Poems
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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 -
Peak-bagging
By Michael GiacomettiTop-out at the trig
or cairn, sign the summit log
The list grows shorter
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Haiku
By Jane Williamsview from the bell tower-
the city escaping
the toll of the bells
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Due south
By Michael GiacomettiFrom winter sunrise until sunset
you tramp unstintingly through scrub
to catch up your shadow
as it draws ahead -
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Scale 2
By Michael GiacomettiOnly two inches
distant on the map, but it
is two mile too far
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Haiku
By Jane Williamsmid morning sun
through windows shaped like flowers -
the world inside out
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Spur and Gully
By Michael GiacomettiMorning mist climb spur
and ridge; water gullies
in rapid descent
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Alice Springs Orogeny
By Michael GiacomettiCrush this mile thick sand
then tilt fuse and fold — it screams
silent syllables
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Overnight with Franz near Mt Giles
By Michael GiacomettiNamed after Ernest Giles, the English-born explorer of the rangelands and western deserts of Australia in the early 1870s, Mt Giles (or Ltharrkelipeke, pronounced ool-dar-ka-lee-pa-ka, in Arrernte), at 1389 metres above sea level it is not only the third highest peak in the Northern Territory, but the third highest west of the Great Dividing Range… -
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 -
THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING
By Kit Brookman1.
Stars
hang there
like broken glass in night’s gut. -
METAMORPHOSES
By Angela GardnerI
Street after street held back in unanimity
drowned in brick and tile containment -
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… -
What Would Jane Do?
By Alexandra PinkhamGrey hair, white hair,
Dyed hair, no hair,
Perms and buns
(Getting old looks fun) -
Albert's Lyrebird
By B. R. DionysiusMenura alberti
(i)
He whistled to her & like an inquisitive dog
The bowl of her head angled, a satellite dish -
Every Landing is an Emergency
By Omar MusaThe arrival.
The trudge,
the stones and the mud, -
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 -
Boobook Owl
By B. R. DionysiusIf they had been Roman, then someone would have
Died every night for months on end as the Boobook
Owl’s chime coursed through the evening like a late
Night telephone call’s bad news. Metronome regular,