by Joyce Ernyes
Kylie's eyes brimmed with tears of happiness as the Olympic gold metal was placed around Sonja's neck. She loved the young girl like a daughter.
While sitting in the stadium awaiting the ceremonies to commence, Kylie reflected on the events of the past four years that culminated in this day being the most memorable of her life.
Written by Dian Bowers
Grandma held the needle in her deformed hand as she skilfully manoeuvred the quilted material. Arthritic took away her beloved craft but there was one more piece of art that she had to create. Grandma painted a picture with vibrant printed textiles, using her needle as a visual artist uses a brush to paint her subject. Her grandchild at her knee watches every stitch. Grandma winces every so often as the creation was taking its toll on her hands.
The painting in poetry
by J.C. Kavanagh, Author of The Twisted Climb book series
I face forward, I don't look back
There are things to the left
And things to the right
That distract, not reflect
The real me that I hide.
It's there, can you see
Artwork Created By: Susan Medland
Medium: Acrylic on board
written by Jessica Van de Kemp
Before winter, the gold of the tree
strikes a match against the night
at daybreak. If you hold the sky to your ear,
it sounds like the ocean. Blue. A new recording
of bluebirds, behind the wooden fence,
feels electric, a persistent mood of sun,
not fog, makes an orchard of apples.
Wind and Windows
by Maria H Thompson
© March 7, 2022
Cradled in the breast of humanity,
starring into the soul of nature,
is where I discovered the contents of my mind.
In the dust, what wonders pass,
the wind tore into my heart like a blade shivering in the sun.
Searching for love, ghosts laboured to compose their brawls.
I stepped into the icy water of the French river to line our canoe over very shallow rocks. There was no rush, as the sun shimmered showing the amazing beauty of the colours of the rocks at my feet. Then Mike, who was in front of me stopped and pointed downwards. Following his gaze I joined him and saw huge fish gently swaying around in place, unfazed by our presence, busy spawning their next generation, glimmering, quietly slowly dancing in the sunlight...
The Woman Walking Into the Lake
Poem by Angela van Breemen
Her blue so vast
Seeps inside my shoes
Enveloping my feet
In its chilly embrace