by JONATHAN CANT Welcome to Polyethylenesia, says the glossy travel brochure. The “new Hawaii” awaits you less than a three-hour flight From San Francisco or L.A.—far easier to get to Than Micro-plastic-nesia in the Northwest Pacific. Polyethylenesia is a manmade…
by FREDERICK HAYES As the younger membersPrepared for a summer of funThe old man carried a scytheOut to the verdant meadowAnd stepping his way downThe glade and back he mowedThe long grass with a lithe graceAs the late spring sun…
by FREDERICK HAYES We paddled diffidentlyAlong with the othersAlways awkwardlyEmbarrassed by ourLack of coordinationMindful of the milesAnd the bruised fingersCompeting with achingMuscles for our attentionWhilst pristine MainePaced along beside usQuietly observing ourUneven progress downThe water’s pathwayUntil the stream widenedAnd the…
by MICHAEL GREENACRE I’m drawn back in time by your stillness, as if the past is still living within us and the gum trees remind me I know where I am, as crowded greenery keeps its foothold below the sun’s…
by HELEN ROSEMARY WOOD Yunbenun * In the deep north, this island paradise of fringing coral reefs nestles in Halifax Bay. Ancient connections to Wulgurukaba ‘canoe people,’ with shell middens, stone tools and cave paintings. A volcanic blast from millions…
by SAMIRA STEPHENS Stumble my way to the Pho shop down High St, Tailgating the puffer jackets in front, The kid behind me is begging for kebabs, Mistaking them as Italian food, Lucky Schmuck is going off tonight, Someone’s forgotten…
by YVETTE STUBBS 1. She lives on a tropical island Feels vagaries of watery surrounds Ferries dictate her freedom She drowns when controlled. 2. Sandy night walking Paddling in froth and bubbles Splash cold water Flicking the anxt away Into…
by PETER ROBERTS In days of tumult the ragged edges of each episode clash, like bumper bars on the rain drenched freeway; until descending into the tunnel all the world is wiped away like tears after a tantrum –
by KRIS HEMENSLEY for Denis Smith [6-xii-23 (Santoka’s diary 1930 “falling away behind me/ mountains i’ll never see again” – matter of fact or wistfully? life’s what’s become (became — literally here and now but also synoptic — analogy doubles the…
by MARK CLOUGH J M Barrie’s faerie stole my heart Or was it Keats’s … La Dame Belle sans Merci? We met there in the some-wheres of our time Full beautiful … a fae delight Who looked at me as…
