Poems
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STARS AND INK
By Kit BrookmanNothing about the universe is peaceful,
and nothing about a poet’s brain is, either.
Both are tracts of light-shot ink,
a fusion-studded soup that stretches on -
Strangler Fig
By B. R. DionysiusThe light years of their birth & death. The immeasurable
Expansion & collapse of eras, like a husband’s stretched
Snort of breath at his wife’s nippy questions. A snail’s oozy
Diminutive progress in slow motion or a gradual weave on -
Regent Honeyeater
By B. R. DionysiusXanthomyza phrygia
A power as diluted as the monarch’s they were named for;
Their colonial reach across the border, tempered by more
Indigenous agitators, the great unwashed mass of noisy miners -
METAMORPHOSES
By Angela GardnerI
Street after street held back in unanimity
drowned in brick and tile containment -
The Bell Ringers
By Jane WilliamsA villanelle
The church bells ring out caressing the stone.
A circle of ten at the end of each swing,
the bell ringers stand together alone. -
THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING
By Kit Brookman1.
Stars
hang there
like broken glass in night’s gut. -
The Scrimmage
By Candy RoyalleThere is violence here
an abundance of it
fists and elbows and tongues that lash out
ankles and knees that fight to keep balance -
A Final Note About The Religions
By Lionel FogartyI opened the door that morning to the horror of society
Sis we gotta pay another $250 to get our brothers coffin
to the Church, we already given all we got
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Superb Fairy Wrens
By Marg SheppardA little bird,
Collar of brilliant blue
Head too,
Announcing! -
The initiation
By Michael GiacomettiWelcome said he with a wink and walked on
Not stopping
Nor once looking back they march
Silent but for the snap of twig -
Implied (suggested version)
By Michael GiacomettiThese lines of contour
suggest landscapes of abstract
possibilities
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Accents
By Cathy BrayInspired by one of those “Easily-influenced, could-do-better” school reports I got as a Year 9 Boarder in 1968.
Tendrils sucking round
An outstretched finger -
Due south
By Michael GiacomettiFrom winter sunrise until sunset
you tramp unstintingly through scrub
to catch up your shadow
as it draws ahead -
Is this the lunch stop?
By Michael GiacomettiOne unwraps plastic
Other gorges pre-made chow
Time to boil? Or blow?
-
the river
By Jonathan Hillthere we are - seated in a tight circle, sharing ridiculously obscure foodless recipes, smiles creasing our cheeks, eyes alive with belonging. our laughter so loud, it rises above the rain, bequeathed to us by bundoola, that has plagued and cleansed us all week long. the last poem recited. one final applause. the deluge intensifies as we crawl… -
Eastern Bristlebird
By B. R. DionysiusDasyornis brachypterus
Fire cleanses more than memory; a bad
Season will clear out tussock grass without
A backward glance. The charred ‘calling logs’ -
IN DOUBLE MIRRORS
By Angela GardnerIn double mirrors
true and false
we are frangible
skin’s visible default -
In the moment
By Jane WilliamsA haibun
I climb the spiralling stone steps, the already narrow way seemingly narrower at each curve. One, two, three .. twenty five... I place my trust in my guide ahead of me, in his experience. When the light bulb blows I instinctively begin to feel my own way, hands against the cool rough walls. I position my foot so that my toes tap the botto… -
Confession of an inveterate peak bagger
By Michael Giacometti1.
[ … ]
2.
These scaffolds of talus and scree -
Implied
By Michael GiacomettiLandscape of abstract
possibility exists
between lines [of] contour
