Morea 1 & Morea 2, by Kim Rance DAISY’S WORLD JULIE RYSDALE MOTHER JO CURTAIN On the edge of the Pacific Ocean, Mother waits one thousand years in shrouded majesty rising through the earth, her love trickles down in … Continued
Untitled 3, by John Bartlett UNTITLED JO CURTAIN The Artist is born in a summer storm, under thick colossal clouds gathering above the Pacific Ocean. The Artist has no mother, no father, no siblings to guide them, only the … Continued
Before Dawn, by Jan Price WHAT IF? JULIE RYSDALE We could have hauled our load up the stairs as high as we could go in that pretty pale moonlight. We would have dressed warmly for the chill ahead. And … Continued
Small Town Secrets, by Jo Curtain NEVER DISPLEASE AN ANGRY MOON JULIE RYSDALE Stercesn-Wotllams, a pleasant village that clung to the edge of a deep emerald loch and receded to the foothills beneath an imposing escarpment. The surrounds of … Continued
The Finest 500 is an annual competition for Geelong Writers’ members. This year, writers were invited to submit prose or poetry to 500 words in response to the theme: A Place I Know. Dr Jennifer Hurley judged the shortlist. You … Continued
COLD INNIT Geoffrey Gaskill It wasn’t cold here like the old country. He’d read the poster about coming to Sunny Australia but all he found was another kind of chill. He arrived on the winter solstice and a dour Customs … Continued
By Jo Curtain. Sadie and me descend into the valley. Not at ease—the crooked trail hurts my knees. I glance at Sadie, summer-girl shy, tender, her body tall and slender like the Alpine Ash trees. We’re tired. Flesh responding to … Continued
By Akshata Kulkarni. I have tasted your Kensington and endured the Calypso, but none to me tastes like my dear Alphonso. Amba, Aam or Mango—call it what you may—all signify the season of the bright yellow. While a bane to … Continued
By Michael Cains. Summer sun warming oily bronzed skins gleefully splashed sprays of salt water lazy waves tumbling onto yellow bright sand Even non-swimmers enticed into the blue. Tight and flabby bodies, all brightly garbed bouncing with no cares and … Continued
By Mathilda Garrido Lucay. I sat down as a cold tear goes down my tender, fragile face, All days are balmy but today the sun is low, and I am stuck in my headspace. Bells Jingle, and angels carol chant … Continued