-
Hands of Time
By Senaj Alijevski Don’t turn over the clock when it stops ticking. Leave the past behind and don’t remind yourself Of what was is or ever will be.
-
Undesirable secrets
By Senaj Alijevski Some secrets last forever. Even when no one is watching, Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.
-
This is not a test
By Ron Barton Where are all the standardised people? Row by row they sit, minute by minute the clock ticks their life away.
-
Grandpa’s Last Stand
By Ron Barton Whenever we heard sirens grandpa would leap behind the couch and yell, “you’ll never take me alive”
-
Erosion
By Ron Barton We are but castles of sand formed by things beyond our control. We are strong and sturdy for a while
-
Ron Barton
Ron Barton is an English teacher who has twice been published by Ginninderra Press (If God is a Poet, 2012; Unremarkable, 2014) and Tincture Journal (2013) and, more recently, he has had…
-
Manhood
By Ron Barton manhood ˈmanhʊd/ noun
-
Superfluent
By Ron Barton I am well versed in being an unnecessary extra. I speak third wheel
-
Allan Lake
Originally from Saskatchewan, Allan Lake has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton Island, Ibiza, Perth (WA), Tasmania, Sicily and at present Melbourne. His collection, SandintheSole(2014)waslaunchedattheTasmanianPoetryFestival. In 2015 Lake won the Elwood Poetry Prize.…
-
Poppadums in a Garden
By Allan Lake On the footpath beside the pond in the idyllic botanical garden, poppadums fallen from heaven or thrown for the hell of it – likely source the small Indian…
-
Memories
By Brendan Leigh The bike bucked as it went over the little bump in the driveway, and I bucked with it. The drain pump would have to be cleaned again this weekend,…
-
Brendan Leigh
Brendan Leigh is an Australian writer, currently studying at Swinburne. He writes a lot of fantasy, realist and sci-fi fiction, depending on the day.
-
Melbourne, mid-winter
By Allan Lake My chilly 50’s apartment: beyond the pane of glass winter-lush garden, sun half trying.
-
Morning
By Kim Waters The bed slopes towards morning and I hang on to the fringes of a dream, waiting for the day to unfurl like a leaf on the ground.
-
Fear
By Bill Cotter On the cliff edge, Dawn’s grey ghosts, the steely eyed gulls, Are testing their wings.
-
Ballroom Echoes
By Robert James Conlon We only dance in our memories now The song is forgotten the melody lost In a ghost of movements. Image by: Michael D Beckwith
-
The Lines We Make
By Robert James Conlon
-
Wasted
By Lyn Chatham At four am Seb cooks dinner in his minimalist mock kitchen.
-
The Sorrows of Soggy Sam Sulfur
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Rats stuck in burning trees, Poisoned vultures in the air vent. You still think of me as your good Sheppard, Even though I’m hell-sent.
-
Gobble Gobble (The Wild Turkey Calls)
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh I sit almost naked to the world, Towel hanging loosely to my loins. Dead muses acting as my butcher and to the bottle, my hand rejoins.
