Tag Edition4

by Vanessa Proctor Darkness begins to extinguish the remnants of the day. After the roar and clatter of the train in the third-class women’s carriage, all is quiet. I place my worn backpack on the ancient stone floor, sit on…

by Anne Zito January best month ever red dust draws a path through hills littered in bleached bones probably wallabies stuck staring at the moon the riverbank is baked like a giant mushroom cracks split a land hungry for rain.…

by Jo Whitelaw A limestone tower, where oceans meet, still standing strong after a hundred and thirty years. The giants of the sea pass, unperturbed by tourists or the imposing monolith, and torrents of wind threaten in vain as waves…

by Kim Waters The sea foam ebbs and flows – Whisked egg whites dolloped Along the scalloped edge of the shore. But no! It’s not water wash. It’s a flock of sanderlings gliding Like surf-skaters over the sand. No! No!…

by Colleen Keating It is a new story this morning trekking the sand dunes of Karagi Point. The air elated by insistent flapping wings and constant chirping. In past summers the air muted diving to protect the young less with…

by Andrew Davis Drooping Faded Brazen breeze Beating rays Arcing River cycles Sun drifting Dew’s caress Resting Peering Floating plains Gentle Trees Life Scarred Cycled Tossed This earth Wandering Untiring Covering Continues Splendid Disappearing

by Colleen Keating Bursts of yellow, red grevilleas, white hakea, others I cannot name weaving in and out of pink clover grasses, dandelion, daisies. They’ve blown in through time and toil to edge cliff ledges it has pounded for millennia.…

by Nicoletta Glod For every version of myself Lining up the days of my life – The one with bright and shiny eyes, The one who drags her heavy feet on cloudy days, The one who ponders by the window…

by Ross Jackson When a heel of processed bread hits the deck a hockey match of pecks ensues between diners ‘chair legs. Three flustered pigeons give way to an ibis. Clacking beaks of four different species compete for crumbs in…

by Ross Jackson How well can I imagine this real place— Oodnadatta? work with me… just Datta to the locals maybe that speck on a vast tawny rag seen from the window of a plane or from a wedged tailed…