What is Left
By David Jones WHAT IS LEFT THE OLD WHALER The hands of an old Alaskan whaler tell their story… Purple veins course across his skin swollen rivers in springtime-flood carry life to the sundried parchment the landscape … Continued
By David Jones WHAT IS LEFT THE OLD WHALER The hands of an old Alaskan whaler tell their story… Purple veins course across his skin swollen rivers in springtime-flood carry life to the sundried parchment the landscape … Continued
faces, places emotional spaces Dome Poets 2023 Reviewer: Jen Grigg 11 August 2023 faces, places, emotional spaces is a triptych of lyrical creativity, an eclectic assemblage of poetry. This anthology is a depiction of ‘little stories’, of characters past and … Continued
By Kat Skarbek Black Country England in the 1960s was anything but swinging. It was a place of dirt and hard labour and sweat. The streets were full of terraced houses, knitted together in red brick rows, pulsing with the … Continued
Image: Distillate of Tears by David Jones emicimages.com By David Jones This poem is from my book, The Taken, a series of photos and poems to highlight the trauma of our Stolen Generations. DISTILLATE OF THE DETAINED They quailed … Continued
By Deborah Hunniford. Only yesterday, walking in Geelong West, I stopped to smell the roses. Behind lace curtains a shadow twitched, as if it had been lying in wait for me. I stiffened to form an exaggerated bow, hands tucked … Continued
By Olga Hogan. ‘Don’t walk backwards!’ she tells me. We’re coming home from the lake. It is late spring and the lilac trees lining the path are in full bloom. The air vibrates with sweet perfume, making me believe in … Continued
By Amelia Hearne. TRIGGER WARNING: THIS MEMOIR CONTAINS REFERENCES TO CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE. IF READING THIS AFFECTS YOU IN ANY WAY SUPPORT IS AVAILABLE: PHONE 1800 RESPECT. Picturing his face spreads darkness in my soul. It rumbles through me like … Continued
By Chris Hansen. In the morning, often of a weekend, the sounds of mowers could be heard as far as you might wish to travel through the suburbs. My father’s mower was a Victa. Tried trusty and true it kept … Continued