Honey Scrub Wood
There never was a door in that tree
Just a welcome hollow, a leafy floor
The bear? Always away, visiting somewhere
We’d stay awhile, breathe potions from the air
Our comfort was no trespass
Secret trails up the rise called us too
Cross the water, tread the river stones
Reach scented bays of wattle
Stems and twigs like wands
Was that Piglet? For a moment, in dappled light
Grey stone ruins we’d say was a pen
Home for a donkey, his prints in the soil
Conjuring a path beyond this realm
Your eyes bright with the search
Blue orchids lit our way, lamps afire
Daisy clusters hummed our song
Whimsy, like honey, flowed golden to paint our skies.
by Franz Stein
Bells Beach
silhouetted against the clipped edges of ocean
and beneath a collapsing sun
a lone surfer waits
until a wave throws out its limb
she grips on pressing
against the bladder of the wave
quick-draws across its surface
and in a breath-holding moment
disappears into the swirling surf
—-
by Jules Leigh-Koch
—
Neanderthal
A sharpened, slicing stone
Was it hefted and weighed
By your shaggy, muscled hand
Was there wonder
For the clouded breath
Was the cold air named
Was the earth a mother
The sky a dream
The moon a friend
The light, the sun, horizons
Did you know
How small you were
Did you embrace
In nights of fear
Learned love’s comfort
What heart did you have
To feed a mind
To fashion thoughts
Where are those parts of you
Your remnants of the dawn
Your legacy of beginning
Not brother, nor sister
Are you here
In our stars
by Franz Stein
The Affair
Are you sure then,
that next week’s OK,
because last week you thought
next week was today
You said ‘just forget it’
when I mentioned it before
but now you want to re-live it,
so how can I trust you anymore?
—
by Andrew Piper
