Tag Edition4

by Mike Greenacre for Jean and Dorothy Though ten years separates them, their working-class upbringing from the late 20s to 30s connected these two teenagers from opposite sides of the globe. Jean was a Tom Boy in London’s East End,…

by Gregory Piko empty trees not a blackbird to be seen shimmering ice a few fallen leaves gathered by the lake the pavilion amid a ghostly vista empty trees a few fallen leaves the remains of autumn figure skating swirl…

by Alex Robertson Gentle slopes in ferrous tints Grid-shaped streets inclined Broughton River close to Kaurna edges Clan found before & after lands cleared Needs for wheat and sheep Production for the region and beyond Blacksmithing business set up Fencing…

by Kris Hemensley like the Villon as once felt to be – am sat on Degani bench picking mini pane di casa in least sunshine that qualifies for summertime – I in his bliss – satchel notebook cane – yes…

by Glenn McPherson Escaping light like a torch shone From inside the dark cavity of a skull – The city at night. Dreaming teeth out And other, less satisfying anarchists Our husband bodies Nudge against something hard, Harboured as they…

by Michael Buckingham Gray the night is stone cold but here you are on the club’s stage, lifting up your microphone to a group of grey hairs. you pinch yourself finding it hard to believe you are still here. you…

by Gerard Lewis-Fitzgerald Saving one’s own is like saving a chunk of yourself. Son clambers to safety while I cling to boogie-board, a plaything now for Poseidon, swept in a graceful arc, buoyed like a cork, a barnacle adrift, shark…

by Dijanne Cevaal Silent it is not, when I walk. A soft swoosh on the air the elegant swoop of a white throated heron, too shy for encounter. Further along, the busy twittering of fairy wrens flitting through the undergrowth,…

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…