from Gillian Swain’s “My Skin its own sky”
Renovator’s hints and tips
No crimes are hidden in the white bathroom of one who washes often and cleans rarely.
from Gillian Swain’s “My Skin its own sky” Read More »
Poems
from Iman Budhi Santosa’s “The Faces of Java”
Silversmiths from Kotagede
life was blown gently into the silver, gram by gram binding the emerald, enhancing the ruby eyes shining on each finger hammer and file danced at the stroke of midnight solder hissed in between and light taps to the belly, ‘antique accessories when weighed are worth more than the maker’s finger’
for years they have saved but not a single necklace to drape the scrawny chest the hair has turned silver in the making silent and forgotten by the children of time
from Iman Budhi Santosa’s “The Faces of Java” Read More »
from Rob Shackne’s “A Chance of Seasons”
A Poem for the Hungry Ghosts
I won’t wear red to draw attention, sing or whistle my favourite melody. I won’t linger near the shadowed walls to stir or fret the hungry ghosts, unrested souls trying to recall a life without fear or violence or tragic luck. Their whispers are all sighs and envy as I walk home in open lamplight.
from Rob Shackne’s “A Chance of Seasons” Read More »
an elevensie from Kerri Shying’s “Knitting Mangrove Roots”
Note: an ‘elevensie’ is a poem form with the title in the middle and five lines on either side.
how about I sleep out here tonight final evening let the ropes tighten to the dew hold the shape of days before the road and home inhale me set me once again
to use
on trickier palaver Kent pumpkins after hand-pollination and the herbs we need for winter altar blooms to go in I am already one hand in the pantry broody hen
an elevensie from Kerri Shying’s “Knitting Mangrove Roots” Read More »
Choir Solo
Part 9 of Yao Feng’s ‘Cape Verde Fragments’
being surrounded by the sea is a destiny
it will never turn around
it stands on the reefs, commanding you to sing
you don’t have much
but singing makes you wealthy
because of song
birds fly out from your throat
because of singing
flowers come up through the stones
(translated by Kit Kelen and Fei Chen)
from Judy Johnson’s “Exhibit”
Cliff Walk
Cliff wind has a particular
whistling sound like a gas bottle
released a quarter turn –
gulls tumble in its slipstream
wallabies are fastened to
the grass by their ears.
Here on the high side
we squint the miles of absolute blue
and watch the white knots of diving birds
unravelling to stitch the sea.
In this ritual of circles
the trees are intertwined. The tracks
we tread, dreadlocks on a leviathan’s head.
Below is the spiral heart of palms
And grass trees growing crooked spears.
And lower still, beneath the waves
the constant swirling helix of blue blood
whooshing through a vein.
from Judy Johnson’s “Exhibit” Read More »
from Alex Skovron’s “Water Music” – Sunspots
The people have filled the city’s open spaces,
they stand shoulder to shoulder, expecting everything.
The platform above the Square is empty.
A buzz of unease caresses the bare heads,
their coronas of hair thinning into the breeze;
see the rolled-up newspapers, the scarves that twitch.
The hum mounts to a whisper, the whisper
delivers its secret, the secret
is betrayed, spreads like an epidemic;
outside the city they are building a pyramid of books.
from Alex Skovron’s “Water Music” – Sunspots Read More »
from Odveig Klyve’s “Let’s Take the Blue Sky by Storm”
rivers are urgent
for the sea
bringing letters from winter
the farmer writes to
a summer with
his shovel in wet mold
the clouds gather
what is not yet
said
(translated by Kit Kelen with the author)
from Odveig Klyve’s “Let’s Take the Blue Sky by Storm” Read More »
Three haiku from Myron Lysenko’s flying islands pocketbook “a ghost gum leans over”
summer holiday
we pitch a tent in your nan’s
front yard
an argument
on the northerly wind
our pitched tent
overcast evening
I hide her car keys
in my underwear
Three haiku from Myron Lysenko’s flying islands pocketbook “a ghost gum leans over” Read More »
Common or Garden Poets #13 – Angela Costi inviting Denise O’Hagan
The Apricot & The Lemon Tree
at the edge of the village
come to an oak much older than me
that’s where I’ll seek advice
– Kit Kelen
tenant 1 planted the couple while tenant 2 and 3
nurtured their growth and here I stand, tenant 4
before their arthritic leaves & brittle branches
unlike the owl and the pussycat they are stuck
too close and deep rooted with a stubborn sense
of belonging to a land they’ve failed to interpret
once gardens were ballrooms of sweet & bitter
fruit throughout Melbourne’s Northern yards
expecting Mediterranean weather to migrate
now these replica orchards are starving for genteel
seasons, expecting to be washed with lukewarm
hose each night, even when sky drizzles or sprays
with no strength to stretch their limbs, with no
plump, sun-kissed balls of juice for birds & jam
with no smell for dressed salads or fragrant tagine
they offer a time-warp of cravings & nostalgia
in the back yard, encircled by concrete and brick
ignoring the bottlebrush with its bright red offers
by Angela Costi
Common or Garden Poets #13 – Angela Costi inviting Denise O’Hagan Read More »