supporting local Artists
supporting local Artists
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…
they bow their heads weighed down by raindrops as nature’s cups – roses bearing the burden if only to blush brighter dreaming of vistas whose breezes dance on my neck as seen before with sillage sensed – memories adrift at…
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 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 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 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…
inlaid shells and stained glass saints embracing the light – a mission bell rings above souls at rest in hallowed ground St Barnabas Chapel, Norfolk Island
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…
by Kitty Owens Crocodiles: An ancient fear an undertow the salt to balance the sweetness of the ocean The Japanese Cemetery: A breeze in the bamboo comforts drowned Japanese divers swimming in red dirt Leaving the sea: Take the roaring…
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…