Ngura (Home)
By Emily Perry
The land does not sleep, she dreams.
In ochre breath and gumleaf sighs
she speaks in rust red lullabies.
To those who walk with quiet feet
and feel her heartbeat through the sweltering heat.
Under sky our ancestors in the stars
their spirits gather near and far,
whispers of wisdom,
in every breeze, in every flame.
They call each creature by its name.
Red fairy dust of the outback,
in sacred spirals where light plays,
it stains the skin, it marks the soul,
a sign we’re part of something whole.
Ngura holds us in her hands,
not owned, these ancient lands.
We are not masters, not above,
but glistening threads within her web of love.
Brolgas dancing in dreaming light
and rainbow serpent coils the night.
In rock and root, in stone and stream
the world is more than what it seems.
Here, every silence hums with lore,
each footprint echoes those before.
We listen close, we walk with care.
For sacred stories fill the air.
We rise and fall with sky and dust,
return our bones, return our trust.
For in the end, we all belong
to earth, to flame, to wind, to song.
And as we fade into the dusk,
she paints us with her ochre mask.
The red fairy dust of the outback wide,
where spirit walks full of pride.
Little River Towns
Layton Gale
They’re nestled there so pretty
With their crooked little jetties
These towns never want to be
Like the noisy dirty city.
No blaring horns or traffic lights
No taxi stands or bus lane frights
You can’t even get an Uber
Or a green electric scooter.
Here, after five the pub won’t stop
And daytime it is just a hop
To find a friendly coffee shop.
Striving for Comfort
by Scott 37
Adventurous childhood dreams
Dissolve with ease
On a recliner
Fulfilling its mission
To appease the knees
Youth’s mystical expectations
Ignorant dreams of victory and valour
Turned at Life’s illuminating detour
Uncertain nights replaced by cushioning velour
So lean back
and click that footrest into secure