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Moonstone is a modestly produced, pamphlet style magazine dedicated exclusively to poetry. And there are certainly some enjoyable poems here like THOUGH I SHOULDER THIS RAIN by John Raubenheimer:

	Though I shoulder this rain like a pack
	I know a part of me will always be
	In Johannesburg Transvaal, in Bellevue,
	Near the vagrant root of a flowering tree.

	I know that part of me will always be
	Where purple jacarandas wash over the street —
	With my brother feeding the pigeons, who with fencing wings
	Strut and bobble about his sandalled feet...

Although there are a few familiar names here, such as Giovanni Malito, Richard Bonfield & Geoff Stevens, most of the poets in this issue were not previously known to me. Of the poets discovered here I most enjoyed the work of Denise Margaret Hargrave, although in both DARK MOON and MIDWINTER she closes on rather weak notes:

	MIDWINTER

	Midwinter ...
	when the eternal nights
	devour the pallid days,
	and bright holly berries
	flash scarlet like rubies
	in the snow.

	Midwinter ...
	when jet feathered ravens
	perch silhouetted black
	against a cold white sky,
	waiting in the pale time
	of standstill.

	Midwinter ...
	when mistletoe glistens
	milky white as moonbeams,
	and evergreens glitter
	spangled silver with frost
	in the wood.

	Midwinter ...
	when sage tellers of tales
	gather round the Yule log
	to charm the sun back home,
	time now to turn the wheel
	of the year.

Similarly in DARK MOON she begins well:

	Dark, dark, dark ... 
	into the dark wanes the moon,
	her crescent dissolving
	in an ocean of stars.

	without death, no rebirth

	without night, no bright day

Several of the poems such as Geoff Stevens' DEF LEPPARDS are in the nostalgic English pastoral tradition; the city appearing only occasionally as an amorphous monster hell-bent on destroying natural habitats. Stevens' poem begins with the lines

	There is nothing as quiet as a vanished lark, 
	but it is a quietness you cannot experience
	if you do not have the recollection...

	You cannot understand, but how would it be
	if I told you to turn off your walkman for
					ever?

Moonstone specialises in pantheistic and ecological poetry and often contains names well known in the world of small press magazines. There are short notes about each contributor near the front and a small section advertising new publications at the back of the magazine.

The very first poem SPURN by Geoff Stevens caught my attention with some good descriptive poetry and powerful images:

	Spurn point sand spits its phlegmed head
	into the North Sea,
	a pied, black on white lighthouse
	buttoning its tongue

	She came across the land in an awkward stutter
	Head down, pale arms turned outward at the elbow.
	Curling a foot tightly around a calf
	She pirouetted. Growing taller, straighter.
	Dazzling

Altogether I found Moonstone to be a very enjoyable collection and there were many other poems I enjoyed. The only one that jarred for me personally was THE GREAT STONE OF FOURSTONES by Steve Sneyd. The complete absence of punctuation did nothing for my understanding and indeed it almost caused me miss what, with perseverance, I perceived to be some quite impressive images in this rather surreal creation. Others, perhaps more enlightened, may find it a refreshing piece.

The final poem POST-SCRIPT by Patrick James is about letters written after his father's death to be consigned to the open hearth,

	today I write my final letter to my father

Describing itself as a "non-profit making" quarterly, MOONSTONE welcomes "Pantheistic/ecological contributions (previously unpublished)" for consideration. Having survived into its 24th year, this little journal has clearly established a loyal following in this somewhat specific field. #91 includes some familiar names such as John Light, who designed the effective cover, Steve Sneyd and Geoff Stevens. I enjoyed the latter's TWITCHING, a compact gem of a poem which is a single, tightly controlled, sentence. As is to be expected given MOONSTONE'S editorial policy, there is an preference for nature poetry, though not of the chocolate-box sort, but often with a good eye for colour and detail. John Younger thoughtfully portrays the death of a bird in DEAD STOP, and there is a refreshing bite to COUNTRY POETS by Ken Chapman:

	Squatting on tree roots they smile at spiders,
	glory in the disciplined industry of ants
	 Oh, that we were like that, Pippa 

The journal is neatly produced, but I found the business pages at the beginning and end cramped and difficult to read. I had to hunt to find the subscription details and the adverts for other publications would have been more effective if given more space.

Such technical criticisms aside, this is an interesting read.

The thing about little poetry magazines is to "keep on keeping on" according to my old school motto — with the proviso that you constantly afford a platform for those who need it, acting as a small cog in the machinery of self-sacrificing editors working with the Muse to keep her environment alive everywhere, not in the mode of capitalist publishers which treat her as a slave working for profit by its single-minded taskmasters.

Moonstone has done just that, and should be proud of getting to #92, the equivalent of 23 years of an editor's life. John Light provides a sharp cover drawing of a low level moon behind ancient stones to this Samhain issue. However I cannot imagine how the editors could let through the poem JANUS by Tina Negus which twice credits this important and primary two-way deity with three heads (an attribute of mean-minded Cerberus).

I did not see a lot to enthuse on in this number but Joy Adams has a likeable couple of poems — THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE and PROMISE, the latter creating a beneficial tension for the reader with

	A yellow yawn of a day,
	with an opulence of heat            
	that saturates
	the laden, viscous air. 

	Our minds like amber,
	stilled,
	in a cask,
	resinous and rich.