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Editor ~ Amelia Fielden (e-mail) (introduction)





Andre Surridge, New Zealand

gold charm bracelet
each sign of the zodiac—
she rotates them
slowly around her wrist
this goddess with green eyes

visible from space
enduring six centuries
China 's Great Wall
bound by a sturdy mortar
of slaked lime & sticky rice


Angela Leuck, Canada

the colour of beginnings—
my old dress
with scarlet roses
I still wear around the house

I sit outside
admiring black-eyed susans
while inside
my lemon loaf
burns to a crisp


Anne Benjamin, Australia

across the lawn
bruised petals—
you see the need to prune
what I seek to nurture

by his bed
a stack of used train tickets
between West and North
a single track stretching him
across two lives 


Barbara Taylor, Australia

solstice again
both summer and winter
without him . . .
sun over the yard arm,
cheers old mate

she smiled
at our friend's funeral,
asked, do I know you?
sisters, I replied
as dark clouds blocked the sun


Beatrice Yell, Australia

fence facing the coast
my defense against traffic
scurrying past
with cold easterly winds
off a deep sapphire ocean

near mellowed leaves
rosy sasanquas flare
sudden thoughts
of past passion, a love lost
too late to be reconciled


Beverley Momoi, USA

after we left him
nothing but straight rough road
through New Mexico
poppies paintbrush purple thistle
the desert wild with colour

moonlit magpies
arc, abandon shape
become sky
as I stand wingless
in this my body's winter


Bob Lucky, Ethiopia

walking into town
along the shaded bike path—
a red cardinal
disappears into the woods
with several of my thoughts

window shopping
for a charango
on line
my fantasies
virtually real 


Carmel Summers, Australia

row after row
mountains segue to the sky
in blues . . .
so many different shades
the moods of your day 

devil's ivy
curls around my window . . .
should I slash
last season's growth
let sunlight through?

possums scale
a soaring blackbutt trunk
with ease . . .
what must I do
for one word of your praise 


Catherine Smith, Australia

city park
barristers stroll to court
wheeling suitcases . . .
what will the journey hold
for those packed inside

dot the dusty path
an invitation
to share your umbrella—
the drought has broken

the black dog
overcome by happiness
when she returns
her pain is diminished
by his faithfulness 


Claire Everett, UK

the gifts we gave you
shut away and kept 'for best',
now I find myself
wrapped in my own silence—
one day it will be too late

the song of summer
played in a minor key—
thoughts and swallows
catch each other on the wing
and arc away in the blue 


Cynthia Rowe, Australia

with my newborn . . .
mother tells me
her blue-flecked eyes
are about to turn brown

the clang of silver
as I toss out my trophies
later to regret
letting go
of the memories


David Terelinck, Australia

by the creek
my father whistles
the dogs—-
once more I realise
why I am different

the soft voice
of words incised in stone . . .
spring thaw
a zen master's wisdom
flows down the centuries 


Dawn Bruce, Australia

oil slick
slinks across the surface
of the sea—
to cook my pasta
I add oil to water

a cat crouches
waits in long grass,
eyes glinting—
you tense, scribbling notes
at every reading of my poems


Denis Garrison, USA

I am a free man
I go where I want . . . and yet
My neck hairs bristle
No matter where I am
Always, there's a cat, watching

These are the woods
Where the big cats own the night
In the edgy dark
Silence is never empty
Shadows are not your friends 


Ellen Weston, Australia

baboons sit
high on the Pyramids
to worship their sun god . . .
below, shapeless shadows

on her reflection
a mallard duck—
emotions subdued
now this day is perfect


Francis Masat, USA

back and forth
in the new sidewalk
shoe prints
under a traffic light
a sparrow waits

fall afternoon:
a dog alternates between
brown garden stalks
and the bright green
of our new lawn 


Giselle Maya, France

into a loom of boughs
with quince blossoms
I mean not to return

out of the blue
mind spins the scent
of a cedar box
holding a scroll brushed
with snow, moon, flower


Guy Simser, Canada

on the shinkansen
we traverse a viaduct,
the rising sun
flickering an icon
bridge on the river kwai 

Hiroshima dome
tour bus group photo
caught in a flash
that soot black dove
one leg and a short stump

abruptly from grade six
to munitions factory line
our spinster maid
with her short cv, taught us
Japanese culture, proudly 


Jan Foster, Australia

new shoots
on the daffodil bulbs
such optimism
ignoring the chill
I answer your e-mail

paused at the top
of the ferris wheel ride
in the night sky
with a zillion diamonds


J. Zimmerman, USA

signing my will
with a pen gold-embossed
'Circus Casino'
my funeral plans emphasize
boas, spandex, conga lines

Labour Day weekend
cleaning years of clutter
beneath the sink
bottles and tins almost full
so many tasks incomplete 


Kathy Kituai, Australia

isn't it great
to be walking mid-morning
not because he rang last night
but because he didn't

getting to know
the territory
near rapids
a dragonfly sits
on her shoulder then his


Kala Ramesh, India

constantly hearing
Hindi run into English
my thoughts
come churned out
in Hinglish

after some
breathtaking leaps
the melody
settles in the silence
of the singer's held breath 


Lisa Baron, USA

dear daughter—
when I write, I'll sing
another lullaby
like the one I hummed
without fear, years ago

remembering you,
lover of winter
in clouds mimicking
the softness of snow 


Margaret Grace, Australia

a red dragonfly
motionless on a yellow
water lily . . .
together they wear
winning world cup colours

the smell from pepper
tree berries crushed in my hand . . .
I sit on the swing
you once pushed,
fingering the frayed rope 


Margaret Van Every, Mexico

the room so crammed
with memory and sorrow
she's left no exit,
watches a spider weave by night
undo each thread by dawn

their marriage
a train with two engines
in opposite directions
each saying I think I can 


Marian Verbeka, USA

this frozen morning
birdseed waits at the feeder,
small puffs of feathers
come tumbling like hungry
snowflakes to a cold breakfast

steam from the kettle
settles on the cold windows—
as it grows cooler
pictures will appear of wild
ferns, palms, tropical jungles 


Mariko Kitakubo, Japan

how many suicides
the humidity
continues to climb

the blue
of the blue moonlight
falls upon me—
vengeance is so
bloody and empty 


Marilyn Hazelton, USA

in the haze
of tiny snowflakes falling
my anger eases
like all creatures
it rests now and then

of war, fraud, assault—
retreating again
yet wanting to live, love
walk in this troubled world 


Marjorie Buettner, USA

cheating death
one more time — I watch
in fascination
apple blossoms quivering
under sweet-hungry bees

so much like a dream
this travelling back in space
to a different time
one day you are with me
another day you are gone 


Michael Thorley, Australia

the locals say
they've panned all the gold
from the river—
they must have missed
this sunlit glittering

my father
took me mushrooming
after rain
showing how to tell
death from delight 


Naomi Wakan, Canada

dogwood in flower
somehow the cream
against the soft green
makes me feel Canadian
as nothing else does

and startling white
the island houses
where we tented in the orchard
mulberries falling all around us 


Patricia Prime, New Zealand

with a gracious nod
I give the busker
a gold coin . . .
it's a day for extravagance
the daffodils in bloom

trees outside
your hospice window
grow new leaves—
how can I mourn
and rejoice in one breath 


Peggy Heinrich, USA

The Missing Bite Cafe:
this kitchen where my daughters
sample my pizza slice,
my chocolate bar,
where I ask to taste their toast

seaside cafe—
he refuses a handful
of vitamins,
says I'm interfering
with his death


Pravat Kumar Padhy, India

with the telegram
waits an old man at the post office—
grief soaked paper
sends the message to darkness
over coffee mixed with tears 

purpose of life
touching the softness of cloud
drains agonies
all along the shore line
before mingling with vastness 


Sanford Goldstein, Japan

I float
on what I cannot say,
cannot tell,
I try to pass on through
with my usual small grin

the last Emperor
expected his black shoes
to be tied for him;
why do I recall Van Gogh's
sturdy chair and whirling lines? 


Sonam Chhoki, Kingdom of Bhutan

the plum tree
you planted bears no fruit
after all these years
I still wake up some nights
and wonder where you are

I delete all e-mails to you
this February morning
the backdoor sticks
and lets in the draft

monks chant
from the Book of the Dead
in early dawn
as the waning moon fades
I light a butter lamp 


Vasile Moldovan, Romania

two mirrors
face to face:
the sky and sea
eye witnesses
of our love

having a chat
on the telephone
with my mother—
her voice has become




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