Members Stories/Poems

Welcome to the members stories and poems pages.  Please respect the intellectual property remains with the individual writer.

Click onto the member’s below who have chosen to include their written works on our website.

Read Ron Pike’s Poems

Read Karolyn Gibson’s Poems

Read Rosalie Skinner’s Stories

Read Jean Reid’s Stories

Read Leonie Henschke’s Poems

Read Lorraine Penn’s Stories

Read Danielle Babb’s Stories

Read Ron Marke’s Stories

Read Roger Harris’s Stories

Read Yvonne Kachel’s Stories


Utterly Entranced, Poem by John Strom



By the way you walk.

Life is your stage.

Each step light

And full of grace.




By the way you dance.

Life is your stage,

But your performance

Is a shared private




By your beauty.

Life is your stage.

You are a work of art,

The crowning glory

Of the female form.




By loving you.

Life is your stage.

To be with you

Is to know




In a state of bliss.

Your life is my stage.

Let mine be yours.

Now and forever.


Steam Over Hot Springs, Poem by John Strom

Nothing has changed

Since I went to sleep.

The author of my dreams

Has changed the script.

The demons and phantoms

Have stayed at home,

Letting me

Sleep in peace.

The Sun is slow in rising.

But soon he will emerge

In triumph.

Another day will begin.

I have awoken

In quiet optimism.

I feel love rising

Like a steam

Over hot springs.

No only

The hot springs inside me

But those existing

All over the world.

It could be

I delude myself.

I feel a surge of hope.

The rampant Darwinian Demon

May yet be conquered.

And peace may spring forth

Like Flowers in spring.


Rebecca, Poem by Leon Stokes

Rebecca is lovely, fair, and sweet,

I’ve felt that way since we met in the street,

I’d prayed for God to send her my way,

So as to drink in her eyes and have something to say.


She told me she works in a town bar,

And I’ve a thing for a cold beer,

She said: “Beer ‘n’ Bible are a good combination.”

When she was standing quite near.


I could handle the idea of a passionate affair,

For a woman of such beauty truly is rare,

I prayed to the throne in the highest heaven to:

“Please give us a wedding and a family of maybe six or seven.”


Since then a concern of mine is

That love didn’t awaken,

I spoke to her one day

She said: “Sorry, you must be mistaken!”


New Foreshore Development, Short Story by Leon Stokes

People of a modish fashion seem to be very pleasing to the eye. We understand the styles of the Devil’s world to be luxurious, even grandiose. Some of his influence can be our lifeblood, although, a person with a sound mind will maintain a level of modesty. This sort of aesthetic appeal can be seen in other things.

With the new development of the Jetty foreshore we may see some improvements in littoral fashion. It should mean there will be many happy people, like those who now enjoy the renovation in Coffs Central. For the most part the new changes certainly will be popular, save a few trees and shrubs and the birds and animals that inhabit these places. Maybe these weren’t overly populous, anyway. No need to feel feebly sentimental.

I can see myself enjoying coffee in a future timeslot and savoring some literature by the sea. Those birds and animals that once dwelt in the dunes will have become domesticated, leading more meaningful lives, perhaps sharing a meal with their cultivated new neighbors. Everybody will be quite satisfied, unless of course you are a meanie. No need to view us as plunderers.


Temptations, by Andrienne de Bouvier

A globule of saliva formed in the corner of her mouth. Resolutely, she turned away, only to find herself once more drawn to the window even as her inner self fought against it. The object of her desire was so close she could touch it, were it not for the sparkling plate glass. People went in and came out clutching white cardboard boxes or paper bags and envy filled her breast.

Determinedly she attempted to direct her thoughts elsewhere, only to be pulled by some unseen force to the window and she gazed longingly at the white china pedestal supporting a dish of succulent profiteroles dripping with chocolate and spangled with toffee shards. In her imagination she could taste them, savour their sweetness and imagine the cream melting in her mouth. Tantalizing aromas of warm spun sugar, cinnamon and vanilla assailed her nostrils. It had taken much will power and determination to drop three dress sizes and she deserved a reward after all that deprivation, she told herself. She pushed open the patisserie door.

Money changed hands and she took the box, being careful not to crush it. A small card attached to the twine with which the box was bound attracted her attention and she raised her eyebrows questioningly at the counter hand.

‘Oh, that lists the ingredients used in the profiteroles.’ The counter-hand wiped the counter industriously. ‘We have to conform to the Food and Drug Authority’s by-laws.’

‘I see.’ She held the box gingerly and went out into the street. In no time at all she would be home, where she could enjoy the rich cakes. She sat on the seat at the bus stop and to while away the time, she perused what was written on the small card.  Ingredients: (she read) flour, palm sugar, albumin (egg white), canola oil, humectant, anti-caking agent, iron oxide, emulsifier, stabiliser, sequestrant, lactic acid, artificial flavour, artificial colouring (E151, 155), preservative, raising agent and antioxidant. Caution: may contain traces of ground nuts, soy and milk solids.

She was horrified. I don’t even know what humectants and sequestrants are, she thought. Is this really food? There’s no mention of cocoa, so what is the so-called chocolate made from? And aren’t we cautioned against consuming palm sugar? Harvesting the palms means decimating the forests and that destroys the habitat of wildlife. Canola? No thank you, it’s actually rapeseed and most of it is genetically modified. Nearby, people were forming a queue and she realised the bus was approaching. Getting to her feet, she cast about for a refuse bin and into it she flung the shiny, white cardboard box. Immediately she felt a lightening of her inner self and guilt-free, she stepped onto the bus.



%d bloggers like this: