The Tide: Latest works from Geelong Cereal's Poets' Palace
by Dorothy Johnston, Ivor Steven, Celeste Blundell-Camden, Phoebe Hancox, Jo Curtain
Easter at Waralilly
by Dorothy Johnston
I write this in anticipation of the guns,
the echoing of gunfire off the houses.
The reeds around the swamp
do not so much give back an echo
as bear witness to untimely death.
Not the death and re-birth of the god,
the coming of spring on the other side of earth.
Here it is autumn and the days are closing in.
Humans pray in churches
and give thanks that they are saved.
Out here, who bears witness save the reeds and bushes
and the few who stand, not in a church,
but beside the water where the ducks are shot?
They watch and count and film,
hoping that their presence might one day save a life.
Easter rituals ignore what goes mostly unrecorded.
But I mark each death here in my poem,
and record how men with guns shoot birds for entertainment,
while a god dies for their sins and is born again.
‘Easter at Waralilly’ was first published in Catchment 6 poetry of place under the Baw Baw Arts Alliance’.
My Dragon, The Tetralogy: Part 2. My Dragon, The Revival
by Ivor Steven
My harpooned Dragon, fallen and out of breath
Gazing around, pleading, near death
The Slayer's spear, protrudes from his scaly vest
And I listen, to his pounding chest
Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard
Removing the spears horrid barb
My Dragon exhales an awesome howl
Eyes bulging, tears flowing down his jowl
In agony, thrashing his spiky tail
Then slowly abating, like a windless sail
Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning?
Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking
Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping
And my Dragon's head rises, stretching, arching
Green horns twitching, he’s again my mythical reptile
Yellow eyes glowing, like glazed tiles
My Dragon's revived
And ready to skydive
4 Haikus
by Celeste Blundell-Camden
VIEWPOINT
Sparkling Diamonds -
Beautiful - but most are flawed!
What of us - the same?
HUMBLE TEACHER
Strong tall barked wonder -
You seed, sprout, bloom - change and die.
Do you not ask why?
THE SONG
The immensity -
Sky sea earth wind bird - human
All are part - yet - all.
UNARMED
One day we must all
Lay down our arms and fly free
Soft breeze in our souls…
God is a Fish
by Phoebe Hancox
People assumed that when the rapture happened
They would be responsible.
That the world revolved around them
And that they were the only ones that faced judgment
They assumed that dogs, birds, and horses were clueless,
Didn’t worship a higher power,
Maybe even worshipped them, their owners,
As a god.
The humans,
The land creatures,
They were fools,
Unaware of the Earth's destiny.
An ark they touted,
It would save them from the floods!
That was when their god had finally had enough,
They would be neck-deep in the water.
Little did they know,
God didn't have legs,
Or a nose;
But gills and fins.
When the rapture began,
People panicked.
The water trickled down from the skies,
Reaching ankle height.
Laughable.
‘Is this all you’ve got?’ they shouted.
‘Wet socks, and mildly annoying amounts of rain?’
It was neither punishment nor reward,
It wasn’t for them,
It wasn’t about them.
Murder all they like,
Repent all they like,
God wasn’t interested in the humans.
God had fins and gills,
And didn’t concern themself with the happenings of the human race
Cod was a fish.
The rapture had come,
To spread the message of the aquatic race.
The Morning Watch
by Jo Curtain
Returning to those muggy mornings
the smell of burning rubbish
palm fronds littering the path to the beach
Stillness sinks into shimmering black sand
the nostalgia of scorched coffee
churns with fragile memories
as pebbles tumble over my toes
Watching sets roll in
the changing light
spreads mellow saffron-peach
like a gentle gauze draping
the horizon
My face pumiced by the sun
as you paddle out
I imagine a perfect loneliness
your first surf
