By Martin Harrison
A summer rain front laces a trailing hat of mist around the headland's mountain: a saucer of mist scraping the treetops hanging over rock outcrops
By Rosemary Dobson
I breathe the leaves of the basil It has news for me— For all my senses
By Chris Wallace-Crabbe
Like wallabies we hurtle This way and that Unworried whether the world Be round or flat.
By Michael Brennan
In back wards, sea spray thinning ash as the city turned from itself, the ocean which brought it, faces off
By Robert Gray
There are those that in the distance seem a swarm of gnats those that with their barking try to rally us in a campaign against the stars those that torment their prey
By Aidan Coleman
Wake with a kiss on your lips. The sun steps down through trees. You sit in the corner of my eye all morning, working on something.
A lucky rain misted the far hills to fresco
Days later, not long after we left the convent, the war ended. I promised to take her directly to the train station, but the sight of her on the back seat scrambling out of that uniform,
A yacht lies down in my window, on the harbour the dusk has come.
By Sarah Day
did it come in the bark of a dog in the eucalypt air, the marsupial faces tilted, listening, or the ghostly skin and the foreign hair,