Lost and Found
by Peter Roberts South Gippsland Rail Trail, VIC Can these chalky bones and gristle last the distance? Heavy are the shoulders that bear the backpack but this is no Camino nor Appalachian Way or Inca Trail. I have lost my…
Baw Baw Arts Alliance
supporting local Artists
Baw Baw Arts Alliance
supporting local Artists
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Rohan Buettel
Rohan Buettel lives in Canberra, Australia. His haiku appear in various Australian and international journals (including Presence, Cattails and The Heron’s Nest). His longer poetry appears in numerous journals, including Catchment, Rattle, The Goodlife Review, Meanjin, Meniscus and Quadrant.
backyard
by Kevin Gillam camellias where the tea leaves got tipped behind, picket fence with Mr Sherman’s golden muscats beckoning from between rusted chicken wire, washing line in shade house with Dad’s white underpants flapping in surrender, Hills Hoist tipping slightly…
The Entrance Road
by Rohan Buettel National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, ACT a black bat with red skeletal structure or an anarchist evangelion sharp lines, triangular head, mecha controlled by an unstable child tasked to save the world from another beast, a rough…
Veronica Troup
Veronica Troup is an emerging poet who lives and writes on unceded Boonwurrung Country in Naarm Often a traveller to wilderness areas, she is captivated by landscapes. Her poems have appeared in: Poetry of Change (Liquid Amber), Brushstrokes V (Ros…
Ron Wilkins
Ron Wilkins is an earth scientist who lives in a small forest in Sydney. His work is widely published in scientific journals, and in literary magazines in Australia, USA, UK, France and China. His poetry website is www.fistfulofdust.com. A hobby…
Svalbard Global Seed Vault
by Fred Duncan Auroras pulse and shimmer on Spitsbergen’s Isfjord, And midnight suns reflect on rock and ice and snow; Deep within the frozen ground, life and wealth are stored: A bank of seeds from field and forest, plain and…
Why
by Hazel Hall Prompted by ‘Evening, when the quiet east flushes faintly at the sun’s last look’ (a painting by Tom Roberts, 1887-1888) she often wondered why country folk sit on their verandas like plein air art. only sirens as…
Ballajura
by Maria Bonar Hot westerly, dry windswept garden. My red and white striped pool towel snaps and blows on the washing line. From the corner of my eye I see something furry with a tail, scurry over the wall. I…
David Briese
by DAVID BRIESE only my footprints soft traces on golden sand salt-tanged wind and crashing surf am I alone if the sea speaks to me barramundi lurk beneath mangrove shadows water dark and still fishing in the Kimberley crocodile eyes…