Explore

Arts Features | Fiction | Nonfiction | Poetry

Brian Obiri-Asare 27/4/26 Brian Obiri-Asare 27/4/26

taking care of business – by Brian Obiri-Asare

when my homie fucked off to Darwin to stretch

out his visa and mum needed help with rent

I stayed put don’t get me wrong but –

Lesh Karan 27/4/26 Lesh Karan 27/4/26

Conversing with broken things – by Lesh Karan

of bone

the plate was made

eons before

I was born

Isabella G Mead 27/4/26 Isabella G Mead 27/4/26

Ahead of Tropical Cyclone Alfred, e-scooters trap a car – by Isabella G Mead

The e-scooters have organised themselves

into chromatic tessellations. A hive of shivering bees

on electrified stems, life-

forms on sleep mode.

Claire Gaskin 27/4/26 Claire Gaskin 27/4/26

night heart – by Claire Gaskin

I missed remembering the anniversary this death in my chest like a rock the blow hole black water crater lake with a slick skin of hovering insects

Megan Cartwright 27/4/26 Megan Cartwright 27/4/26

Ichthyophobe – by Megan Cartwright

Now, fish feel like an allergic reaction,

puffed, swollen cheeks like toddlers,

spotted bodies snagging on the reeds.

Geoff Page 12/3/26 Geoff Page 12/3/26

Intraocular – by Geoff Page

Suddenly, sans glasses,

I see new ranges reappear

complete with branches on a skyline

Gina Ward 12/3/26 Gina Ward 12/3/26

The moss garden method – by Gina Ward

Her marriage was joyless. She hadn’t spoken to her sister in decades. She’d lost touch with the friends from her factory days.

Ramak Bamzar 3/3/26 Ramak Bamzar 3/3/26

Between snow and slogans - by Ramak Bamzar

The Iran–Iraq War had just ended and everywhere the walls were covered with murals of martyrs and blood: Khomeini with a raised hand pointing to a bright point in the sky; a woman holding a blood-soaked martyr in her arms and crying; red tulips sprouting here and there from stains of blood on the ground.

Kyla St Jaye 3/3/26 Kyla St Jaye 3/3/26

That was where we’ll meet – by Kyla St Jaye

Forty kilos. Five foot nothing. Mahlia sings gospel in Warlpiri. With a keyboard stand in front of her, and the Tanami Desert unwinding behind. Mahlia plays piano with her eyes closed. Her feet bare in the red dirt at Yuendumu.

Georgina Woods 25/2/26 Georgina Woods 25/2/26

Augury: sea surface temperature charts – by Georgina Woods

WINNER OF THE GWEN HARWOOD POETRY PRIZE 2025

One line ravels from the record.

Many-ply plotted years bend

delicate as grass fronds, fold

more or less together.

The last years lie rosy loose

as new growth over coiled stalks

of before, but this year veers errant

up the axis into disarray.

Audrey Molloy 25/2/26 Audrey Molloy 25/2/26

Cold Water Swimming in Lyme Regis – by Audrey Molloy

RUNNER-UP IN THE GWEN HARWOOD POETRY PRIZE 2025

Out again, through the flounce of dulse and tangle,
out again, through the icy bands—

sea fingers clasping calves and thighs,
sea tongues lapping frozen lips.

At twelve degrees the shock can cause your heart
to founder if you enter suddenly;

Julie Janson 25/2/26 Julie Janson 25/2/26

My Kaathii Sister – by Julie Janson

RUNNER-UP IN THE GWEN HARWOOD POETRY PRIZE 2025

“She’s gone to Bourke on the back of a truck with that fatherless baby”

My mother laughs, and sighs, shutting her thin purse

A week of rough driving and sleeping under green canvas

We students live in the Anglican manse for free until Terese kissed

A blackfella, in 1972

Siobhan Kavanagh 22/1/26 Siobhan Kavanagh 22/1/26

Heartbreakful – by Siobhan Kavanagh

I should have paid more attention in science. This small, overheated room in the children’s hospital is full of words like exons and introns, full of our quiet desperation for an answer.

Jena Woodhouse 22/1/26 Jena Woodhouse 22/1/26

The midnight shift – by Jena Woodhouse

Dementia gives way to lullaby,

the heartless learn to cry;

glistening quicksilver pools and loops,

the droplets weave and knit.

Damen O'Brien 17/12/25 Damen O'Brien 17/12/25

Basement – by Damen O’Brien

A hatch left open where we played, so we descended

into a subterranean place visited only by men in helmets

and hi vis as though preparing to navigate a labyrinth…

Grace Heathcote 17/12/25 Grace Heathcote 17/12/25

Jack and the Argonauts – by Grace Heathcote

Cars begin to queue near the boarding ramp, waiting for the ferry to arrive. Gulls perching atop the billboard shit on the artwork below. As the ferry slides into view, Jack sees a line of pedestrians form on its walkway, impatient to disembark.

Jane Gibian 16/12/25 Jane Gibian 16/12/25

Dear neighbours, – by Jane Gibian

Hi Neighbours, I would like to introduce my dog

to kayaking. As step 1, I need to see how she goes

getting into it on dry land.

Deniz Yildiz 16/12/25 Deniz Yildiz 16/12/25

The aesthetics of endless seeking – by Deniz Yildiz

This year, I went alone. Not in solitude, but to open myself to the encounter. A small experiment in exposure. The experience isn't exactly a party. It’s more like a navigational riddle, a sensory wormhole pulling the body down spiral stairwells and through veils of light.