Sunday, December 12, 2021

New Poetry by Robin Dale

The Journey Towards The Seen

bells sound
as if recovering
from vomiting

the back paddock
is moving
further away

across the iron fields
floats the ghost
of the pastor

some of the cows
are missing

this APC with 6 wheels
in camouflage
driven by a child
of 17

there is a large
black bull
in the herd now

bells sound again
a feeble reed

the pastor-ghost undresses
and edges on

the army squeezes
the blood out of
the trees
and their

- © Robin Dale 2021

Robin Dale is a UK born writer living in Ferntree Gully, a suburb of Melbourne. He emigrated to Australia in 1970 with his family at the age of eight years. He is fifty-nine now. In his late twenties, Robin Dale contracted schizophrenia which for many years was extremely debilitating. However in the past five years or so he has made a remarkable recovery and is now able to concentrate more fully on writing. He writes mainly poetry, generally on the eternal themes of love, death, transience, nature, and spirituality. Many of his poems are quite psychological in inspiration and content. He remains virtually unpublished.

New Poetry by Michael Ricketti


Her storms came last night howling out of the west.  less the clutter I remember the shaking of the walls.  more a concentrated weight a strength.  two hands extend two arms with diligence push.  the house from its foundation clean.

- © Michael Ricketti 2021

Michael Ricketti was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Lenapehoking.  He lives in Nicosia, Cyprus where he works at Kuruçeşme Projekt a community education and art initiative.

Thursday, December 09, 2021

New Poetry by Barbara De Franceschi

Is There a Theme to Life?

Perhaps a polka dot scenario,
like spots behind closed lids
where breath is held
waiting for a sensual touch
that takes too long to hatch.
Maybe life is a banana,
smooth curves, 
spongy flesh,
akin to hips
fatigued from bearing genes.
Or a boat afloat on stormy blue,
one-sided love smashed on rocks,
passion churned on congealed froth
like cold cappuccino
sour and clotted.
Is life just divided light?
Fragments of transparency,
vague prisms,
dust and space.
And what of a tree?
Anxiety scraped into kernels,
branches stacked with homely nests
the nearest we get to domestic bliss.
Life could be a pumpkin patch:
running amok,
except for Halloween.
Thoughts turn to purple grapes
in the midst of fermentation,
tannin mistakes aging in oak.
Shall we settle on chi?
The inner self half empty
with the hiss of past lovers,
half full of bubbly promises.

Does that mean life is a fizz?

- © Barbara De Franceschi 2021

Barbara De Franceschi refers to herself as an arid zone poet from Broken Hill. Besides three collections of poetry, her work has been published widely in Australia, in other countries, on-line and featured on national and regional radio.