Issue Eight • Issue Eight Poetry • Poetry
December 1, 2019
By Matthew M.C. Smith Dream on a breeze of summer eve’s tree-dappled light Do not fear the advancing shadows Let Autumn storms...
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By Bernadette Gallagher For John Philip You came already formed a silken scarf blowing in the wind. To unravel would...
Interviews • Issue Eight • Issue Eight Interviews
Interviewer: Samuel Elliott What is Voices of Women? Voices of Women is a not for profit organisation to support new work by Australian...
Fiction • Issue Eight • Issue Eight Fiction.
by Sue Robertson We were in our front field, shepherding our little flock of sheep. A motley crew made up of children, old people, and...
By Robyn Rowland whirling Dervish, Istanbul Unworn as any adolescent son, the youngest Mevlani Dervish trembling on the cusp...
By Marilyn Humbert west of Alice Springs the Finke River rambles roots of ancient eucalypts Namatjira paints his soul ghost...
By Matthew M.C. Smith for Anne We fly over girded earth trailing the rise of Apollo light thousands of feet high The...
by Samuel Bernard. The radiating aroma of aging books and mahogany grazed my nostrils as I brushed past mountains of pre-loved...
Issue Eight • Issue Eight Reviews • Reviews
Reviewed by Angela Wauchop “… Vrezh stomped the blood-red flags with enthusiasm … The older boys poured kerosene on the heap...
By Dr Wendy J. Dunn Red like blood I plucked a rose Grasped its beauty close to me uncaring of its thorns Blood red red blood...
by Peter Boyle. The lost cantatas of Mozart are being performed on an island in the wide fork of a river not far from here....
by Ian C Smith. To visit their son, a bearded adult now in what feels to him a fast-forwarding of years, she drives him to the...
Interviews • Issue seven • Issue seven interviews
June 16, 2019
By Nik Eugeniou. Ali Whitelock is a Scottish poet and writer living in Australia. Her first book, ‘Poking seaweed with a stick and...
Fiction • Issue Six Fiction • Issues
December 15, 2018
Good historical fiction draws the reader into a world from the past, bringing to life events, characters and lessons that often ring true...
Issue Six • Issue Six Poetry • Poetry
“The road is full of perfume. Urine. Bile. Death.” These nine initial words from Jayant Kashyap’s poem ‘History’ in this issue...
Issue Six • Issue Six Poetry • Issues • Poetry
By Jayant Kashyap * The road is full of perfume. Urine. Bile. Death. People walk the road, up and down, in high boots, heads...
by Kevin Higgins You knew for a fact, they’d never allow a pair of mad eyes with a pistol near the Emperor and his wife; and...
by Carol Major. Dian Wellfare is the founder of Origins, an organisation lobbying on behalf of birth mothers who relinquished babies for...
Fiction • Genres • Issue Six • Issue Six Fiction
by Samantha Pena Roshier ‘That’s the thing, Mary. They’ll tell you love is the most beautiful thing on earth and then they’ll...
By Reece Pye The next thing he remembers, after the bitch spat in his eye, is face planting on the footpath. There is a dull ringing in...
By Michael Aiken Beelzebub fallen to disease, absent himself willfully, to muster some inkling, some new insight born of nothing...
By Jack B. Bedell My daughter has been watching the news every night this week, anxious for word on the soccer team...
Fiction • Issue Six • Issue Six Fiction
by Savannah White. ‘Hush now, Lucas.’ A flash of light shone through the cracks of timber; Mama smiles at me before the light...
Interviews • Issue Six • Issue Six Interviews • Issue Six Podcasts • Podcasts
Oscar O’Neil-Pugh speaks to Katya de Becerra....
By Larissa Dubrowsky-Ryan Ukraine 1880 When Agraphena arrived, Nina was lying on the rough hay bed, her face pale. Sweat pooled the sheet...
By Reece Pye Ever since the passing of his dearly beloved Edina, the only woman his now crippled heart had ever cared for, the days...
By Cheryl Pearson In the late 1880’s, the body of a young woman was pulled from the Seine. The pathologist at the Paris Morgue was so...
By Paul Casey stone turns to paper in her eye as she filters cycles of light into circles of paper stones her eye is a stone circle a...
by Paul Casey. 1. Just as the pillars meet a mile above the architrave A sky splinter plummets to puncture the floodplain A standing...
By Brian Jerrold Koester The deepest blue-burgundy you will ever see in stained glass, that is the colour of my love for you...
