Poems
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Point of View
By John Muk Muk BurkeWater’s near my house……………..
not far from the rest in fact.
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Did I tell you
By Jane Gibianwhat Judy said to me? Her laugh
doesn't change from an outdoor
laugh to an indoor one. When I
go up escalators I feel like -
South of Greg Johns’ Rhythm, Glenelg
By William ByrneAs we packed and left the beach I saw
the valleys you both left below your towels
cast in the sand, as if a Henry Moore relief
was left waiting for its pour of bronze. -
58, back-most lot, collapsible ceiling and underground lung ward.
By Astrid LorangeMy dear RG. Crates are melting under enamel and asbestos;
whalers are jumping ship for a slant of this rummy sham. Open the
archive to check the mobility, there’s a rotten panorama of a hundred
years of surplus. First the compositers, bakers, and small-time boiled -
Thinning our little herd
By Benjamin DoddsFor weeks
we had Baskerville
hounds in our heads
sweeping bold arcs -
Traffic
By Tricia Dearborni.
At Grandma’s place, transplanted from the central west
and a town without traffic lights,
cars passed close, and every few seconds. -
To The Girls With The Sledge Hammers To Cleopatra of Gondwana Land Sexy Ghoul Of The High Rise Buildings By Maximilian Draconious
By Joel EphraimsA blond one to visit I
The sleeping dragon of the TV guide scribbled title
At eleven thirty am after her painting class
This suburban Monday morning. -
Missing Persons
By Adam AitkenFrom Tokyo to the Gold Coast they’d come. They were in the
papers, instant scoop, apologising, and on the box. In the
lunch break we talked about the old theory and clichés: why
the Japanese don't travel well, how foreign ways corrupt, why -
Bank of the River
By John Muk Muk BurkeCommercial Bank
Fitzmaurice Street
Roman arches reminding us…………….
transmitting old English -
Timid Couples
By Erica Weatherlakestranger and steamier
in this neck of the mangroves
the yards
deliciously un-mown, -
The Disappearing Suite
By Kim Cheng BoeyThey hover on the edges, their voices haunting
the blue hour when the tide of memory recedes
and forgetfulness returns, washing over the ash-prints
of their passing, so faint, yet so fresh you can’t tell -
gulp
By joanne burnsfish and chips on the pier
at watson’s bay, or is it
calamari – something we
never ate in the 50s un- -
Two Songs
By Martin Harrison1. “If I could turn back time I would”
Is there anyone who won’t judge me
for what I’ve done? It’s so like God
to do this to me. I’m turned into -
Moments by dry sand
By Leni ShiltonI
On the day I go to school,
I drive past a boy
sitting on a stone, -
PLEASE DON'T GO
By John Lloyd-GreenNo please don’t go
don’t disappear
I still have one more wine —
You are my boats -
Slow Falling
By Genevieve OsborneThe house slow falling makes no sound
Cows amble by without regard
Inch by year closer to the ground
You look away, pull out your working card -
Kimberley Quartet
By Glen PhillipsFor Perdita
I
Crossing to the Fitzroy
Beautiful the light here at sunset, soft pink flame; -
A Disappearing Act
By Lorin ElizabethThe magician pulls death
out of his hat and
saws it in half and in half again
until death is a carpet -
Steyne Hotel - Manly
By Tim HeffernanIt is winter, yet
ice cream coned people
stroll along the promenade.
Out to sea -
Good Blood
By Sandra ThibodeauxButcher’s blood ran through his family.
A Great War was on, and a war
needs meat. Vestey sharpened his knives
in Darwin, buying favours, enlisting workers
