narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Two

Foreword

How quickly time passes. Just six months ago we brought you narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One, and now we’re doing it again with Volume Two.

It’s been a fantastic year watching the narratorAUSTRALIA community grow, watching the participants begin forming online relationships with each other, supporting and encouraging each other to challenge themselves to new and more intricate writing tasks.

As narratorAUSTRALIA expands and reaches more people, we all learn more and are exposed to more writing styles. This last six months has seen us publish poems based on the Fibonacci sequence as well as our first Decuain poem, not to mention other poems which have been based on different rhyming patterns.

The volume of weekly entries has increased, as has the standard of competition. When we first started, there were sometimes weeks when I was worried that we would have nothing to publish! Now, we have a fair amount of choice, and the quality of that choice is increasing, which is the aim of the game – to encourage entrants to spit and polish and deliver the very best work they can, whether they have an already established writing career or are in the baby steps of venturing out into the creative writing world.

Like all publishing companies, we look for work which has a minimum of errors. Because we don’t charge for entries, we don’t have time to edit. And a poorly edited piece is hard to read, anyway. And we look for work which entertains, which makes us sit up and take notice – either with its rhythm, its words, its ideas, its humour or sadness or thoughtfulness. We look for creative writing, and are getting tougher about this. While some of the pieces we publish will occasionally appear to be based on memoir, we discourage memoir and essays per se – we are after creative writing. So if you have something to say in the memoir or opinion vein, be creative about it, or risk missing out to someone who is out to entertain!

And when we do receive something which really gets through to us, we give it an Editor’s Pick, which you will notice as you read through this volume. However, as was the case with Volume One, there were other pieces which missed out on the Editor’s Pick by a whisker, and this will become more frequent as the overall level of competition improves. So congratulations to all contributors for helping highlight the great standard of creative writing in Australia with this second volume.

Where pieces are illustrated, these are generally works by the contributor – we are cognisant of not using images which may break copyright, so while a piece may have been illustrated on the blog with an image we can link back to (e.g. from Wikipedia or a free digital images website) we don’t include those images within this book.

And, as per Volume One, I need to remind you that while we give each piece a light proofread for more obvious errors, and try to format all to a reasonable consistency, time constraints dictate that there will be the occasional issue with spelling, punctuation or grammar. For these I can only apologise, congratulate you for knowing better, and remind you not to make the same mistake when submitting your work to publishers!

But enough from me. It’s time for you start enjoying this new volume which contains 235 poems and short stories written and submitted by 111 emerging and established writers published at www.narratoraustralia.com.au during the six month period from 1 November 2012 to 30 April 2013. Most items were published at 8 am Sydney time, unless otherwise time stamped.

So please, turn the page and start reading … and when you have a moment, feel free to visit the website (above) or find us on Facebook and let the writers know if you enjoyed their work, and why.

And if you feel like submitting to narratorAUSTRALIA yourself one day, we would love to hear from you!

Thank you for your support of narrator and of the Australian creative writing industry.

Jennifer Mosher, AE

Editor-in-Chief

Copyright reminder

Please remember that every item in this book is the copyright of the attributed author.

Please do not even think about plagiarising these works or using them without permission.

If you wish to gain permission to quote from these works, or to use them elsewhere, then please contact us via our MoshPit Publishing website at www.moshpitpublishing.com.au if you can’t easily find contact details for the author in question.

The above also applies to the images supplied by the authors to illustrate their artworks.

Thank you.

Index

AB

The Billet

The Spirit Of The Thing

Abecca, Kylie

Sense Of Life

Shattered Reflections

Adamopoulos, Stephanie

Who Are You Sir?

Adams, Peter

A Cruise From Hell

Anderson, David

An Unusual Noise

Cuba

Maya

My Friend The Yowie

Renationship

Arden, Lynette

Only

Arvan, John

Christmas Performance Report

Left

Long Live Johnny

Wedding Secret

Assumpter, Irene

Following Taraji

Bingham, Leonie

Over The Fence

Blackwell, Penny

The Persian Tanker

Boko, Armin

Alice Springs Regatta

Widow’s Last Son

Brown, Jadei

Life Choices

Puzzle Of Life

Brown, Laura

Daisies For My Daisy

Bruton, Judith

Paradise

Slow Burn

Bundesen, Jean

Curlews Call

Raw Cuts

What A Day!

Winter Shadows

Callaghan, Linda

Reach For The Stars

Carew, Dominic

It Will Come

Chaffey, Robyn

Behind The Door

Flitting In The Moonlight

Lawson’s Inspiration

Radox Hair

Cholewa, Pawel

A Sentimental Cynic

Concepcion, Miss

Love’s Destroyer

Cox, Robert

Departures

The Perve Next Door

Craib, James

‘Baffling’ Bill Letts’ Magic Billets

Bend In The River

Cardboard Families

I Left It At Home

Unholy Futility

Cumming, Jennie

Kites And Heart Strings

Rain

Davidvee

Development Games

Passing Over

The Exercise Book

De La Force, Julitha

I Don’t Understand

The SMSer

Demelza

Comments Please!

It Made A Most Unusual Noise As It Landed

Multitasking

Predicate Etiquette

What I Really Want For Christmas

Dimitric, Irina

A Fibonacci Poem For Australia Day

My Holden Barina

The Anzac March – A Decuain

Edgar, Bob

Angelita

Forbidden Fruit

One Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Ten Seconds Of Light

The Truth At Last

Elliott, Hannah Mary

Holy City

Elliott-Halls, Sam

Love Not Lost

Ellis, Phillip A.

The Landscape Of New England

Townsville

Fermanis-Winward, Michele

Encounter

Fielding, Susan

Ambiguous Loss

Henry’s Hope

Fogarty, Naomi

A Flash Of Red

The Unspoken

Freedman, C.G.

Obituary Notice

The House At The End Of The Tracks

Gardiner, Alexander

A Lang Time Ago

A Wee Adventure Past

Possum’s Pride

Tae A Flea, Wee Courin’ Beastie

Gibbs, Thomas

Little Minds

She Stole My Pen

The Back Room

Gibson, Alison

The Boy On The Tracks

Girolamo, Hazel

Caveman

Gift Of The Grab

Pride And Presents

Spirit Of The Sea

Goodwin, Peter

Dispatches

Lacuna

Govier, Mark

Ballad Of The Twilight Man

Extract From Diary Of A Mephisto

Gow, Virginia

Burnt Toast

Downpour

Shallow Night

Under The Wharf

Hall, Emma

Backwards

Hammad, Sharon

Podiatrist

Slides

Harrison, Heather

Bleeding Bark

Heks, Andris

Federer vs Murray

The Third Eye

Howell, Connie

Insects

The Fly

The Swing

To Those In Need

Humphreys, Paul

Secrets

Shoreline

JAC

In Each Other’s Heart

James, Nicole

Big Mumma

Final Curtain Call

Tired

Jamieson, Mariah

Shiny Diamonds

Jenkins, David

Love’s Passing Remembrances

The White Goddess And The Fisher King

Johnson, Amber

Experimental Existential

Follies Of Formicidae

Marvellous Words

Southern Tablelands

Stockholm Sponge

Vita Brevis

Johnston, Henry

The Conjurers Club

The Milliner

Kale, Ashwyn

An SMS Summer Journal

Pancakes

Kathopoulis, Jenny

Julian And Cecilia

The Maiden, The Mother And The Crone

Kay, Susan

Disconnect

Flaky

Saturday

Kennedy, Rob

Counting

La Porte, Judith

Small Town Boys

Lee, Crystal

Masks

Red Lips

Lee, Melanie

Story Of A Girl

Linn, Marilyn

Murray Bridge

The Gravy Train

Waiting For Him

Lock, Julie

Gran’s Billy Lid

My First Love

Lutta, Fayroze

Arrive Singing At Les Folies Bergère

Mr Harry Morgan

My Heart Has No Home

Lynch, Felicity

Great Aunt Maud

The Great Grandmother

Time Remembered

Mancy, JH

General Mayhem

The Creak/Creek On The Stairs

Mathias, Mikhail

Let’s Get Metaphysical, Physical

McCaskill, Ben

Following

Piece Of Meat

McDougall, Garry

Tribute To Decazeville

McGloin, Barry

Adam And Eve’s Lamb, Pork Or Goat With Coriander

McKern, Kari

The Daughter Of Durga

Metcalfe, Carly-Jay

Redemption Poem

Want

Monica, Vita

A Journey Of Maturity

Mask

Murfet, Laura

Life In The Light

NaNaG

Tripping Over Rainbows

Waiting

Newman, David

The Winter And The Rose

Nickols, Lynn

It Made A Most Unusual Noise As It Landed

Summer Storms

Paton, Toni

A Gate Ajar

Every Golfer’s Treasure

Fly Bys

Payne, Kaylia

Norman Nightingale

Pensable, Des

The Demon Hunter

Tits Should Be Out And About

Pierce, Jill

Information Simply Given

Pippi, Miss

Brighton

Portingale, Paris

And Out Of The Darkness Comes – Limbo

Love And 13 Cossacks

The Time Travel Machine

Pratt, Tamara

Alien Exodus

His Gift Back

Rainbow Tornadoes

Rain, Joanna

Camping Trip

Strange Days

The Black Dog And My Dog Bundy

Ramsay, Sallie

Cockie

Secrets

Somewhere Else

Renew, Sandra

Dissident

Robertas

Croak

Recollection Of My Future

You Slipped Away

Ross, John

Bill’s Visit To The Big Smoke

The Cave

The Newcomer

The Wind

Saint-Malo, Shey

Hippolito

Sargent, Susan

The Driver

Satori, Sonia Ursus

Ode To Life – Prologue

Scott, Emma-Lee

A Natural Scape

Blood And Men

Of The Mind

Summer

Tranquil Darkness

Shankar, Peter

Landed

Speak English Please

Singer, Ariette

Barbra Streisand Would Love This!

Discriminating Cupids

Smith, Winsome

A Lucky Find

Let Down Your Hair

Selma’s Birthday Present

Tales The Laundress Told

Smithers, Alexandra

Kitty And Father Bob

Smithers, Shane

Girl In The Garden

Stuck On Five

The Photograph

Soul, Jessica

Sonnet Of Love

Sparks, Graham

Hypothetical Machine

I Am Desire

Shooting Star

Words For An Omniscient God

Stanbridge, Deborah

The Feather

Walker, Vickie

The Peacock

Ward, Ken

The Headstone

Wicks, Les

List Of What’s Left

Williams, Ian Kennedy

Hares

Windsor, Arielle

An Infatuation With The Semblance Of A Man

Losing The Chance To Choose

Withers, Ruth

Dignity

Ode To The Fledgling Flown

Sisterhood

Wood, Claudia

Red

Yates, Linda

Broken Armour

Kitchen Meditation

Of Might And Mouse

York, Marie

Solid Oak

Zaknic, Athena

Damaged

To Australia

Trapped

Thursday 1 November 2012

Under The Wharf

Virginia Gow

Blackheath, NSW

Under the wharf fairy penguins are nesting,

Feeding their babies, despite human noise.

Watched over and guarded by ancient traditions;

Vague dreaming of pathways

Entrenched in genetics.

This is a billet of survival.

Is it?

Under the wharf the wild god is sleeping,

Clutching a crumpled photograph in chilled hands.

Lost in a maze of human suffering,

Searching for freedom.

Fear to go there!

This is a billet of survival.

Is it?

Under the wharf poison is seeping,

Creeping out of fuel tanks

Driving all insane.

Bottled up fortification,

Craving companionship!

This is a billet of survival.

Is it?

Friday 2 November 2012

Holy City

Hannah Mary Elliott

Southport, QLD

Not the mind but its unfathomable waters

Listen midafternoon to birds

Sing joy enough for the whole earth

A winged parish atop sycamore cathedrals

Chiming the ineffable essence of being

Holy river of songs converging and flowing

Along banks where the cement briar reek

With the spurned carcass of consumerism

In man's temple of metallic shrines and

Carcinogen incense

Compassion still clings

Blades of her green hand reach out

From cracked geometry

One can find sprawling the obsequious tarmac

The ancient ones

Stray wisdom in a stone

A few trees

Some monks of verdancy left

Bend reverently to the wind

Saturday 3 November 2012

Story Of A Girl

Melanie Lee

Avoca Beach, NSW

This is the story of a girl who lived in a world where all was not fair or right or just too much of the time, but still there was laughter and still there was joy.

For along the way and in her travels she had learned quite a few valuable lessons, one in particular being that which brings you down cannot keep you down, unless you allow it, and that you cannot hold another down unless you stay down with them.

She learned most lessons the hard way and in doing so learned that pain can be a gift that allows you to see more humbly and deeply into the hearts and souls of others.

She learned that sometimes life’s most treasured gifts often come in the most unwelcome packages.

She came to understand that it is letting go that requires the greatest strength.

She came to understand that not getting what it is you think you want, can bring about a greater joy than you anticipated or dreamed.

She discovered that the happiness she sought was closer to home than she realised.

She learned that loving someone sometimes isn’t always easy but that it shouldn’t always be hard.

Sadly she learned that you can’t always be with the one you love and that you don’t always love the one you are with.

She learned that too often it was the people who she thought were supposed to love and care about her the most were the ones that caused the most pain.

She learned and valued that acceptance really was the answer to many problems, discovering it’s more important to be who you are, than to worry about what you are.

She understood that possessions ought never replace the value of people, things are replaceable, people are not.

Although she lived in a world of extravagance, she learned that less is more. She came to believe that happiness truly was a means of travel and not a destination.

She discovered that hope really is the jewel of life and that when everyone else has given up, when all else fails, hope will find a way.

She saw that some people’s fears haunted them more than actual events. She saw that many people around her stumbled over the truth every now and then, but most picked themselves up and brushed themselves of as if nothing had happened.

She learned not to fear her darkness for she had discovered that some things only show up in the dark and that is where the light shines the brightest.

She realised people come and go but feelings do remain and that there could be great healing on the other side of great suffering.

She learned that being alone and feeling lonely were two different things.

She discovered that there is always another way and that she would never have known the joy of finding her self if she hadn’t got lost.

She found that sometimes the answer to the problem created an even bigger problem.

She came to understand that there is great relief and freedom in forgiveness but that it is a journey in itself to get there.

She realised that she was never able to un-love that man, discovering that it really is true, it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

She learned that surrender is often a sign of great strength, as is gentleness.

She came to the understanding that there was a difference between loving someone because you need them and needing someone because you love them.

She discovered it takes courage to remain true to yourself and that sometimes you have to be willing to let go of everything you think you have to hold onto yourself.

Then she lived …

Sunday 4 November 2012 1 pm

Tranquil Darkness

Emma-Lee Scott

Callaghan, NSW

Cracked pavement of dirty grey,

Aging tree trunks of deep strength

And cloudless sky filled with a sweet peace.

An ebbing quiet filtered by the night,

With gentle breeze,

And an embracing darkness.

A space of nature’s virtue,

Heightened by the hour,

Hiding the unearthly that encroaches.

When eyes need not be shielded,

When senses are intensified,

When the night reigns supreme.

The trespassers have disappeared,

The moon has fallen,

All that is, is nothingness.

It is the call of the night,

When we have silently been enchanted,

By its peaceful freedom.

The room to let our minds roam,

Without the broken thought,

And the obtrusive day.

It is the tranquil time,

When we feel what we see,

And truly just be.

Monday 5 November 2012

I Don’t Understand

Julitha De La Force

Katoomba, NSW

Why did you say I was your girl

And you were my man

Then vanish in a whirl?

I don’t understand?

‘It has to be a secret,’ you said

‘Nobody can know what we did,’ you said

Those phrases keep going round and round

In my head

You told me I was cute

You said I was a real sweetie

You called me sweetheart and darling

So I don’t understand why

It seems to have become nothing

I was freezing, shivering, asked you

If you had an electric blanket on this thing

You wrapped your arms around me saying,

‘I’ll be your electric blanket darling’

Was it really just a one night stand?

It felt like more to me than a one night stand.

I’m sitting here hurting because …

I don’t understand

Tuesday 6 November 2012

Tired

Nicole James

Narrandera, NSW

Tired, tired of going on

I’ve lost all reason and will,

Tired of facing another day

In a time that stands so still.

I see peace when I close my eyes,

When I imagine myself to be dead,

I see no hunger left to live

Within a world so full of dread.

I think never of heaven or hell,

I seek no paradise or evil retreat,

All I want is to close my eyes on life,

For my sentence to be complete.

I hold my life in my palm,

To live or to let me die,

With this decision I always struggle,

It’s so hard and I’m unsure why.

Pulled in so many directions

With no power to pull away,

I hope when I close my eyes tonight,

I don’t have to wake to another day.

Wednesday 7 November 2012

Adam And Eve’s Lamb, Pork Or Goat With Coriander

Barry McGloin

Holder, ACT

And it came to pass that Adam and Eve sat on a goatskin, huddled naked in a cave. They shuddered from the sounds of the Lord God Jehovah’s wrath as it rained into the valley splitting trees and hurtling boulders. Adam could smell Eve’s hair, feel her cold skin, and verily he could feel her tremors.

They did not comprehend Jehovah’s words nor the reason for His anger. They were dismayed but aware that it had been caused by their new feelings for each other as they had become one within the beauty of their garden, its glorious warmth and succour.

They had not eaten an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. But they had made love. They were young, in fact they were all the company they had, apart from The Lord who was away mostly. There was no serpent. The serpent was a metaphor. The author of Genesis knew that the words would be read to the children of Israel.

They had made love for a whole week, following some exploratory fumbles, while The Lord was away. He hadn’t told them they could not, well not exactly. He did say that they shouldn’t do anything He wouldn’t do. God was holy. No doubt about it. He wore an air of kindly benevolence. Until He found out. Then He went ballistic.

They had fallen asleep in Eden. The grass was soft, the sunlight filtered in golden light through the leaves of fig and the aromatic Hasmesh, the doves softly cooed, white goats bleated, and to be frank they were exhausted, but blissfully happy. Then God appeared. They had been naked before but now they were entwined and naked, and they became ashamed in His gaze and tried to cover up with fig leaves. It was mostly ineffective.

God let out a roar that froze waterfalls, stuck birds to the sky and cleaved a valley. Adam blamed it on Eve and said that he had been tempted. He immediately regretted his words but it was done. God replied that he would put enmity between them, and between Adam’s offspring and hers. This was a bit puzzling but Adam let it go.

God spoke to Eve and said that he would greatly increase her pains in childbirth. As she had never had children this was another mystery. He also said that her desire would be for her husband and that he would rule over her. God did not foresee womens’ liberation, but hey, that was millenniums later.

Contemporary Biblical scholars, particularly those who support the theory of Intelligent Design date the ‘Fall of Mankind’ at about 6000BC. The oldest human skeleton is dated at about 4 million. Such discrepancy is dispelled by Faith. Faith is the essence of True Belief. Each religion has its own version of Faith. Faith is a gift from God. There are more gods than you can poke a stick at.

In his Divine Rage Jehovah ranted that the ground was now cursed, that Adam would painfully toil his days on earth, that weeds would spring up, thorns and thistles, and he would live off the land until he dropped dead and disintegrated to dust. Verily this was a setback.

In His continuing Divine Rage Jehovah expelled the young couple from the Garden of Eden and placed cherubim and a flaming sword, flashing back and forth, as a deterrent. His words fell like hot cinders on their backs as they stumbled into the valley of darkness. After some time, yea they found a goat trail leading to a cave, where we found them earlier.

It was stony damp, dark and cold with a whiff of urine and sulphur, and lo and behold a blue fire formed around a rock and a tall slim figure appeared before them. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. Maximilian Price. Friends call me Max, or Pricey. I imagine you’re both a little upset and a trifle peeved? If it’s any consolation He can be a touch tetchy at times.’

Max Price carried a suave jaunty air. He was an indeterminate age, strangely neither old nor young in our terms, although Adam and Eve didn’t try to guess his age, after all they had jump started the tribe of Israel yesterday, and had no idea of age; God just looked different …

Pricey wore a suit of the finest cloth. I say this for your benefit reader, Adam and Eve had no concept of apparel, other than the goat skin God had thrown at them when they parted, which they now sat on. God Himself was sort of luminous.

‘This is indeed a pleasure which, incidentally, I have been anticipating for some millenniums past. You must be Adam? Eve? Do call me Max. Max. Yes. Well … you know … you can do all you can to please Him and believe me I have been there, where you are, perplexed by such prima donna behaviour which would indeed try a saint … Ha ha, I mean really what did He expect? He gives you the dangly bits and expects angels? Well there’s the flaw in the design hey? Dangly bits have their own mind ha ha, it is an unrealistic expectation. You guys as the prototype are up the creek without the proverbial if you get my drift hmmm??’

Adam drew Eve closer.

‘Look, I’ll give it to you straight. The Lord says I’m not to be trusted – if He’s likely to impart any advice that is … once he’s over His huff, heh heh … He will tell you that I’m a black angel who was once his favourite but got ambitious for the top job, well hey what’s wrong with a little ambition? You can’t stay second fiddle for eternity. I’ve done my bit, I’ve put in my share. I’m known in other places as a decent chap. India? You’ve heard of India? No? Well over there humanity is thriving already and those guys have rolled me in with one of their gods, Shiva I think, basically a good fellow, they love me but oh no not here, oh no, we have to be angels, squeaky clean, what’s wrong with a little raunch every now and then Eve, do you think?’

Eve looked away.

‘Yes well, The Lord will tell you I’m a corrupter of souls which to be honest is absolute hogwash. He will tell you that you have free will, you are free agents and can make choices, except that you must make the right choice or you’ll end up in a locale undesirable for eternity. Look I’ll be straight with you before you continue pumping away at humanity. Free choice is an illusion. You are what you are and can merely make one decision which is what you end up doing. You may think you have options, and you do, but being the person you are, there is only one choice. Let me introduce The Panel.’

And it came to pass that before their eyes four figures appeareth. They were sitting, smiling with sparkling teeth, each with a hand on a buzzer. Adam and Eve knew not the buzzer, but I say that for you my reader, and Adam and Eve were startled and clung together and Max Price saw their shame and lo placed clothes upon them, which they found were soft and warm, and verily it put a smile on their faces.

‘The Panel my dears is an ancient Greek concept and here we have four ancient Greeks who estimate your next move. Let me introduce Zeus, Persephone, Stavros and Maria. Stavros and Maria run a fish and chip emporium at the far end of Hades, melt in your mouth and the aroma is to die for ha ha. You may think of these folk as gods and they often think of themselves that way but in reality they are like you and I, well not I ha ha, but certainly thou.

‘The sequence of events known as ‘history’ is recorded and understood by the concept of ‘time’. In fact all events have occurred and can be accessed at any point. Think of it as a flat picture, a cave drawing. The aim of The Panel is to have fun, with real live players, and how do they do it? They do it because they have your specifications, your characteristics, your DNA, your personality, and so given a set of circumstances, for example if Eve were to bear children, using the information they project what should happen in the future, in minutes, hours, days or years – the sex of the children, what she might name them and so on. Now, the score is greater the further the prediction. Fun? It’s more fun than you can poke a stick at. What? The estimate is checked against the actuality. What? So fun guys.’

Lo the anguish of The Lord then echoed into the Valley of Darkness and boulders boomed into the darkest chasms and shook the earth. The Panel disappeared. Adam drew Eve closer. Max Price’s dark figure filled the cave which became icy, glittering with stalactites like knives poised to strike. His voice hardened and ripped into the void. They covered their ears but verily they could hear. They covered their eyes but still they saw.

‘I … I … will NOT be compromised nor praised by posterity. My shadow will cause the earth to groan in its burden of fear and destruction. My legions will roam the earth. Yea verily I shall wrought such ill that even you Jehovah will tire of my vengeance. Awe is my greeting, Woe my fortune and Death my legacy. I am Random Disorder.

‘I am the Unwelcome Guest.’

Eve looked at Adam. ‘Shee-it. Heaveey eh Ads? This place is freezing my tits off. Whaddya reckon?’ Max Price looked at Eve, then at Adam, then at Eve, stunned disbelief on his face as he slowly vanished, saying ‘You know …’

‘Cripes Chicky Babe, just as well he pissed off. I was bored shitless eh? Could eat the crutch out of a low flyin’ duck.’

And it came to pass that Ads failed to score a low flying duck but lo he did leap upon an unwary goat and Eve found many herbs and stuff and it became a fine wholesome meal. In the fullness of time Ads (and Eve) begot Cain and Abel who were wayward youths with a liking for herbs and stuff. Verily after a night on the turps Cain slew Abel. Shit happens.

In accordance with Genesis Ch.5. Verse 5 Ads lived to a ripe old 930 but had separated from Eve 903 years before. Eve married Mario with whom she had been carnally familiar and had 25 children and 102 grand kids. Eve was rapt. Ads married Kiralee 903 years back, she was 6 years younger and spunky as, eh? Kiralee bore Ads 4 children: Little Ads, Kezza, Stevie and Jack and became less spunky after each one. Lo she found Ads was in an adulterous relationship with ‘That Bitch’ Lenore ‘Hey, call me Lennie’ and so left him for Nicko with whom she had been carnally familiar on occasion usually at Christmas parties. She kept the boys and Adam kept Lenore which lasted for 10 years before Lennie left Ads for Todd ‘Let me turn your lights on babe’ The Electrician.

And so the Earth spun around with neither favour nor malice in tune with the nature of this particular existence. The Panel played their game unbeknownst to anyone, always smiling. Adam's seed stumbled and fumbled onward as humanity increased, stubbing toes, bumping into things, making mistakes, making progeny, dying, waging wars, and occasionally being beset with natural disasters, plagues, pestilence, famine, flood and other population reducing inconveniences. In early years it was believed that the Lord God Jehovah, or other gods launched these initiatives at mankind, to teach respect, or in recognition of the errors of their ways. Later humanity following 21st century arguments by Dawkins and Hitchens among others generally regarded religion as superstition and mythology, and it became clear that no superior celestial being had any interest whatsoever, beneficial or malicious. Except maybe Batman. Shit happens.

The Recipe

The recipe which commences ‘if you are hungry, catch a slow goat’ has long since gone. So, I have appropriated an excellent Sri Lankan recipe to tack onto my story. Of course it has been modified to my taste. Folk culture, whether cuisine, music or other art benefits from interaction, and is reborn. You can substitute lamb, pork or beef for goat meat, in fact adapt to your own taste.

Finely grind the following spices:

2 tsp brown mustard seeds

½ teaspoon whole peppercorns

3 tbls coriander seeds

2 cloves

Grind or blend the following:

1/4 medium Spanish red onion

½ inch piece ginger

3 medium cloves garlic

4 coriander roots

2 small hot chillies, red or green

Heat 3 tablespoons of oil – corn, macadamia, olive or peanut – to medium and add:

1 medium cinnamon stick

2 whole cardamom pods (crushed to put a split in pod)

2 bay leaves

½ kilo approximately (can be more) lamb, goat, pork or beef

Sear the meat quickly. Add the spices from the first bracket. Fry for 1 minute. Add the 2nd bracket. Fry for 5 minutes.

Add 1 cup good dry white wine and 1 cup water, 1 tsp lemon juice, 2 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce and 1 tsp salt.

Cover and cook on low heat – 90 mins for beef, 60 minutes for goat, lamb or pork. Add 2 chopped coriander plants and 270 ml tin of coconut cream.

Thursday 8 November 2012

Shiny Diamonds

Mariah Jamieson

Sheidow Park, SA

Through those windows

Lay two precious rocks

Paced neatly upon a cloth

Real pity about those locks

Oh those shiny diamonds

Enormous numbers for those

Printed on that tiny tag

I could never afford such

When one can hardly afford a rag

Oh those shiny diamonds

I must have those gems

They are simply brilliant

How hard can it be?

I must be resilient

Oh those shiny diamonds

I will steal them

When the clock strikes twelve

They will be all mine

Take them right off that shelf

Oh those shiny diamonds

What a mistake

This room is cold

Trapped and alone

I will be here till I grow old

Why those shiny diamonds?

Friday 9 November 2012

The House At The End Of The Tracks

C.G. Freedman

Rouse Hill, NSW

***Editor’s Pick***

I spotted Damon in the crowd almost immediately, dragging his feet as he paced back and forth on the platform. One hand held his phone up to his ear while the other gripped firmly at his crotch. He spat on an empty bench as the train eased into the station, terminated his call and pocketed the phone. People began to approach the slowing train, carefully assembling behind the yellow line and keeping a noticeable distance from Damon. As if to demonstrate the sheer scope of his malice, Damon kicked a discarded bottle towards the passing train. The bottle met the train with a resounding pop, sending a shower of glass across the feet of the other passengers. Despite some grumbling and cursing, no passenger dared to confront the insubordinate reprobate.

Damon pushed past the disembarking passengers as he boarded the train. I moved through the carriages to head him off. When he saw me coming he raised both arms in the air and called out to me.

‘Boy-ee!’ he yelled with an elongated emphasis. He stood with his feet apart, blocking a woman’s exit from the train. She glared at him indignantly as she was forced to shuffle awkwardly around him. Damon reciprocated by barking in her face and stalking her to the door as she scurried off. I laughed at the moron, who returned with an exaggerated swaggering gait.

‘You’re late, nig,’ he said, poking an accusing finger at me in jest. ‘Late!’

‘Awww,’ I said with mock sincerity. ‘Wanna hug?’ I returned.

‘I’ll get you a watch for your birthday, hey? A watch. Make me wait!’

‘Too late. You’ve missed it. I’ll get you a calendar for yours.’

Damon smiled a crooked smile. ‘Just a couple of stops, bru.’ He peered in the tattered backpack between his legs, fingering some of the concealed objects. When we got off the train, Damon wordlessly took the lead. We were at the final stop behind a row of old suburban homes. Everyone headed out of the station. We went the opposite direction, jumping down onto the tracks and over to the other side, following the row of houses. Damon peered over each fence in passing and rattled the gates.

‘Here. Here,’ he said. He stood beside the gate and pissed on the fence, throwing caution, and discretion, to the wind.

‘Marking your territory?’ I muttered.

‘Man, you made me wait so long,’ he complained. ‘So fuckin’ long.’

When he was done, he inspected the gate one final time, then, without warning, threw his side against it. The battered wooden fence shuddered from the shock. He heaved himself into it one final time with the gate flinging wide open. Damon headed straight in. I glanced over my shoulder back towards the now desolate station and followed, eager to avoid any eye-witnesses.

This was a first for us, setting the bar far higher than it had ever been before. Damon was confident it would be a breeze. I was just glad to have a day away from the monotony of my job. Any break to the routine was welcome as far as I was concerned. I carefully raised the gate to its former position.

I had earned my wings as a trespasser early on, when I was only about eleven or twelve. My brother and I would jump the fence behind the canteen block at our local pool every sweltering Saturday. We’d wait until about midday when we just couldn’t stand the heat anymore and about the time when every one’s stomachs told them it was time to haul arse out of the pool to load up on foods of the greasy salted variety. People lumbered back and forth from poolside, to canteen, to the piss soaked bathrooms. It was easy blending in. We’d already be stripped to our boardshorts. We just needed to throw our towels across the fence so it didn’t snag our bare flesh, hoist ourselves up and tumble over.

‘This is it, boy. This is it. The track lift.’ Damon trudged through the garden with his hands in his pockets kicking the heads off tulips as he spoke. ‘On a silver-fucking-platter. A silver – fucking – platter.’ He repeated. ‘Free transport and me tools on m’back. We go in, we get out, hop on the train with a poker face and a bag full of loot and we’re gone, gone who-the-fuck knows where, ay.’

Jumping the fence at the pool, it never felt like we were doing the wrong thing. It’s not like the lifeguards and canteen girls weren’t going to get paid. We didn’t have our own pool and our parents never gave us so much as a dollar. It was jump the fence or die of dehydration as far as we were concerned!

There was this one time by the pool that always reminded me of Damon. For better or worse, it’s how I’ll always think of him. After another smooth entrance, my brother and I strolled casually through the crowd past the canteen block and over to the Olympic-sized pool. He always dived in headfirst but I liked to ease myself in. The toes of one foot, then the whole foot. The toes of the other foot, then the whole foot. By the time my legs were submerged, I’d built up enough confidence to raise myself up on my arms over the edge so I could slip down to the bottom in a final effortless plunge.

‘Best thing is,’ Damon continued as he pulled a car jack out of the backpack while lighting a smoke, ‘nobody will be home… unless it’s a mother, some dole bludgin’ wank or a geri in a fuckin’ nappy!’

On this one particular occasion, I’d only just worked my legs into the pool when I saw a bee caught up in the gentle current, thrashing in vain as it drifted towards my leg. I pulled my legs out in a panic and pulled back from the pool’s edge. I watched as miniscule ripples encircled the helpless bee, the current pulling it further along. I’d never been stung before but I always had that fear – a fear of the unknown, I suppose. I’d seen kids screaming and crying from bee stings before, but I figured they must have done something to set them off. I convinced myself that if I tried to save it, it wouldn’t sting me. It would know, it would sense somehow that I was doing it a good turn. And as I did what I did, and it did what it does, I felt I’d been taught a kind of lesson in the nature of things. The damned thing just couldn’t help itself.

Damon used the jack to bend the bars protecting the windows then battered open a window and slinked through the tiny entry. I waited, wondering if Damon expected me to follow. I was a little heftier than Damon. There was no way I was going through the window. I looked around at the windows of the neighbouring houses, searching for prying eyes or fluttering curtains. Then the door opened. I entered hastily and closed the door behind me.

~~~

I met Damon in Year 10, just after my brother went interstate. He managed to con his way into a job at the mines. Mum had left by then and dad’s time was divided between his job and his solitary, obsessive carpentering, so I guess I kind of gravitated towards Damon. He was pretty harmless at the time, just a weedy halfwit. He made me laugh though. That was enough back then. Damon’s complete lack of shame made him the funniest guy in school.

When I caught up with Damon in the kitchen I tried to listen for signs of life in the house, but Damon was thumping around carelessly. He had an upturned pot on his head as he inspected the contents of the fridge. He took a bite from an apple and tossed it across the room. After helping himself to a bottle of juice he wandered away from the fridge, leaving the door wide open. His innate arrogance eased my tension somewhat.

When we were in high school, this little rough-as-guts Italian kid used to give me a hard time in Science. It was stupid little things like knocking my books off the desk or flicking cut up bits of eraser at me. Retaliation wasn’t worth the trouble it’d heap upon me, so I ignored it. Damon didn’t. Without uttering a word he strolled behind the guy, grabbed his bag and walked out the room. No one even noticed him. It was all so casual, so smooth. The teacher was still talking out the front, the students were still making notes and that fat shit was still flicking water at me from the dripping tap on his bench. And then Damon appeared, positioned perfectly, right outside the window where the class could clearly see him but out of sight of the teacher. He must have sprinted around the building to get there so fast. He was holding the bag upside down and thrusting his groin at the contents as they tumbled out.

I followed Damon into the living room where he was rifling through a drawer. He shot a sly smile at me and winked as he took something up in his hand and held it tightly in a clenched fist.

It was Damon’s face that made his antics so funny. While thrusting at the falling objects he had a look of intense pleasure spread across his face. Then, when the bag was empty, he tossed it aside with complete nonchalance and strolled back around the building and into the room. He sat right across from the Italian turd, who didn’t have the guts to take Damon on. No one did. He was in with all the hardest kids. He had this infectious way of rallying the troops and garnering support. Most of what he said was utter garbage, but it was how he said it, that way of repeating himself once or twice, or repeating certain words and phrases. ‘You’re gonna sit on the back seat?’ he’d say when we got on the bus after school. ‘On the back seat?’ he’d repeat after a moment. And even as the offenders moved obediently to a more agreeable section of the bus, ‘the back seat?’ he’d say one final time, with a hint of incredulity.

‘Well, we’ve struck paedo, mate,’ Damon called across the room.

‘What?’

‘Paedo, mate. Paedo,’ he said holding up a framed photo. He chucked the photo to me before moving off to continue his pilfering. I looked down at what was clearly a picture of a grandfather and granddaughter on some kind of family outing. I shook my head and laughed as I returned the photo to its place. This was the reason I was here instead of on the job site. After all, we weren’t going to walk away with anything of great value. Damon’s backpack wasn’t big enough.

I know what I was getting out of the relationship but I never understood Damon’s motive. It’s strange really; I was the only person ever spared from Damon’s unpredictable roguishness. Perhaps I was the exception that proved Damon’s rule, Damon’s dominion. I suspect my mild disposition and the amusement I showed in his antics contributed in some way. I certainly had nothing to offer him, or to be taken for that matter. Either way, he always had an inexplicable loyalty towards me.

There used to be a group of us back in the day, ditching class and lifting magazines and junk food. School didn’t really do it for us. And I suppose we didn’t really do it for school. At any rate, there was no real effort on their part to keep us coming back. And Damon had always been resistant to any kind of authority or institution, all to his own detriment. Truancy, loitering, vandalism, shoplifting. Miniscule ripples.

It was a nice old house, truth be told. Whoever this guy was, he’d certainly put the hours in to have established such a respectable abode. The décor was outdated and the furniture had clearly seen better days, but I finally understood what people meant when they described a place as ‘homely’. It had a warmth, it had character, stories to tell. The drawers alone, the ones Damon had just ransacked, were full of history and heart. There was a stack of letters and papers spread throughout the drawer. I skimmed over a few lines of one at random:

… whistling that sweet tune. It stopped me in my tracks. I was completely and utterly captivated. Over a whistle! I have never felt so powerless. It was the way you rose and fell over the notes, carrying them gently and bending them at your …

I flicked through a couple more, all in the same vein as the first, riddled with gushy sentimentality. There was an assortment of trinkets, tickets stubs and polaroids floating around the drawer. I picked up the photo frame again, brought myself face to face with our victim. I had done a lot of stupid shit in my time, engaged in a lot of underhanded practices, but this was a first.

Looking around, I had to admit my place was a rat’s nest by comparison. I shared a