Poetry | Stories | Photography
Some prayed for rain; others danced, many gave up hope as the dams dried up.
An old man sat looking at them, shook his head, and thought of all those times he scolded the rain.
What he’d give for drop now, yet then he hated how the rain always ruined his plans.
A charlatan on some disused corner said, “You are what you love. Remember those words, for they will set you apart from the rest.”
Walking down an empty street thinking about the charlatan’s words, they rattle and bounce around the expanse of her skull: threatening.
A thought takes shape; She says to herself, “If you are what you love, then my organs are books, my brain is an archive of knowledge, the blood that runs through my veins is ink, and my soul is my many words.
A friend Convinced you hypnosis is the way to cure smoking, so you take a trip to a practitioner.
Looking at a pocket watch with intricate carvings of flowers and stems, you feel calm relaxation set in.
A voice from far away says, “Don’t be a naughty smoker, Anna”.
“MUM?”
We travelled for so long to find my home. For years you travelled with me this way.
Now, looking from up here, the way is steep, and I am scared.
We are so close. Please help me make it to my home, then say the words I’ve longed to hear: You already know the answer.
The tree stands tall in the lounge room awaiting decorations.
Amongst the decorations lay many ornaments; some new, others old.
A wooden ornament passed from generation to generation sits oddly on the table.
Tabetha picks it up, and says, “Why am I made of wood?”
You walked in the busy city, stopping to wait for the right light.
A quick snap below of what’s above, reminds you of Winter’s day.
Looking back, you stare at the image of Melbourne town.
There is a silent way about the grey; a stillness in the sky.
Perhaps you will again see Melbourne moving on a winter’s day.
Living in the middle of nowhere can feel like a lonely place to be.
He sits at the table dreaming of the sea, as odd noises are coming from the upstairs bathroom.
Curious, he runs up to see the bathtub has overflowed seawater onto his favourite tiles.
The flower asked a bee, “When will the world end?” The bee looked dumbfounded, then buzzed away.
Perplexed, the flower asked a spider: there was only silence.
Then a cat sniffed at her petals. She asked the cat the same question. It seemed to prevaricate any response, then pissed on her stem.
From a black and white world, you showed me there are colours.
You opened the door to another world. A world no longer black and white.
Now that you’ve touched me with your colours, I will never see the world the same way again.
Photo – Kristie Bonnewell
Under an amber moon, they rise from the cold soil to find their home once again.
The hollow hills whisper in anticipation of a prophecy being fulfilled.
Creatures hidden in the forest creep along to see the sea of Wombats shuffle slowly.
C & K 