Topography 9/8/2023
by KRIS HEMENSLEY 9/8/2023 (1 p.m. —i am man with a bun sitting in the sun —stalked by gull —same one each time? daily patrol —hah! —bench & flagstones — any human’ll do —add crumbs to its exemplary skin &…
Baw Baw Arts Alliance
supporting local Artists
Baw Baw Arts Alliance
supporting local Artists
Admin
Grey — the Colour Nomads Leave Behind
by JEANNIE HAUGHTON where landscape dwarfs everything freckled and speckled umber sands asphalt ribbon looping between outcrops russet boulders burnished bronze scrub fading into a blue distant skyline- shimmer-hazed blips nomad vans embracing the long haul languid stretches roads and…
Bucket List
by JEANNIE HAUGHTON cloudless endless sky Cessna drone drills holes in the silence predator-tense the man with a camera perches cockpit awkward scanning for horizon-framed perfection he filter-tweaks expanses of landscape zooms a bird’s eye view of a flea-sized roo…
Unbidden
by JEANNIE HAUGHTON Briny the air tanging the tongue misting the eyes under sombre skies the stones on the waterline roll-rest-roll-rest-roll-rest hightide treasures pocketed parched-pale ’til wave-slapped a palmed pebble is magically reborn recalling nurimono that other sheen in that other…
Searches through Tall Timber
by ALLEYNE HALL In memory of my father, John Leslie Hall From Tallarook, VIC – June, 1931 After our first search, in teeming rain, on horseback, through mud and steep bush, they radioed me at the station … I still…
Opening
by J F GARROW To Rodney, and to my son Valve opens and train follows on through the high forest, No promises to anyone, just heat, and, also, stashed remembrances of other, older Smutty starts, and then, on, through the…
New England
by JEREMY GADD As we passed the turn-off to Duri, which, according to locals, is synonymous with ‘dry’, we were surprised to see paddocks carpeted with yellow blooms of cultivated canola but, when past Tamworth, after climbing the Moonbi range…
Cliffs, rocks, water
by ZAC EATON Who searches for who? These tracks still steep The waves always held ya on the downfall. And the sand’s still soft. Feet go by themselves, From beach to beach Sniffing in the salt, Thinking of the words…
Vale for Peter, Coal River Valley, Tasmania
by FRED DUNCAN Gently, he was lowered on an autumn afternoon, Sun shining through the eucalypts, scent freed from their leaves, We laid flowers on Peter’s coffin, Croft played a Dylan tune, The harmonica wrung memories – tears wiped away…
Cobargo, New South Wales
by FRED DUNCAN The roar of flames in eucalypts, the fire-storm glare: A child runs through the sparks that shower the forest trails, She knows them well and stumbles in the choking smoke to where A wombat’s dug a burrow,…