by WALTER MACMILLAN The hillside speaks in waves of branches back and forth, reciting lines of all the signs you left, I left ignored Roads travelled since, rose-lined, Parallel and long. Through the separating space I see your life pass…
by EARL LIVINGS I watch others dangle from the massive rock tower, figures on the mobile of their ambition, one achievement of many for our quickening of breath. I frame the chaos of the sea that has worn durable earth…
by EARL LIVINGS The sea feathering the wet sand with its manes of waves does not know I am here The man westering his shadow across the squeaking sand, hand raised mid-stride as he ventures into his eternity, does not…
by EARL LIVINGS Signs before you point out paved and dirt tracks to lookout moments, encounters with grunting wombats, dashing, courting fairy wrens, flourishes of pink and blue flowers, a placid, sculptured lake, that well-placed park bench for breath and…
by TANJA KOVAC My skin slides sideways with every exhalation I touch the folk-soul, I am every nation My breath is the breath, the companion of the start The lung’s first lover, the friend of the heart. My tip, toes,…
by MICHELLE KANEVSKY Hell lures you through the door with promises of cheap rooms, Then smacks you with resort fees. Campervan melting in the car park, Along with our morals. Neon signs winking: Welcome to Las Vegas. It’s like a…
by ROSS JACKSON that I’m back at Niagara Falls a cataract grown from icy melt which pours and pours and pours I pray Niagara Falls will flow unceasingly until the melting ices run out in the meantime anyone arriving by…
by ROSS JACKSON before dwellings begin swelling across the plain of hot, grey sand crows, magpies, goannas, galahs hopping on and off roadways scant of traffic they’re on a mostly fruitless mission since not much nutrition in thatches of yellow…
by ROSS JACKSON Aided by the journal and the photos, my older self recalls a tortuous journey voluntarily undergone for days at a time while being bowled by a gale along a roller coaster of cliff tops within a groove…
by MARILYN HUMBERT It’s a short walk from the carpark through cypress and ironbarks to the huddle of granite monoliths time worn like old people. Above me layers of clouds scud in opposite directions waiting for a storm. My steps…
