A selection from the 2004 issues of paper wasp
chants of waves
fording the river
below the conventpulsating
with cat’s breath
butterfly wingsJanice Bostok
heating up
near the fireplace-
family talkToshiro Takeshita
autumn chill
the family
smells of mothballsold wallpaper
my daughter reaches
for the butterflyfull moon at my back
the first of the season’s
ripe orangesalone
everywhere the same
autumn duskGraham Nunn
rough spring
ragged tulips
open too farwarm side
of the gravestone
everyone’s touchedautumn morning
someone sawing something
down and upHiroshima Day
grit in the wind
in our eyesTony Beyer
grey clouds
but still
the scent of jasminewaving good bye
when I see you again
will you be changedinsomnia
estimating number of possums
on the roofyour reasons
my reasons
— the moon moves onfrom edge to edge sky
single black
you inside my eyelidsalone on the river
ferry wash bending
city lightskatherine samuelowicz
in falling silence
limitless prairie snowfields
lit by one mooneach river pebble
shining clear and bold —
the autumn moonH. F. Noyes
prayer beads …
at the end of each strand the beginningdo-nothing-hut
I sit and watch
ants doing somethingtemple procession
the monks’ round hats
climb the hilltemple ruins –
pillar shadows fall
into sunsetStanford M. Forrester
a flock of cockatoos
grounded –
summer snowEstelle Randall
quiet day at work
beer
in my coffee mugdriving to retreat
road ragesex
I pull
the muscletim bravenboer
autumn rain
the old cat asks
for more loveDietmar Tauchner
the wind, fastidious housewife
gives the flags
a good beatingFiona Johnston
walking through green fields
and measuring the hours
in blackberry timeAndrew Detheridge
retreating waves
pull the world from
beneath my feetRobert Mestre
after the funeral
I still see her face
in her hand mirrorMyron Lysenko
parting company
one last look at the three blossoms
on the cherry treePatricia Prime
toilet seat
up and down up and down
a long marriagedivorce —
he can keep the books
on relationshipsmelting snow —
I take up
less space nowRuth Holzer
honeymoon morning
on stepping stones
looking forward & backSteve Dolphy
the trees shed foliage
I dress in layerswinter morning
her red mini skirt
hails the taxiMartina Taeker
breaking news –
the cat sleeps with a paw
over her eyesBeverley George
high noon –
the sun disappears
into the curlfallen crab apples —
old women bicker over
what to plant nextKathy Lippard Cobb
from the back of the ute
red cattle dog
rounding up the carsold love letters
destroyed
by time and mothRosie Stalker
in and out of shadow
the winding track
to the mountain topcouncil sign: welcome
to our city – please visit
our websitefrom shore … to shore
the river’s silver sheenLyn Reeves
autumn morning
the wind ripples
across her blouseafter sunset
the heat of the day
in a stone benchsweaty bus ride
a passing hint
of frangipaniGreg Piko
in the dim quiet
of the verandah
spider web still tinsel trimmedsuch humid weather
matches won’t catch fire
and red underwear uselessYnes Santz
counting the cars
of the freight train
this long hot summerriver leaves
drifting with the current
each stroke of the oarVanessa Proctor
moths
beat the screen, must know
I’m reading IssaKeith Woodruff
evening snow
in the parking lot one car
partially remainshow lumpy
the mattress that was new
when you were pregnantunwinding
an ancient Chinese scroll
with my mouseMichael Ketchek
morning sun
on the window sill
a warm catArt Stein
first quarter
cutting his toast
on the diagonalHelen Buckingham
Grandpa’s woodshed –
the coldness
in the steel of his axesudden storm
on our deck
the same stray dogFran Masat
before visiting hours
pigeons flock outside
the postnatal unitafter the news
night shadows grow deeperAndrew Callister
only the poet’s home
surrounded by the tree months worth
of dead leaveslanding on the oar
a praying mantis halts
the kayakRichard Krawiec
after the storm
the cries of black cockatoos
unlock my doorLisa Tesoriero
icy streets –
the stray cats curl
close to motor heatcherry blossoms fall
in this garden
before I was bornJack Galmitz
mid-drought
the sound of the cat’s tongue
wakes meSue Stanford
an old map
before the hurricane
the town stood hereflooded fields
the moon above
and belowalone I watch
the shadows deepen
after funeralAllen McGill
blue-grey currents –
the kayak
spilling starsbear grass in the sun —
she stops to breast feed
in the meadowCarrieAnn Thunell
far away
carnival lights
changing colormid sentence hush —
her favorite song
on the radioGary Hotham
endless ocean
the secret of islands
long departedseabirds retreat
suddenly alone with oceans
of memorieshorizon shifts
with every wave
a dream of landfallAlan Murray
crossing
the mist-shrouded bridge —
our last conversationFred Donovan
on the windowstill
dead german ivy clings
to a wire heartJason Lett
Mother’s Day …
the bastard son sits
holding her ashesMichael L. Evans
butterfly stirs
lilac air
of childhoodwhite autumn sun
turns sore eyes
last yellow rosePeter Macrow
choosing paint colors
my daughter hesitates — dawn
or grey mist?Kelly J. White
waiting for the moon
to break the sea horizon
the scent of sexJack Prewitt
frozen bay —
still the sound
of the seaHelga Härle
drying sweat
the western ridgeline
closes on the sunchain lightning
the taste of metal
in my teethCynthia Ludlow
sudden shower
multi-coloured pegs
litter the lawnwinter sun
boots in their own puddles
by the back doornew secretary —
the long-dead plant thrown
into the trashSue Mill
sleeping fisherman
his deck-chair sinks
even deeperRon Moss
early sunshine
a glint in the eye
of the kookaburrabougainvillea
a warm breeze mixes
shadows of pinkAlma E. Bird
autumn afternoon chill,
but my snug coat keeps out
gray sky’s lonelinessJon Petruschke
night turns into day —
a photograph emerges
in the darkroom trayschool reunion —
everyone older
than meJohn Kinroy
writing haiku —
little red mite pirouettes
on the table clothRichard Stevenson
reading on the bus:
her multi-page
cell phone billMichael Ceraolo
romantic comedy —
asleep on separate couches
before the endKathe Palka
telling a stranger
at 10,000 feet, things
I haven’t told myselfBarry George
a northerly
the jangling of the gate’s chain
stops and startsthe tradesman’s loud radio
my typing gets faster
and fasterCarla Sari
bare mountains —
I run my finger
along the horizonI open the door —
the winter sun
and my daughterAndrea Sherwood
greek ferry
everyone understands the cry
delfini!Ron Heard