June 8, 2018
by Richard James Allen Only weeks, months, at the most a year or so, before Gough Whitlam’s ‘It’s Time’ changed everything, for a...
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Issue Five • Issue Five Poetry • Poetry
By Geoff Budden The tides and capes of Bonavista now safely astern, Newfoundland below the western horizon they sailed into the new...
By Bill Cotter It is a travesty of dawn, this dank And oily semi light, oozing through The alleys, the shattered windows and...
By Jeremy C. North This evening, intrepid plans are forged. A familiar tune of starry-eyed wanderlust that emanates from share flat...
By Duncan Richardson they knew it was him though the fish had scribed their own verses on his skin they knew it was him from...
Issue Four • Poetry
December 9, 2017
To commemorate the Official State Visit to Australia 2017 by Michael D. Higgins, President of Ireland, we are deeply honoured and grateful...
December 6, 2017
By Tess Barry Out of her twig-filled lungs a strong wind whirls she is a small stream obstructed a standing body...
By Tess Barry Eat lemon altogether, she says, cold go out. What you play? Luna Sonata? My fevered fingers stumble through...
(Bridget Cox Bishop, 1848-1912) By Geoff Budden J Cox and his five sons lost in their boat off the Harbor April 24, 1859....
By Geoff Budden At home in taverns, not in homes, you left when your daughter was four years old. Your own final home was a needle...
By Dr Wendy J Dunn Lest we forget The First World War They said Ground soaked With blood With countless dead Lest we forget Another...
By Jordan King-Lacroix I. On a leaky boat, they came, needing to change their name once, in the village to sound less Jewish...
By Jordan King-Lacroix The clouds, ha! The clouds! Did you see them when they passed overhead? So slow, like molasses,...
By Eleanor Hooker Ghost me. Fossil me. ...
By Nathanael O’Reilly In a centuries-old English church where Jane Austen worshipped, my daughter performs her role on the steps...
By Kenneth Pobo My grandmother’s house, weathered, a dirt driveway. When I visit she makes a cherry pie. I help her pit. She tells...
By Jonathan Greenwood This palace, ’tis a thing of splendour and class With chimneys of pepperpot and weathervanes of brass;...
By Anne Casey A penny in a new purse (that it may never be empty) The Child of Prague left out all night (to bring a dry day for the...
Issue Three • Poetry
June 17, 2017
By Jan Price Panel l. The Inspiration London – East End; a barefoot lad slips into...
By Bill Cotter Suffer little children to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of heaven. The sky sickens And fuses darkness,...
By Jan Price Down the arch-groan monastery road coursing these treeless bitten mountains a sharp dismissive wind snatches from the...
By Jan Price Once, when I was four you carried me home on your shoulders over a long bridge. Once, you and I sang The...
By Jan Price Each chosen child destined to live in its own desert one night will look up; the trees will be breathless and the pain...
By Wendy J. Dunn From a postcard He glares at me With an eagle stare Accusingly And handsome No doubt of that His very stance...
By Fiona Lynch When she was four, white boys asked to touch her hand, to compare; her mother slapped her face, not her place. ...
By Melinda Jane Your sea soft, melancholy blue eyes Your long, slender Celtic hands Your long, curled locked hair You, at 19 years...
By Melinda Jane How many heard your mooted screams that Sunday evening At Mrs. Mitchell’s paddock between the house and the hay...
By Melinda Jane Floor-grazing gown cinched at the waist silhouette black crepe crisp and crimped who would imagine three years on...
June 16, 2017
By Bill Cotter The storm rambles and tramps, hammering pine trees, Strafing crops and, from the tangled clouds, spilling jags Of...
Issue Two • Poetry
September 5, 2016
By Eloise Faichney Flaubert recognised my love, tender and whole, and it made him sad. ‘I forsee that I shall make you...
