Under the Bashō 2024
Linked Forms, Sequences and Contrapuntal Poetry
Editor: Clayton Beach
- Details
- Written by: Samantha Sirimanne Hyde & Marilyn Humbert
meandering
onto a hidden path
an unexpected trove…
vibrant blue belongings
of a male satin bowerbird
buttress roots
entangle my feet
camouflage
lacy mushroom clumps
mosses and lichen
raindrops
trickle off eucalypts
specking the track
smudged paw prints
etched along my way
watchful eyes
in the undergrowth
the prickles
of known and unknown
dangers…wandering alone
sundown
chant of night insects
intensifying...
the glow of a campfire
a welcome distraction
a powerful owl’s
haunting call echoes
through the gloom…
you pass me my navy scarf
a gift from last year’s trip
Samantha Sirimanne Hyde & Marilyn Humbert
- Details
- Written by: Danny Blackwell and Tim Murphy
at the crack of dawn
a rooster crowing far away . . .
the last days of winter
waking from a jetlag dream
the sound of cats in love
flowers falling
from the Judas tree
memories of childhood
gazing into the rock pool
scent of fish and chips
cold moon dipping
behind the hills, the horizon
seems to draw nearer
crunched snow glitters in the night
approaching the warmth of indoors
*
flushing away
the last bag of speed
one day clean
a mind flooded with dark thoughts
standing at the crossroads again
the blues guitarist
solos with a broken string
to roaring applause
above the river delta
clouds drifting out to sea
catching the red-eye
my mind wanders until you
point out the flight map
on a forest bike trail
tonguing the autumn rain
the snake awaiting
its prey, a stick in the spokes
makes the world happen
grumble of a wild boar
the archer checks his quiver
a corn tortilla,
the last one in the basket,
is it you or me
first picnic of the year —
three with the sun and my shadow
cherry blossoms
a lone swan swims past
the river bank
upon arrival, the trees
already bare: April fools
at the train station
the trash can fills up
with shiny sweet wrappers
vapor escaping the bamboo steamer
of the busy bao stall
first light
missing her
breathing
tamping the coffee with a spoon
the way you used to do
summer rain
I cook for two, lay the table for two,
then eat alone
the line of ants marching on
from where to where I know not
supermarket
a homeless man
speaks of the Bible
antediluvian conspiracies;
a leak in the roof
a lounge lizard
swims another length
of the hotel pool
sunning itself on a rock
the bush clover's shadow
harvest moon
in Madrid, longing for
Madrid
vile garrote at his neck
the bandit Luis Candelas
*
two girls argue
over who puts the collar
on the puppy
baptized baby's gibberish
drowning out clumsy Latin
in the distance
the sound of an explosion
motionless mime
the willows burst under the fireworks
then return to darkness
cherry blossoms
landing on the cabbage
a white butterfly
the child’s kite swoops
back towards the hilltop
Danny Blackwell and Tim Murphy
- Details
- Written by: Joanna Ashwell
moon jar
another seed pod
digging deeper
the labyrinth’s promise
I fold a wish
the weightlessness
of paper sails
over the horizon
in your smile
showing me
the way forward
magnolia buds
Joanna Ashwell
- Details
- Written by: Lorraine Haig
in the storm
clouds’ charcoal fingers
touch the sea
I set out into night
to reach the unknown
the boat
has sunk and I’m adrift
on a raft
you float past me
in the arms of a stranger
are my dreams
a collage of memories
I’m a gypsy
content to wander
the vastness of the mind
Lorraine Haig
- Details
- Written by: Lorraine Haig
amid the trees
my back against this giant
how I wish
my life could be here
with the ferns and mosses
dense silence
among the old ones
may my arms
become branches, my feet
send down their roots
a velvet night
and my pulse slows
I look up
to the canopy
and a shimmer of stars
in the temple
of leaves light filters
to the floor
let the bark of my body
change with the seasons
tread lightly
as the forest has ears
I listen
to the wallabies
jump through shadows
my lungs fill . . .
the mountain’s breath
tumbles
down the ridges
into the sound of water
Lorraine Haig