J V Birch

J V Birch lives in Adelaide. Her poems have been anthologised, exhibited and published in Australia, the UK, Canada and the US. She has three chapbooks with Ginninderra Press and a full-length collection, more than here.  

Peter Daniels

      The Key of Dreams That’s not René Magritte with his apple on his hat not holding a pipe. While he’s not there, he’s been dispensing French words chalked in a clear cursive hand, because words make good pictures. He’s no fool and in his sober...

Susanne Lansman

      People in glass houses A woman couldn’t make up her mind what character she wanted to be in her story. One moment she wanted to be kind and good the next she wanted to be distant and thoughtless unable to see or hear anything clearly. If she...

Cliff Yates

      Science Remember, Sir, when I blocked the sink with paper towels and turned on the tap and you noticed only when it poured over the side and splashed on the floor and you swore, ran over, pulled up your sleeve and plunged in your arm up to the...

Alex Josephy

      For a Journey to the Forest in Time of Snow Purse, dirk, night-cap, kerchief, shoeing-horn, buget, and shoes; Spear, nails, hood, halter, sadle-cloth, spurs, hat, withy horse-comb; Bow, arrow, sword, buckler, horn, brush, gloves, string, and thy...

Holly Bars

      Overblown Rose A glassmaker, breathing down a long, metal rod, blowing a bud to a bulb which grows, told what it’s meant to be, how it’s meant to look. Cold, outside air hits; the shoot splits; little notions spitting out from the stem crystallise...