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
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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