Summer 2016
Note: 'matte black ducati' & 'green man' by Claire Everett, 'winged insects': tanka Hazel Hall, artwork by Nancy Tingey, Australia.
Winter 2014-Spring 2015
No need to click. Simply enjoy . . .
Winter 2013~ Spring 2014
Summer 2013
Contributors to the summer 2013 Gallery:
Sonam Chhoki & Michael Kowalewski, Susan Constable, Robert Davey, Jerry Dreesen, Claire & Tony Everett, David Terelinck.
Note: the image for Susan Constable's ekphrastic haiga is Under the Wave of Kanagawa, by Katsushika Hokusai (Japanese, 1760–1849).
Note: the image for Susan Constable's ekphrastic haiga is Under the Wave of Kanagawa, by Katsushika Hokusai (Japanese, 1760–1849).
Hyperspace
Michelle Brock, Australia
![Picture](/uploads/1/5/0/0/15008670/6089744.jpg)
At sunrise I’m scraping my feet along the gravel track in the reserve behind our house. Mist rises on the crisp still air, transforming the native bush into a magical setting for some enchanted forest tale. I’m not sure exactly what I’m thinking when my right shoe catches on a rock but I’m quickly forced to refocus. Lurching forward, I wave my arms in front of me and dangle in a moment of suspended time.
Bracing for the inevitable crash, I replay childhood experiences of tender flesh gouged by the unyielding asphalt of primary school playgrounds. I move on to more recent tumbles and think about all the tendons and joints I don’t want to injure, yet again.
Then it’s over. I’m sprawled out with my belly in the dirt, a reasonably soft landing thanks to the recent rain. I lie still for a while, assessing the damage. My left palm and my right knee have taken most of my weight. I’m not hurt, just annoyed . . . really, really annoyed.
all over
in a flash– this sunrise
and this life
even the golden sun above me
has blood on its hands
Reassembling my bits and pieces, I sit cross-legged in the dirt. So much for my early morning encounter with the natural world. Good thing no one was watching like the time I came crashing down outside the Flinders Street Railway Station at peak hour.
I heave myself up and brush the dust and leaves from my clothes. Then I see her, peering through the mist, barely a metre away, intent, scrutinizing, bemused by my morning salutation.
eye to eye
with a mother kangaroo–
she darts away
sure-footed in the face
of my unwieldiness
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