Poems

Huang Fan’s ‘flower maker’

From Flower Ash translated by Josh Stenberg

everyone likens a girl’s
youth to spring
and oh the man moved by a girl’s youth
is whispering
arranging a plastic flower
as though seeking an
unforgettable metaphor for
the nearby girl’s breath
he concentrates, holds his own breath
awaits fragrance too from the plastic bloom
awaits the blow tender as nectar
awaits the blossom seasons like a child
obediently hunkering before him
awaits
even his own forgetting
awaits life’s sickness of the heart
to—with a snip—sever the plastic flower’s
tie with spring

Huang Fan’s ‘flower maker’ Read More »

David Adès ‘From Which I Must Always Wake’

From The Heart’s Lush Gardens

Before skin : eyes :

shy : brown : dreaming timid under lashes :
thieving : stealing sideways glances :

so many little thefts :
at face : at hair : at freckles : at neck :

at hands : at fingers :
at curve and swell beneath dress :

beneath white blouse : beneath : beneath.
*
Skin : what is your testimony?

Whose fugitive hands : long gone :
stroked you : coaxed :

a wanted : unwanted :
wanted : unwanted :

shiver : tremble : quiver : quicksilver :
while you were dreaming : fledgling dreams :

dreaming other : dreaming girl hands?
What is your memory?

Who touched you here : and here?
Who raised his hairy knee :

between your bare legs :
in an empty change room :

whilst others danced The Wedding Dance?
Who arranged to meet you :

during a school lunch break :
furtive amidst the trees and thickets :

the rocks and sculptured ponds :
of the Veale Gardens?

Who lay beside you in the long grass : whispering?
What secrets : have you kept all these years :

what imprints : what scars?
*
Later : I threw away his letters :
the childish rounded script :

something given : something taken away :

Whether from anger : or shame :
I cannot say: the only letters discarded.
*
She lay beneath me : still as a fallen bird :

I was skinbone : stripling : sapling :
lowering my mouth to : her mouth :

my lips to : her lips :
to the soundtrack of Carole King’s Tapestry :

and she : white bloused : golden-haired :
beneath me : still as a fallen bird :

When our lips touched : she didn’t resist :
didn’t respond : and my kiss :

faltered : foundered :
fell between us : still as a fallen bird :

that did not breathe again.
*

We danced : my hands :

(do I imagine this?) : on her white-bloused waist :
round and round : circling : never arriving :

the moments distanced : silent :
the recovered footage of a lost movie :

girl from another land : girl from another world :
girl template : temple of my longing :

girl never found : long lost : girl never known :
How could she know of my longing :

when it was a bone not yet unearthed?
*
If I dream of her now :

I enter the dream I had of her then :
insolence gleaming in her eyes :

at the corners of her fourteen-year-old mouth :
I enter the dream of my heart :

its adolescent pounding :
the dream of my novice lips :

in their timid uncertainty.
*
To fully apprehend a moment :

a singular moment in a vast plurality :
pluck it from obscurity :

and hold it : for a lifetime : with tenderness :
with the concentrated gaze : of the senses :

until its petals open : delicate : flush with colour :
as with : the thirty seven years :

since : the still life : of my fallen kiss.
*
With or without skin :

on skin : against skin : inside skin :
touching : pressing : filling : squeezing : caressing :

imagination partakes : helps itself :
to the fruits of eros : the imagined touch :

the imagined lovemaking : thrust and moan of it :
feel and sound of it : body to body :

spooned : astride : entwined :
sweat and breath : hunger : compulsion :

weight of cupped breasts : tongue’s soft questing :
on nipple : on furrowed skin :

between : between :
moistness on moistness :

her raised bud : my dripping chin :
hunting sighs : hunting shudders :

abdomen’s involuntary contraction :
pungent smell of it : tongued bitterness :

tongued nectar of it :
fingers on glans : on shaft : on testicles :

entering and : entering:
blurred thought of it :

want and want of it : tensed muscles :
arched back : thrust and moan of it :

fullness of it : hope in it :
promise of it : release from it :

transitory release from it.
*
At my very heart :

(in its rhythmic beat :
axiom : gravity well : lightning rod : leitmotif :

the chamber music of love :
call it ventricular love : call it aortic love) :

is the dream of a woman :
a woman with many faces : many bodies :

known : and unknown :
a woman never displaced : by circumstance :

Always there : in the years of solitude :
the years of living alone :

the years between lovers :
and whilst there were lovers :

and in the midst of a marriage :
the dream of a woman :

same dream : different dream :
dream of being accepted :

dream of being received :
with open arms : with open heart :

with love : with ferocity : uncompromised dream :
that no woman can match :

from which I must : always wake.
*
Meet me here :

where the wilderness of the unspoken :
meets the wilderness of the spoken :

where mirages shimmer in the distance :
in the fierce heat :

I am tired of sifting : my heart’s rumpled
pornography : I am tired of trying : to articulate :

Meet me here : and fill my ears :
with sweet nothings : show me :

the ripe body of your lust :
Bring to me : your willingness :

your questing hands : your needing lips :
Bring to me : the sly curve of your mouth :

dancing devils in your eyes :
your unappeased heart :

Bring to me : your naked loveliness :
your unasked questions : your hot wet urgency :

Take from me : the fire from my furnace :
my quiet incantations : my un-beached poems :

Come to me : unguarded : vulnerable :
heart and body open :

Meet me here now :
before night’s sharp cold arrives :

and let us fuse : in the heat of this wilderness.

David Adès ‘From Which I Must Always Wake’ Read More »

fierCe

Angie Contini’s ‘fierce’

from fierCe

eve
will you choose to be fierce now?
and in becoming fierce be free
this restless mess is for keeping not culling
this weight for wanting not mocking
when mocking will end you and me


eve
will you choose to be fierce?
with belt on your back nine times
and soap on your tongue
and snake at jaw
unjam your pasted-up mouth and roar


eve
when you feel yourself empty
there are bodies within you
yet thrown
yet cast
yet shaped
eve, are you listening?
all fragile mess and pushed-down soul
be the thing pushed down
be the ache in the neck of the earth
for this is our atlas
the myth we’re in
this holding onto things
and holding things up
it’s a way
to keep you–us–
held in


and eve
when you’re subtle
and an unseen flame
there’ll be veins to purge
a future to ripen
mocking to kill
and masks to shed


and there, eve
you’ll be art
we’ll find a plinth for your mess to be read


eve, will you choose to be fierce now?

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Alive in Dubbo

D.G. Lloyd’s ‘Devil’s Hole’

From Alive in Dubbo

Boys getting stoned and jumping off the cliff
into the deepest part of the river;
no one knows for sure how deep.
See you in Cobar! we shouted, as we drifted away
downstream.


Flocks of cockatoos screeched as they flew over the
slopes,
the dirt road and metal posts,
fallen logs and blue-green algae,
dead ryegrass undulating.


I nearly drowned fighting the current as I tried to
cross back,
tussled in the willows, vines and throwing up.
Blistered and scarred for seven days.


Devil means Bunyip and Evil Spirit Dreaming.
The elders frightened the children with ghost stories
to save them from drowning near the bend in the
river.
It’s a strange bed up north, said Gazza.


Jason and Craig saw a kingfisher on the fence,
You can tell them by their pointed beaks.
I spotted a pelican on the water’s surface,
It must be lost.

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Greg McLaren’s ’17’

from After Han Shan

A group of young women play soccer in the park,
in the fading light their perfume mingles with sweat,
and they’ve got butterflies tattooed on their tailbones,
or Celtic-looking script on their forearms.

Their friends are girls in Camp Quality bandanas
and two gay men in acid wash jeans.
I cough and they glance my way,
my temples greying with stupid worry.

Greg McLaren’s ’17’ Read More »

What the river told me by Jane Skelton

Jane Skelton’s ‘Moniave, Scotland’

from What the river told me

in a pub in Moniave
I think I’ve found my people
enveloped in a clutch of folk musicians
singing at the top of my voice

I see a thin child enter
with a wolfhound on a lead
but when she turns and looks up
I she is a little person
of wrinkled face and long straw hair
I think I’ve found my people
although I don’t understand a word
it doesn’t matter

the single malts are finished
before the stage of gutter-rolling
that night I couldn’t sleep

the next day I’m taken to Castle Douglas by car
the scenic route of winding roads at breakneck speed

he gave me a special Scottish sweet
when he said goodbye
I appreciate it later
caramel melting on my tongue
on the bus to Newton Stewart

at Moniave I thought I’d found my people
but it was only the whisky
I’ll probably never go to Moniave again

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