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

unseen

the army squeezes

the blood out of

the trees

and their

unseen

- © 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 He remains virtually unpublished.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

West      

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.

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,

overladen,

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.