No. 1
Artist: Adam Bosich

Me!

Free as the spring rivers that flow

or the summer breeze that blows

I’m a leaf on the wind, drift wood on the sea

I’m easy going, I'm just happy being me!

Natasha L Adams

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pat a cake Pat a cake, Baker's man.

This is a game to play if you can.

Take the blue of sky

yellow and green

pat it all over

with black in between

mix it all up

with the handprint of man

this should remind you

how art began.

Sue Clennell

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You’ve got to hand it to Adam –

He gave it his all and it came off.

Any other artist may have tried

Variety: not simply hands

But a nose, perhaps an elbow.

Adam stuck to his hands,

And, hence, didn’t put

His foot in it.

Andrew Burke

No. 2
Artist: Dennis Goater

if I had a car,

I would drive

through this countryside,

race along enjoying the scene—

cows grazing in green paddocks,

birds winging in blue skies,

distant mountains.

perhaps you can come,

bring a picnic,

plenty of cake.

Sally Clarke

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Space (Ships) Between You and I

Cosmic law invites me to dine

upon secrets

the many unknown phenomena

bigger than you and I

E T beings

springboks galore

ancestors evolved

soon coming in ships

dissolving the space

between you and I 

Saz Campbell

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The wind's eye spies

on my red breasted birds and

lush green hills.

A kiss of grapes and wine,

mandarins, oranges, pears,

softens the farmer's cheek.

Sue Clennell

No. 3
Artist: Harry Wheeler

The wind scatters the heads of thistles. The crowd roars and all the bottle tops flip to the floor. Cotton balls fall from the bathroom cabinet to the sink. The red pom-poms of the marching girls float in the air. Blueberry muffins line the tea tray. All these objects assemble: thistles, bottle tops, cotton balls. The muffins meld into shapes like the wayward fluff of pom-poms. You can no longer hear the wind, the click of the cabinet door, the roar of the parade, or the crowds at the football. Only these little shapes, chuckling; colourful balls interlocked on canvas, where they never want to leave.

Helen Hagemann

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The flavour of the valley

with its red and purple grapes

under a golden sun

and masses of bougainvillea

lining the fences.

Try some cheese or

a taste of chocolate?

Perhaps a three-course meal?

How refined can you get?

Maureen Sexton

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Purple grapes explode

against the roof of my mouth,

Lemon ice-cream rains down.

Sue Clennell

The dimension of depth

I look behind her eye

                        it takes me to other universes and

    leads me to my nebula layers

There I am bereft of any knowledge:

                        your iris

          it has depth and dimension that leaves my tongue

dry as a desert

Speech has no sound in your place of creation

       but a crescendo

           through this glittery gossamer dragonfly

Christopher Konrad

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

there are galaxies

millions of suns

squeezed into paint

your fingers

absorbing rhythms

some days

the whirl of earth

barely contains your skin

dancing across canvas

suns twirling irises

Deanne Leber

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Here fairy dust is

sprinkled in a magic circle.

Let the child who will,

dare to put her foot in.

Sue Clennell

CROSSROADS

A confusion of options –

which way to go?

you could take the road ahead

but what about the others

where do they go

what might they lead to

…indecision…

you have to make a choice

It’s just like life, really.

Val Neubecker

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

INTERSECTING

A tanka for Emma Tamblyn

I like to know where

the road to the road leading

to my house (our house)

is to be found. For only

when I know that, am I ‘found’.

Glen Phillips

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Great grandmother's quilt

stitched up births   marriages

deaths and other misfortunes

poverty      war     homecomings,

poetry made from life's scraps

to wrap around our limbs.

Sue Clennell

Desiderata

I sing songs of summer. My soul stretches, sighs

for beaches, river walks in flaming evening  skies.

I have learned to love winters of wild weather,

trees weaving in majestic dance, the snow of hail.

I have not yet learned the stillness of the seas.

Waters always moving, always fed by rain

or river, they seem calm as a sated lover.                         

What is this trick of duality,

this transmuting of opposites into a unified whole?         

Flora Smith

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sun, rain, sand and surf

I prefer staying on the turf.

We need our dose of winter rain

otherwise the water will go down the drain.

They’re like a bunch of precious jewels -

if we lost them we’d be a mob of fools.

Caroline Sambridge

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For me the clouds

all have silver linings,

with raindrops as big

as blue rubies.

For me the sun

tosses its curls

and the sea bows

whitely.

Sue Clennell

Smiling leaves embrace me

while flowers

dance around my feet.

Earth sings

with those who love.

Trisha Kotai-Ewers

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

sunshine brings blossoms

winds beat fruit to the ground

is nature crazy

Michael Williams

duplicity to the

a ray on in blue

crayon. i shall

tumble & trail

, i shall star as

mango snails a

curl of the chin

. i am everything

, at the same time

.

Scott-Patrick Mitchell

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Symphony

Music plays my brush

conducting symphonies

with erratic strokes.

A splosh here, a cymbal there

strings weave and wind

blows pure notes of gold.

The colours music play

make me smile.

Gary Colombo De Piazzi

No. 9
Artist: Craig Essler

LONGING FOR SECOND SIGHT

Poem for Craig Essler

Unbeknown to me, as a four-year-old,

I must have been terribly short-sighted.

My own world then so much tinier

that the next farm seemed about three

miles away instead of less than one.

I could see every bristle on dad’s face

and the print big as billboards in picture books.

But now, as the joke of old age proceeds

I hold books at arm’s length, seeking second sight.

Glen Phillips

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

phoenix rising

from flame and ash –

today I am blue

Gary Colombo De Piazzi

Final Preparations

Sunset kissed clouds

make their preparations

before going out.

In warm hues cloaked

against sky’s blue

madly scramble

and rush to night’s

pleasures.

Gary Colombo De Piazzi

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Some people collect shells but

I seek mermaids' tales.

Where ships with spillage cannot go

and the water still bubbles and breathes,

scales wink behind the seaweed.

Sue Clennell

My Land is the sea

My land is the red clay

My land is the rugged bush

and the creek that runs through it

My land covers the four points

North, South, East, West

My land is the animal tracks

and the roads that lead anywhere

Here anything is possible

Paula Jones

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My roads lead to mangroves

desert      wattle       banksia.

I skim the Australian skin,

swallow chunks of land

through my eyes,

map it out

cut it into edible slices,

for those of you

who come after.

Sue Clennell

No. 11
Artist: Avril-Jo Copping

crossing the night

the stars are raindrops

glass pearls of the sky, night a dome of yellow

and the wind arrives on horseback

we wonder about the woman waving her umbrella

is that her steed, harnessed and pulling her along?

the woman dabbing each raindrop

bluing the night

as if each sway of indigo, purple, cobalt

might leave a mark

where she has been

Helen Hagemann

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

your dreaming

your dreaming is done in water-

a jaundiced sky, daubs of cloud

sucking at blue to wrestle with

bushfired yesterdays, tomorrow’s

blood sunsets, then you,

surfacing, blinking, screaming

Kevin Gillam

No. 12
Artist: Tony Santora

Under a marzipan

sky on the night

of ten fat full moons,

a solitary strawberry

on my tongue, oh,

my hot hearted secret.

Jaya Penelope

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hidden biography

And there you were

as suddenly as I could imagine

Your painting stood before me like a prediction

The colours of your art dreamt me and

I could not hide under your vision

I taste bubbles:

on their convex my visage is realised

This, my hidden biography

Christopher Konrad

No. 13
Artist: Tony Santoro



INDULGENCE

I usually restrain myself,

Today I had a lapse,

I purchased an assortment

And removed the outer wraps.

Some barley sugar, raspberry jubes

And mini licorice straps,

It’s far too much for one to eat,

I’ll share them out – perhaps!

Val Neubecker

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chinese lanterns

illuminate shishkebabs

skewered on the barbecue,

red peppers, yellow squash.

sweet-tooths wait for fruit salad,

strawberries, watermelon

pineapple and mango,

served with butterfly ice-cream.

Sally Clarke

Mila, the Sea Canary

Did you cluck and whistle, squeak and

squeal when you sensed the diver was

drowning? Were you tempted, for a brief

moment to let her die? Hunted by humans

I wouldn’t have blamed you.

But not you, magical creature, gentle white

whale, not you. Play now in this ice blue

water while you still can. Let me watch you,

while I still can.

Maureen Sexton

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

a white canvas cannot

escape this sheer blue –

this art has flown from the hand,

and purchased its empty space,

            (shapes he didn’t paint

            grow wings and fly

            terribly far

Nathan Hondros

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Multiples of Melville's albino beast

sport       dive          spout.

Great tails smack blue into spray

as these flukes of nature

proclaim their presence.

Jan Napier

No. 15
Artist: Tony Pedrochi



spaghetti

ties itself in

loops and swirls

meatballs

chase cheese

green herbs

decorate

our laughter

folded into napkins

wriggling free

Deanne Leber

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

definition

peel this all back. find the point that

paints first kisses, stipulates &

bristles the rush of colour

. i am not an artist, i am an

instigator

.

Scott-Patrick Mitchell

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mediterranean Vista

This is true Italian.

I can almost taste

tomatoes, red wine

parsley, artichokes

mozzarella cheese.

The flag is flying

above the olive tree.

Maureen Sexton

Emergence                           

Beauty yearns to be visible

in gentle mirrors, leans towards

stillness that like water will hold

its image tenderly, colour

reflections transparent and trace 

veins delicate as petals just

unfurled, their scent ephemeral.

All brilliance seeks its light, splits

the chrysalis, parts the clouds.

Annamaria Weldon 2009

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

tongue tingles

caught in kaleidoscope colours-

gelato

Gary Colombo De Piazzi

Memories

i Dolomiti lo convocano

(the Dolomites summon me)

The cool, brisk mountain air

enlivens as nothing else.

From my vantage point

the world unfolds. Conifer and

chestnut splashed with primula

negritella and sparviera.

Freedom is a breath of fresh air

on a mountain in Italy.

The Dolomites are a mountain range on the Swiss/Italian border. Primula, negritella and sparviera are alpine flowers.

Gary Colombo De Piazzi

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mexicans say butterflies

are the souls of children

flying to heaven.

God smiles on all

their colours.

No. 17
Artist: Graham Hoffman



A joyous hose

puddles lawn beyond

the bluestone wall

sprays Billy's yellow ball

a bounce upon the path.

Colour it fun.

Jan Napier

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A shape shore dreams

Looking back from this far out at sea

the city seems a dream shore shaped

between waking and sleep.

Sun dance on water, sky and wind.

All belong, red waves breaking

in the foreground, a distant steadiness

of green beyond fragile walls

we hide behind or hang pictures on

to live inside.

Annamaria Weldon

No. 18
Artist: Graham Hoffman



Soft eyes

On days of yellow

sky, when bright leaves float

like shoals of fish, soft

eyes are all we need

to see infinite possibilities.

On days of yellow sky, the hidden world

shakes its cloak like shards of jewel-coloured

glass, spins its random orbit like a dance.

Annamaria Weldon
 

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Colours in relief. As though leaves or mouths are against the yellow glass, he’s come through with the       colour and direction of things,          as though taken         by the weather’s strength. All this gropes out the blond sun. We alone see the cold day warming in light, none of us above the autumn wind. This language cannot be exact, the way that he speaks it across the page, but I grope out its paths, thinking of a day I                  remember – cold, then warm, the leafy autumn colours running through it.        (Somewhere else I speak as though on a telephone, getting down the blue and green any way I can

Nathan Hondros

No. 19
Artist: Name Withheld



BOWERBIRD

Bowerbird wanders through

a field of scattered jewels,

rakes aside the fire-red rubies

and emeralds of jungle green.

Closing his eyes against

the dazzle of sun gold,

he flies blue-skywards

with a harvest of sapphires.

Mardi May

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

a speckled galaxy

of broken egg shell

& one wet winged bird

walking this trembling

grey world.

Jaya Penelope

my guitar gently sings

in this sea of green

a concert springs to life

there are yellow submarines

and i say it’s all right

‘cos i can see the sky of blue

now the walrus gave me wings

goo goo gajoob to you

as my guitar gently sings

Maureen Sexton

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

STRAWBERRIES

Now, in winter down-under,

blustered by winds

and drenched by rain,

I dream, in the occasional periods

of warm July sunshine,

of last summer’s strawberries;

only one dollar a punnet.

Served, in small glass bowls,

with a liberal sprinkle of sugar

and a pouring of cream...of course.

No. 21
Artist: Graham Soulsby



Have you seen a snowflake
floating in the blue blue day?
Have you made a snowball
and tossed it into the wide open sky?
Have you watched the way snow
falls like feathers to the ground?
No, not me, either.
I live on the sand by the sea.
I paint myself a snow-scene
so we may imagine it together. 

Paula Jones

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUPPORTERS

The rain won’t keep them away

they have scarves

beanies

ponchos

the gates open

and they rush forward

into the stadium

eyes as intense as

the club colours.

Val Neubecker

A thought is formed

In the birth of a

thought in the shadowy cor-

ners of mind, clouded

the epicentre

modulates while the run-off

is forgotten soon.

Clarity will come

With direction and purpose:

a shining pure thought.

Jeremy Balius

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stories of Me

Harry Potter’s tree

magic

explodes on the canvas

the wonder of Me

roots of stories

and listening trees

freefalling me into

stories of Me

on the script of my canvas

of all of the Mes

No. 23
Artist: Kathy Adair

Not the white album

Forget the white album

this impassioned impasto conjures Sgt Peppers

crowded flowers, hours filled with music

from before the fall

In a Gadda da Vida

this iron butterfly knows her mind

is wise enough to assert the primal

colours of paradise

Liana Joy Christensen

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Many Hands….

Sun rays lazily stretch

golden arms

Yellow light spills and runs

over the orchard

Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, Brothers

Friends and Family gather

She claps her hands and rubs them together

Let’s make a start!

No. 24
Artist: Kathy Adair



SONGS FOR KATHY

In my garden of music

I plant songs I can sing,

old tunes, perennial

as wildflowers in spring.

They are songs everlasting

with words that I know

and they brighten my life,

these tunes that I sow.

Mardi May

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

in the greenwoods

we shed our shame, dance

in  the soft pink animals

of our skin,

No. 25
Artist: Alfie Campbell



CORAL

Shafts of sunlight

dive into the depths

to illuminate

the lollypop kingdom

of the underwater world

while the tide

wriggles

its way through.

Val Neubecker

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The breeze engaged with autumn leaves

Played on the toes and into twirls

Wonderful sounds heard in the trees

Wonderful sights seen in my world

The sun, the grass, the cool fresh air

Be there true, or stories told

These moments bring a wealth of life

More precious than a box of gold

No. 26
Artist: Alfie Campbell

Irises and daffodils

Dance in syncopated harmony

Boldly, brightly

Colour my world

Memory of

Butterflies in spring.

Catherine Szathmary

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

proving the struggle of colour,

his form collides on the canvas;

we both know perhaps that art will not always

follow the hand’s intentions,

no matter how precisely

executed in the mind,

            (none of this matters,

only that the page is covered in words,

that the empty canvas

is burdened with colour.

Nathan Hondros

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Can you see him?

He sits there watching them come and go

Like the tide, they ebb & flow

Peak hour rush and crush in the train

No one notices him at the station

The homeless man

No. 27
Artist: Kristen Cameron

Forever Yours

Steven Hawking says there are 11 Universes

Stacked upon each other

I wonder which one we are in?

Take my hand and come with me

'Til the end of time, my love

Natasha L Adams

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I’d love to dance

in strawberry fields

squeeze pulp between toes

leave traces on canvas

a sweet path to follow

framed and pinned to a wall

I would dance that distance

for you.

No. 28
Artist: Kristen Cameron

Where we are

This lithograph form you cast

            this image you weave

speaks of people

                        of sweet embrace

   it tells the story of nests and homes

where stone is a hearth and

     our reach is like threads to one another

  a weave through which we are bound in the everyday

            This print is a wild thing

            it is the heart of where we are

Christopher Konrad

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Dance

There is a dance floor

Behind my eyes

and a mirror ball

that spins

to the sound of

a Viennese waltz.

One, two, three

stepping, turning and

moving to the music,

my mind is never still.

No. 29
Artist: Michael Hoey

Luigi Russolo writes a song

while sitting at his purple desk with

enharmonic notation strewn ab-

out, the objet trouvé state of feel

conswirbled the SCENE of micro-

tonal stars and quarks: resem’ling

rrrumbles and whissspers. he

murmursss “my purple horizon creak-

rustles and crackle-screeches and

my sun has scatter-buzz wheezed!”

the touch is the sound is the sight.

Jeremy Balius

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ImagiNation

Close your eyes and come with me

to the night garden in my mind

A full moon is the illumination of my imagination

Wisps of clouds float past on star light

Moon flowers smile in full bloom

A galaxy of dreaming here in my mind

Natasha L Adams

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A Place of My Own

gooey marshmallow flows

past chills of silky water

‘round a wisp of rabbit tail

through gleams of warm-gold sun

aside the jolt of electric jewels

and rising up, the caress

of a cheerful, bulbous sunflower

No. 30
Artist: Peter Layton

my Gran loves flowers.

I’ve painted this nosegay,

her favourites,

all the colours I could find.

smell the freshness.

you can’t have this painting,

I’ve created it,

especially for Gran,

her present, for Christmas.

do you think she’ll like it?

Sally Clarke

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Flowers for Gran 

Rose is for her sweetest smile

Yellow is her happiness

Blue is for her smooth hands

White is for her softest skin

A rainbow from the earth

A rainbow for my Gran

Smell the flower rainbow

I picked it just for you

No. 31
Artist: Jodie Leuba

CREATION

In the beginning,

a brush tip, tentative, across

an empty canvas landscape.

The creator’s hand, filled

with primary colours,

paints life cell by cell;

a simplicity of form

vibrant with promise,

waiting for breath.

Mardi May

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain outside falls like colourful strings

An Indian curtain of shimmering beads

Beads, so gently, nudged to the side

On a slide of a warm morning breeze

No. 32
Artist: Lisa Bernic

Red and blue and purple too,

Hydrangea blooms

Cool and inviting

Cast your eye upon my majesty

And tell me again how you don’t believe

Catherine Szathmary

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My favourite colours are blue and red.

I also like purple and black.

When I’ve finished painting I’ll rest my head.

I’ll turn the light off and hit the sack.

No. 33
Artist: Meryl Harris

BEACH PICNICS

An englyn for Meryl Harris

Is it not strange beachgoers wear bright clothes—

Bare faced, bare chested here?

Are they sea worshippers, near

To god and hoping good cheer?

Glen Phillips

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You smile

and

fireflies whirl around our heads

cherry blossom

rains upon our shoulders.

All that was broken

mends itself anew

and everything

bursts out

singing.

Trisha Kotai-Ewers

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A single black shoe

among the confetti.

What has passed -

tragedy or comedy?

Sue Clennell

No. 34
Artist: Lisa Williams

Coco pops

chocolate powder

sugar highs

loving mother

vegemite tick-tack-toe

salty tongue

six o'clock shadow

playful father.

Sue Clennell

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

TWO LITTLE VEGEMITES

Dear Lisa, I hope they call you a ‘little vegemite’

Because  I think I’m one too. You’ve painted something

Good enough to eat, and you ask me what I see.

I see worming around some wriggly spaghetti,

And though the Italians eat it with pomidori,

If we eat it with vegemite and give lots to others,

I am sure we can export it like vegemite jars,

To Italy and certainly to China,

where their iron chefs will say there is nothing finer

than “Spaghetti Australie a la two little vegemites.”

No. 35
Artist: Mural

What do you see? Me? Paint

is no mirror glass. There is

a moment I was

here, a human doing,

another becoming,

never the same

Now, do you see?

Andrew Burke

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We only ever

We don’t ever listen to the weatherman’s speeches

We only ever skip flat stones on the lake whatever the season

We don’t ever borrow silhouettes from dark thrillers

We only ever collect glimpses of colour-seas for our memories

We don’t ever cross-examine the narrator or characters

We only ever set sail at night and let the wind decide direction

We don’t ever let the subject matter harangue the experience

We only ever rattle the shackles and manacles of our languages

We don’t ever masquerade as the talk of the shadow-towns

We only ever descend into evening with alert eyes and hope

No. 36
Artist: Peter Iland

Rivers of space

It is the rivers of space that define me

as much as the palette of this world

as much as all the reification the senses have to offer

The realm of colour can, at times, leave me dry

like an island in the moisture of imagination

My poems are a pointillist portrait

where the dots are all gone

nothing left but an empty hologram

This is not my concern

this is my new, wild freedom

Christopher Konrad

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

An artist’s palette full of colours

or an artist’s plate full of pies -

rhubarb, apple, blueberry

beef, chicken, spinach -

which colour shall I choose?

No. 37
Artist: Ken Reedy

Pure Bull        

I am Blue Ribbon, Best in Show,

my head held high, my testes low.

Reliabull, dependabull and infinitely capabull

of impregnating any old cow

from paddock runt to well-bred dam.

I show those cockies what I am

and when and where and how!

Adaptabull and sociabull, I charm them all; 

so affabull, so truly incomparabull!             

Flora Smith

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The dark beast bows his head

brings a tribute of lesser blooms

to lay before Apollo's rose.

Feels all sunshiny inside.

Jan Napier.

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We all look for

the ultimate,

the golden fleece,

I think I have found it,

in people's smiles.

No. 39
Artist: Mark Peacock

flying east

its a bird, a yellowish bird

flying east,

east across the scribbles of suburbia,

across red blemishes

we call prosperity

a yellowish bird, a bird flying

Kevin Gillam

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

muddy puddles

sloshing swirling

summer-blue to winter-grey

finger squishing

splodging slurping

the blossoms from the trees

yellow red blue

sit upon

the brown-muddied mess

floats upon the mud

No. 40
Artist: Keith Meakins

From My H/Art to Yours

Palette of my h/art

makes music of Ireland

enticing engaging

Celtic circles of life

charm me, excite me

exposing my h/art

my desire to sculpt you

the palette of my h/art

Saz Campbell

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Music of the Spheres

this god of small things is a landscape gardener

of the miniature

spare, particular, precise

the palette mutely invites

take the time to look twice, take the time to hear

the music of the spheres ringing truly in the night

no commandments say you must choose

to revere such exactitude,  yet if you do

you may glimpse this god of small things

smiling quietly in the day

No. 41
Artist: Keith Meakins

Harbour lights. Six PM sunset crowns us with red light that is there in pools around our ankles as well; suburban hymns sound across the harbour.  This is the memory this painting evokes of the waterside approach of evening, but these red spears are not all sun and receding illumination, they are also the capital bold poetry of resistance, an impression of something possible.

Nathan Hondros

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nana's Patchwork

My Nana made me patch work

She sat up every night sewing

Before I was born

Perfection in cloth

Made to wrap me in and keep me warm

She thought I’d be a girl!

No. 43
Artist: Keith Meakins

Before rain

Paint me a treasure map, guide

back to this bright ground, keepsake

shapes and colours for fading

hours to come. While warm winds loop

clear sky, capture the sunlight

before rain blurs the lines. Then

we’ll divide the page, taking

a piece each and find our way

back here some day, separate

halves joined, the picture complete.

Annamaria Weldon 2009

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dancing

In shades of green she stared at me.

Oblivious, I danced the river.

Hands on hips, feet swift

tempo rapid and hard.

On I danced, resplendent in blue

till the floor reverberated.

I danced to her, took her hand

and together, colleen and boyo

we tapped the floor to the

beat of our hearts.

My heart bleeds blue

for the tuskless elephants,

lost whales       white bears

disappearing frogs,

and for all of you out there

alone.

Sue Clennell

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pitcher of Woe

They kneel     pick up the potsherds.

Mother skims eyes skywards

watches tears well

wishes her favourites

weren't so fragile.

Jan Napier

No. 45
Artist: Barry Tonkin

Tibetan temple

a worn rattan mat welcomes

the bleeding sandals

Helen Hagemann

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the fields stand up and march

When the fields stand up and march,

The billowing dust clouds exhale and

Exhume the buried rays of sunlight.

When the fields stand up and march,

The trees and valleys scheme and con-

Spire; raising their fists and stamping.

When the fields stand up and march,

The red-hatted farmers dance circles

Singing: “Hurrah, hurrah, let the harp

Of the wind carry our parade home.”

No. 47
Artist: Millie D'Rozario

This hieroglyph is

History drying.

Only emotion endures.

We are on the

Cutting room floor

Unspooling as they edit

The evening news.

Andrew Burke

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Imprisoned

I watched it from the window,

as it bloomed

from fresh green bud

to sea of crimson waves.

I wondered at nature’s radiance,

and could not help seizing it

to hold it close.

Now, on this side of the window

it only looks

imprisoned.

No. 48
Artist: Millie D'Rozario

mustard souls

a man in tails doffs his hat and

reminds himself of his adages –

seek out the green and chafed sea,

walk in bare feet across the

relief map of red soil,

make time for mustard souls

Kevin Gillam

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

your salt inside me

liquidity makes the seascape

sway. i breathe through imaginary

gills, am shadow in a bed. here

, coral splays, plays to create

shapes, is a garden for my octopi &

i. they are orange to my indigo. we

both flow. we don’t know where the

water ends & the salt begins, only that

we contain both, are the machine’s dream

.  

No. 49
Artist: John Tilbrook

in deep water,

broad-leaved weeds

swing, sway,

sunlight illuminating

beneath surfaces—

shifting, silent, sensory place.

swirling greens, yellows,

I create a dreamy,

underwater world,

visit secretly.

Sally Clarke

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

this is a secret garden

where vines twist and curl

and water, like magic

swirls and twirls, takes

flight through the trees

a woman in a sun hat

holds the world in her hands

and calls to the flowers

to come out and sing and dance

Maureen Sexton

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A sinuosity of dragon slinks

through succulents.

Her first birthing.

Other nests are warm

with squirm and squeak.

She watches     broods

curls around cold eggs.

No. 51
Artist: Reg Mitchell

Wandering

hands have chased and caught

the sun, thoughts have gathered tread,

gripped red earth

together they’re wandering,

painting a flag of the land

but leaving black history as a

blinkered, pristine white

Kevin Gillam

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

from Connection

The goanna laughs its yellow delight

Shouting here I am

Here is the highway/Here is my way

Here is the radio up loud and the

campfire down low/The guitar and the soft

Singing the spinifex and the salt

and the sure line of the shoreline

Down on our bellies/Up through our feet

We know the connection to country/This particular country

cannot be cut

Liana Joy Christensen

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

JOURNEY

Follow the spirit pathway,

its serpentine twists and turns,

a journey mapped in ochre

on the timeless face of rock.

Hand over hand across

a night sky of dreaming,

the long climb to sunrise.

No. 60
Artist: Colette Deavin

I spy dolphins singing rainbows

whales dancing to colours

and I’m wobbly in my mother’s high heels

lipstick smeared across teeth

I clink her good crockery

have tea parties in the lounge

before she wakes

I share poems with crabs

small cakes with jelly fish swirling

I imagine and it becomes.

Deanne Leber

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She looked through her eye

Saw rainbow cake layers

Exploring the bright blue sky

She swam without care

Past marshmallow clouds

Floating on nothing but air

With a brush in her hand

And a song in her heart

She smiled. What a wonderful land

No. 61
Artist: Tony Langmaid

Steps stride to and fro

crowd here and there

hustle and bustle

until –

all is still.

I stand enclosed in a space

where leaves hang down --

trees invite communion

and the earth

hums peace.

Trisha Kotai-Ewers

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

PEAK HOUR

6pm

Parisians returning home

twelve streets collide

in the maelstrom

at the foot of the

Arc de Triomphe

no traffic lights

just a gendarme

gesticulating

to little effect.

MID-WINTER

Although ‘tis now mid-winter,

there are, from time to time,

warm summer-like days

when disaster can strike;

when, having sought

to replenish my store

of colour wrapped chocolate bars,

I leave my shopping basket

in the sunshine

outside my front door!

Michael Williams

                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

News item -  “The hard yards in America”.

These are cars below, new cars, and this small area

that fills our television screens a smaller part

of some ten acre lot that General Motors cannot move.

Each matchbox toy stands for a family that cannot pay

its way or keep its home, intones voice-over commentary.                     

I am torn  - I cheer for the saving of so much fossil fuel,

for carbon off-sets, a cleaner world and greener, smaller cars.

Are my goals so unattainable that if pursued by some of us

it means the loss of jobs and houses for the other sum of us?