hostages massacre survivors in netherworld darkness initial helplessness descends into hopelessness ~ witnessing from afar brings deep sadness tinged with despair a young boy weeps beside his parents wrapped in white shrouds their home a heap…
by Andrew Hede gentle winter breeze ~ bees flutter among blossoms of golden wattle a faint scent of nectar a soft sound of buzzing ~ I reflect on the grandeur of planet earth a hidden grove of seven scribbly gums…
by Les Wicks My boat was an argument. Like all arguments it leaked when subjected to pressure, once dragged out of shadows was unable to endure the corrosions of the sun. It took some tacking a modicum of sweat but…
