Artist: Robyn Hancock


Future dawn.

Spirit reborn.


Creating opportunities for change.

A chance to start again.


Hope renewed.

Situations reviewed.


Time to start a-fresh.

Adopting a different mindset.


Eternal sunrise.

Celebrating life…

© Copyright 2016, Robyn Hancock. All Rights Reserved

I decided, given the new year, that I would create new poems for this publication, thus giving me a creative challenge.


Working through Cobwebs


Melbourne Street Art – Artist Unknown
Photographer: Jennifer Cox
Photo used with permission

“I’m trying to work through cobwebs”, he said,

with eyes pouring like rain
into a leaky boat
squaring off the shoreline,
heading out to sea
avoiding Redbacks
like the plague. negotiating
rogue waves
behind his back,
facing his fear; ex –
tended arms pull
away – escape
for the moment.

he scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected de –
Nile; a river in Egypt
too far away to row
a thunder clap into eternity,
Isis turning a blind eye;
Trite – on dragging him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra –
firma can translate.

taking the bull
by the horns, he finds
solid ground wrestling
Taurus, knee deep
in mud that sticks
like shit on the inside;
cobwebs cling to hard –
wired neurons
lodged in the gaps
in – between grey,
a matter for
black and white.

separate, facts find
fiction fornicating
in a web of deceit
by design, too lurid
for children like
Persephone – abducted
innocence; a metaphor
for rape, choking the Hell
out of life. all the while,
pseudo affection bribes
a hand – full of lollies,
to sweeten the blow.

“I want everything to be saved”,
he said.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

It’s very sad watching loved ones hurting.

Long Lines of Lies


Photographer: Unknown

I don’t know what to do

when they look into my eyes


the drawing they made of me

they rewrite me,

insert the cliche that hangs like a slave in the square

I feel their lies


nuanced and lovely to the touch,

and me gracefully bludgeoned

eventually they find the door

and drag away their sharpened tongues

and behind

a mind reawakened –

coloured by Matisse

with words sprinkled in the lush greens of grass

Copyright © 2016 (Keith Nunes)

This poem makes sense of what I feel going on around me or at least what I perceive is going on.



Artist: Hua Tunan
Image used with permission

Morning time. So I leave my door, descending the four steps



My feet are bare upon the grass. Its wetness is almost sexual

If not for the cold.


A spider’s web catches the silver promise of light within a single drop

Of moiisture. Such a perfect fragile jewel;


It’s the sound I catch first. An impatient fluttering, daubed with

High-pitched peeps of distress.


Step over the log, my feet finding primordial satisfaction in its

Careless roughness.


The chicken wire lies in a tired bundle, threaded through with grass

And a single impatient thistle.


There. In the middle of the roll. A tiny brown speckled form. A thrush

Trapped within the deaf wire.




My feet stop. With each step closer, the bird becomes more animated

Beating its tiny form against the wire.


How can I say ‘I mean to help you, to tear back the walls that encircle you,

To give you back your universe?  For we are so deeply


Alien to each other.


I am torn. I cannot leave this other life. Yet I cannot help. Energy drains

From me. I am now unnecessary.


A watcher only.


The bird is still. Its chest heaves once. A wing slips and hangs loose,



It’s quiet.


I begin to hate the wire.

Copyright © 2002 – Jerry Beale

This poem describes an actual event which had a profound effect on me. It emphasised how separate we have become from the simplicity of nature.

Forgotten Skin


Artist: Nod Ghosh
Image used with permission

He carries acres of skin,

a decadent petticoat, wrapped

around his identity.


He finds a portion

untouched since

the beginning of memories.


A foreign pellicle,

symbiotic lesion,

that forges a crossing through

Lethean shorelines.


He travels to unknown

territory, unravels keratin spirals

bounded by

an integumental sea.


He feels its smoothness,


in doughy caress.


He enters the fourth room

of a three roomed house,

licks himself clean,

like an atheist in heaven.


Copyright © 2015 (Nod Ghosh)

When the meat and veg of life are difficult to chew, Nod Ghosh finds sanctuary in a gravy of words. Forgotten Skin examines the urge to self-mutilate, while Sailfins relates to when a person chooses death over life.