Here is an article about an overseas book publishing company looking for poetry manuscripts (not for children). http://www.authorspublish.com/measure-open-to-manuscript-submissions/

The Australian Poetry Journal has relaunched with a new editor, new ‘magazine’ format and a dedicated website. Michael Sharkey has been appointed editor and Stuart Geddes is responsible for the layout of the new journal, which was previously published in a trade paperback format. http://www.australianpoetry.org/bulletin/category/competitions

Time out

The sun is slowly sinking,

slipping gently to the sea.

I put a stop to thinking,

set my thoughts and feelings free,

and take the time to marvel

that I occupy a place

on board a giant marble

spinning silently through space.

© Jenny Erlanger

Attack of the Giant Dinosaur  

I didn’t really mean,

To do what I have done,

I trod on a dinosaur’s tail

And now I’m on the run.

He’s about fourteen metres long

And he’s breathing down my neck,

My heart is purely throbbing

And my nerves are all a wreck.

He’s just about on top of me

His teeth about to crunch,

Oh where do you hide from a dinosaur

When you’re about to be his lunch.

“Stop playing with that lizard Tommy

And come on in for tea,”

“Ah you’d spoil any game mum

For a little boy like me.”

© John Williams

Sea Sparkle

(Noctiluca scintillans, Thirroul Beach, August 2014)

After the rain a dull red tide

muddied the angry sea,

and the sky hung low and grey.

No swimming today.

I moped back up to the house to read

and hours had slipped away

when dad called out to me

that lights were on in the sea.

We walked out in the clear-rinsed dark

and down to watch the waves

breaking there in bright

displays of blue-green light.

It had to be magic. Water like fire

flaring into the dark!

Was it a sea-change?—

a thing so ghostly and strange.

We ran towards the breaking waves

and saw our footprints spark

as if we’d gone to play

along the Milky Way.

I cupped my hands and scooped up stars

then let them fall away

and lightning flashed and played

with every move I made.

I was in the universe,

with stars around my feet,

a giant hurling light

at random in the night.

Galaxies were swirling by

tumbling time and space

to sand-grains in my mind.

I’d left the world behind.

© Kate O’Neil

The Echidna

An echidna passed across a track

heading towards a special snack.

A naturalist muttered,‘What a turn!

About this creature, I’ve got to learn.’

He kneeled to take a closer look

the echidna swung with strong right hook.

And it was such a heavy clout

it nearly knocked the watcher out.

The echidna curled into a prickly ball

snarling, ‘I don’t like you at all.’

The naturalist cried and mused upon

what it was that he’d done wrong.

He only wanted to see first hand

the weirdest creature in the land.

The echidna uncurled and stalked away

grumbling at his ruined day.

And idiots too dumb to know

you always let echidnas go –

About their business digging holes

and eating ants from salad bowls.

Or snuffling around a great big mound

Where tasty termites are always found.

To spare echnida watchers’ pain,

the moral of this tale is plain.

Always remember it’s very rude

to keep echidnas from their food.

© M. Pearce

email: mpearceau@gmail.com

My Gran’s Place

My Gran’s place is an unchanging one

And I always visit when horridly glum.

She doesn’t go in for changing trends

Of fashion, hairdo’s or marital friends.

Everything’s the same, as long as I’ve known

The clock in the hall, the old fashioned phone.

She opens her door with a welcoming smile

And says ‘Hello love, come in for a while.’

Mum’s moved to a flat, small but not cosy,

Door to door concrete, and neighbours nosy.

No bike riding, skateboarding or making a noise

Pets not allowed, and they hate little boys.

Sometimes I go to stay with Dad

but after a while I start to feel mad.

A fresh new start, my stepmother said

And threw everything out, even my bed.

The kitchen’s never messy with cooking,

Everything’s tidy and modern looking.

The back verandah is now a study,

With nowhere to leave anything muddy.

Gran’s furniture’s shabby, and I like it a lot,

A smoking wood stove, and soup in the pot.

The broken down stool in my favourite nook

The bookshelf that has my very first book.

An expensive video game sits at home,

But it doesn’t compensate for nights alone.

Dad takes me fishing and for drives galore

(He never acted like this before!)

My Gran’s world is warm and friendly,

Nothing there is ever trendy.

I love to visit when feeling blue,

And pretend that my world’s unchanging too.

A version of this published one use only HOUSE OF SPROUTS 1988 (O.U.P) A version of this used in POSTIVE WORDS May 2008 issue, one use only

© Margaret Pearce

P.O. Box 253,

BELGRAVE, 3160

Australia

email mpearceau@gmail.com

Portrait of a Puddle

I can tell you about the weather.

Am I growing or shrinking?

I can show you how a paper boat floats

and be a mirror for your smiling face.

I can be a drink for a thirsty bird,

or a short slurp for a cat on the prowl.

I can annoy new shoes,

but splashing gum boots love me.

I can be a short stay hostel

for tadpoles or mozzie larvae.

I can be temporary and tempting.

I have possibilities and potential.

I am a puddle.

© Pat Simmons

The Echidna

An echidna passed across a track

heading towards a special snack.

A naturalist muttered,‘What a turn!

About this creature, I’ve got to learn.’

He kneeled to take a closer look

the echidna swung with strong right hook.

And it was such a heavy clout

it nearly knocked the watcher out.

The echidna curled into a prickly ball

snarling, ‘I don’t like you at all.’

The naturalist cried and mused upon

what it was that he’d done wrong.

He only wanted to see first hand

the weirdest creature in the land.

The echidna uncurled and stalked away

grumbling at his ruined day.

And idiots too dumb to know

you always let echidnas go –

About their business digging holes

and eating ants from salad bowls.

Or snuffling around a great big mound

Where tasty termites are always found.

To spare echnida watchers’ pain,

the moral of this tale is plain.

Always remember it’s very rude

to keep echidnas from their food.

© M. Pearce

mpearceau@gmail.com

Walk!

Perhaps you’ve tried a jaunty stride,

A country romp, a city stomp.

Do your legs swing and your arms fling?

Do you ramble and roam all the way home?

Do you step pigeon-toed when crossing the road?

Is your waddle so humble, it’s almost a stumble?

Hilaire Belloc, known for humour and rhyme,

Had something to say (no rhyme this time):

‘The walk is a series of potential falls

Countered by placing one foot forward.’

Now you’ve heard (quick sketch, last word):

Stroll or race or fall flat on your face!

Walking helps your lungs and heart

And keeps your brain alert and smart,

Enough words, enough talk,

   Get out there! Walk, walk!

Edel Wignell

© The Australian Society of Authors

Eagle Song

Hill-lord sorcerer, wedge-tailed eagle,

Drawn on breath of wind.

Brown breadth plunging, arrow-lunging,

Earthing into prey.

Gold eye blazing, coldly fazing

Storm that’s coming on.

Sky-sail clipper, wedge-tailed eagle,

Drifting on the wind.

Rip waves forming, slow tide borne in

Flash of bronze and white.

Thunder rattling, lightning shattering,

Trees and livid sky.

Still there’s eagle, riding bravely,

Master of the storm.

© Sophie Masson