Poetry

By Ivor Steven.   Nature’s abundant history Bounces forth in front of our eyes The view is silently stunning Nature’s assets keep running Our hearts keep drumming In tune with nature’s humming Gently step into her ocean surf For beneath … Continued

By Ivor Steven.   there is something about the freedom of horses beyond green pastures and steeple courses   there is something about the purity of life’s sources from the snowy mountains down the river courses   there is something … Continued

By Ivor Steven.   My ears are funnels But I do not want to hear The voices   My lips do part But I do not speak The words   My knees do bend But I cannot sit While I … Continued

By Ivor Steven.   We’ll miss you Mother Earth Your splendour And imposing style From forest canopies To the desert Nile New creations Beauty, gone   We’ll lose you Father Time Your rhythm And stoic guile From ancient history To … Continued

By Ivor Steven.   I cannot walk the continents Like the intrepid Marco Polo But my feet have felt the sands of time Pass between my toes   I have not sailed the high seas Like the courageous Christopher Columbus … Continued

by Jenny Macaulay.   melting wind summer sand and wisps of hair in her ice cream   ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jenny facilitates fiction, non-fiction, poetry and drawing groups, encouraging people to come together and share their creative skills. She recently … Continued

By Jenny Macaulay.       The squelch of her boot the left then the right the decay of seagrass that lines the shore like ropes of filthy foam from an outgoing tide.   She steps over those ridges of strangled … Continued

by Jenny Macaulay.   receding tide Port Jackson shark eggs spiral out of their depth   ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jenny facilitates fiction, non-fiction, poetry and drawing groups, encouraging people to come together and share their creative skills. She recently established … Continued

By Jo Curtain. sitting in a park, the afternoon dissolves in somnolence watery sunlight over still open water bordered by long, pointy, pith-less reeds. their heavy feet rooted in a Giacometti swamp. listen. listen. we all compete with the wind, … Continued

By Janet Baird. a. Ticking Time Bomb In Rabaul broad pink beetle-nut smiles adorn the faces of the fuzzy wuzzies; unhurried, barefoot, brightly adorned they seem unconcerned by 14 active volcanoes. From its eyrie high on Mt Tovanumbatir the seismograph … Continued