78. Catherin J Pascal Dunk's "The Most Beloved", inviting Shruti Khrishna Sareen to write in the garden

I envisage a moment
in which your Goddess
meets mine.

They are crossing Talkatora Gardens,
one from each side,
along shaded walks.

High noon swelters.
At fifteen paces, they lock eyes.
Each Goddess tilts her chin.

My Goddess sports a glowing crown
of white Thai orchids; pitch-black lingerie.
Your Goddess—

77. Housesitting for Jake Dennis

 

Housesitting 

I step outside barefoot.

Before sunrise.

The grass is wet from the night, 

cool blades pressing my skin

I breath deeper. 

Tomorrow I'm back home

to thirty square metres.

no grass. 

I close my eyes. 

The smell, sharp,

cut grass,

pulls me back

to childhood lawns,

full of bindeyes,

before fences.

I walk slowly

counting every step

toward the lake.

The sun shows off.

A baby kookaburra 

practices laughing.

I stay. 

76. Smoke is the garden (after Tamar Yoseloff) for Davina Verey

 

75. Tu me manques ici (by Catherin J Pascal Dunk)

 For Jessica Perini, inviting her to the Garden

You’re present
in my yarden—
in the Egyptian-walking-garlic
raised beds;
in the overblown bug-heaven
buddleia.

Tu me manques ici
where you can never
be; but we’re twined in plants,
in the random
stabs of cuttings, in
never missing

that moment to plant
a seed that may unfurl
in wild, fruitful ways.
In the teddy-bear sunflower,
in bee-bound borage,
in Coriandrum gargantuum.

74. Pam Rachootin's Garden Haiku Series for Cathy Stirling

Garden Haiku Series

 

Crappy soil reigns

With tree root competition

It's hard as concrete.

 

I tried zucchini,

grown in deluxe potting mix.

Mildew developed.

 

A possum attack

decimated the broad beans;

the remnants, now caged.

 

Parsley's gone to seed

with silver beet and spinach;

Leaves chomped by insects.

 

Who has a green thumb?

Not me, with Raynaud's disease

and purple fingers.

 

73. Mimmalisa's 'Back to the Garden' invite for Chris Fontana

            

            

            

                              Back to the Garden

            to revive the lost souls

            I have forgotten

            Remove the dessicated leaves

            fried by the sun

            Offer them up

            to the Earth again

            Food for generations to come

            Bring forth

            better beginnings

            with compost and care

            sprinkle and spray

            Test my green thumb

            weather of the day

            Mindful of the minutiae

            keep harm at bay

            

            Aware and watchful

            streaks of slime

            a snail's trail

            arrival of aphids

            sucking up sap

            intense heat

            limp leaves

            soil deplete

            Self-seeded tomatoes

            in my West facing backyard

            not yet ripened

            by Melbourne's Summer sun

            return for another round

            As do savoured memories

            straight from the vine

            the first of the season's spoils

72. Kit Kelen's 'I find a new path in the gardens' - for the 2026 Flying Islands Poetry Manuscript Workshop

 

I find a new path in the gardens

 

it’s everywhere I’ve been before

 

on foot, and thinking back to this

a garden as if someone dreamt

 

it’s all upward of the eye

it’s in the leaf between

 

from crevice

it’s so stretch to this

 

light letting or shade falls

 

look down lest trip

 

some days bare of such a sky

waiting for a sun

waiting for rain to fall

 

path forks

well mulched

and overgrows

 

garden’s open like a question

 

asks

are we nesting?

do we delve?

will we lift a wing?

 

none grow here but had to guess

nor fate gave out

 

each thought is thing

or say it’s all imagining

 

the breeze – a knockabout

brisk risk

 

afoot, I find

how no one ever was before

 

not here

not quite when

 

all this flourish

no names to call

 

path makes its own way

where feet fall

 

stone foliage and a shore lap

black and white

 

it’s what these legs are for

 

no present like this here-we-are

 

can you see what I see?

 

I conjure these colours for you