The roar of the traffic on the six-lane highway, leaving Melbourne, was deafening. Wild drivers weaving wantonly across the lanes. Madness…

Kites. On a humid hot February day, as Bill was keeping cool by immersing himself in the pool and drinking a long cool lager or two, he gazed again at the message. ‘Meet me where the Kites fly’. No other words to enlighten him. Bill scratched his chin, always an…

Fiction — From the window she watched the Ibis embroider the sky. They formed intricate formations as they followed their leader across the blue. How she longed to fly with them. Their rhythmic motion moved in time with the classical music, on the radio, her permanent companion. Calmness crept over her. The…

The Lark’s Poetry Competition.

Sometimes we need a push, just a gentle prompt,

Trash 1. Green bin, Overflows, full! Blue bin, Yellow bin too! I sort and select correctly. Where to? Trash 2. Does our trash end up Where we think it does? Who’s eyes are watching? Are we blindly overlooking, Deceptions and Perfidy. Trash 3. The Tip, is the northern point of…

I was asked to write on Trash, didn’t know where to publish. Sorry if I have upset you. Can you publish? Or make suggestion?

Take pen. Stroke white paper. Lines carry your visions. Creating pictures as they dance, Across. A Cinquaine. 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 sequence of syllables

Blue outcrops hazily rise, Beyond the dry, dusty red track. Purple weed spreading lustily, Carpeting valleys and hills.