Category: Poetry

  • River

    River

    by Tina Tsironis Your pain is a river so clear and so deep my pain is a river so cool and so sleek do you think you could do it?tell me now yank out the sludge smooth me out pry out the bugs my wellness I’d flout wrench out the shit bleeds brighter than gout…

  • Demeter’s Daughters

    By Jena Woodhouse   It was their mother whom they locked away, for her own good, they said, though she was neither ailing nor demented. Trusting them, she’d signed the documents reluctantly. Now they’d rid her of that nasty dog, they said.   The dog turned out to be the faithful one, Demeter thought with rancour,…

  • SHADES OF YELLOW

    SHADES OF YELLOW

    By Wendy J. Dunn Let me count the shades of Yellow: first, a bright morn in a golden dell cowslips’ bells knell welcoming cockcrow as fairies dance their salute to spring drinking dew From a sacred chalice. Betrayal, illness, life giving warmth Yellow can mean so many things But fairies also know yellow warns of…

  • Hope

    Hope

    By Wendy J. Dunn   From the party next door loud music erases any possibility of sleep   I lay in bed and think of the young Our young facing a future when the planet burns (If not burning now)   I think of our young in city streets absent from school told activism is…

  • My Demeter

    By Jena Woodhouse   What can I do for my Demeter, now that she has no earthly needs?   Mistakes are buried or erased; even glorious deeds fade –   It seems there’s nothing more that I can do for her, except to be     Focus of poem: This poem is from a longer sequence…

  • Untitled Poem.

    Untitled Poem.

    By Mickey Stosser   Sometimes I dream that I’m kissing a man. Sometimes he’s tall. Sometimes he’s broad. Sometimes he’s dark. Sometimes he’s rough. Mostly, he’s sweet. He’s gentle. He’s funny. My hair, though, is always long and brown. Even in my dreams, there is no other version of me who is kissing a man.…

  • Untitled Poem.

    Untitled Poem.

    By Mickey Stosser   And he said “I’m sorry” And then he left And then I’m left Standing there wondering what to do next   My first thought is to run to you While my limbs are still holding on by a thread But it’s not the first time And it won’t be the last…

  • Lilly Pilly

    Lilly Pilly

    By Karla Whitmore   Soon, between winter and full bloom spring this tree will reach the peak of its ascent outdoing promise at planting, thought a shrub it billowed like an Edwardian lady’s hat in stately wallpaper green dotted with puffball flowers bedecked in lorikeets or autumn berries, purple and replete another space in tribal…

  • When I’ve Gone

    When I’ve Gone

    By Karla Whitmore   What I’ll miss is the envelope of green that bears the cycle of the seasons trees, shrubs and flowering stems a constancy of summer autumn winter spring I’ll miss walking my suburban streets passing through cloistered eucalypt trunks in the park where children laugh on swings and off leash dogs fuelled…

  • CENTURIES OF BONES

    CENTURIES OF BONES

    By Wendy J. Dunn   They came from the stars ‘Who lived here?’ they asked. ‘What happened to them?’   They explored awed by beauty under a blue, clean sky Butterflies flittered by them as if with jewelled wings birds twittered their dawn songs welcoming a new day.   The ruins of countless tall buildings…

  • Oh, and don’t forget to breathe!

    Oh, and don’t forget to breathe!

    By Mickey Stosser     Remember to point your toes Lengthen your spine Tilt your head 45 degrees Offer to make tea   Don’t forget to engage your core Turn your feet out Lift that leg higher Ask “so what do you do for work?”   Oh, it’s your first class? Welcome! Just follow along,…

  • Sappho Wept

    Sappho Wept

    By Wendy J. Dunn   Sappho wept sorrowing for her lost poems, sorrowing for all the women from her time to mine who dared creating art for it to be judged an artefact worth less beyond worthless compared to art created by men.   Countless poems by women tossed aside, Countless paintings erased, canvases painted…

  • Here’s the thing

    Here’s the thing

    By Karla Whitmore sounds quaint now in the language minefield mix still, there’s something inexorable about bare-faced logic like water that relieves its load by turning land to sea too many times to be a normal cycle land that burns from undergrowth to canopy challenges tradition of fire-managed habitat while red hot peat rivals Zarathrusta’s…

  • Review: Text Messages from the Universe — Richard James Allen

    Review: Text Messages from the Universe — Richard James Allen

    by Antonia Cassetta Text Messages from the Universe by the remarkable Richard James Allen leads the reader on a mesmerising journey, being weaved between and intertwined with a Buddhist conceptualisation of dying and rebirth. The ethereal photography guides us as we dance within these ephemeral spaces, moving us from one place to another until all…

  • Violin Notes

    Violin Notes

    By Erin Jamieson   a cramped auditorium with sticky budget seats a mother holding a baby ho glares at me as if to say why are you still here?   heads dusted with stage lights I see him: black suit warm brown eyes, the hint of a smile he has not shown me for quite some…