Longer Poetry

by Jo Whitelaw The grass is lush on the downward face yet I’m careful where I tread, for a thousand souls rest in this place. This island’s final bed. I progress through ancient stones and feel the kiss of ocean…

All New Life Showroom by Wayne Pollard On the edge of transcendental space life is. Neon moons allude to the entrance of the All New Life Showroom. A velvet starfish points to a room and slips those that enter a…

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…

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 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 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…

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…

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 Robbie Coburn I am always with you when it begins to rain. any given night I could dream that I was well and never wake up beside you again. under the apartment roof there was one voice, the blood…

by Earl Livings It can’t be all hunting on the wing, those sudden swerves, open beak scooping insects. There’s beat glide beat glide beat rise and dip into swoop barrel roll low fast skimming above quivering green above rain pools…