out back
I have
neglected –
poor harvest, withered edges
pulpy hearts, dropping heads
like the heads on those kids
permanently bent
over entertainment
too dopaminergic
for slender necks –
hearts too long under a boiling sun
tongues like fibrous stems
eyes bolted to seed
Sophia Wilson’s ‘There’s a cabbage patch’ Read More »
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.
D.G. Lloyd’s ‘Devil’s Hole’ Read More »
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 »
From South of Words
of course the path changes
regardless of your lead
boulders gather or split
against the lapping below
but the sea quenches your eyes
still seasons away from its mirage
an iceberg is also just a thought
along our meandering
from each snake hole
a sun glares out
we look away
treading on in disbelief
Iris Fan Xing ‘amygdala or the bald head trail’ Read More »
from Barefoot Running
a whale falls in love
not for the first time but this time it’s worse
ruthless submarine
Candy Tang Ting ‘unrequited love’ Read More »
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
Jane Skelton’s ‘Moniave, Scotland’ Read More »
from Mannequin’s Guide to Utopias
One thorned with frowns.
One with a pet neurosis, will of warm butter.
One with a fixed smile overlaying the wince
of dreamless obedience. Bit part, all, in a minor empire
of flimsy skeletons and mouths that only say yes.
Each with a pocket mirror, casting the uncracked glance.
Dan Disney’s ‘Departmental’ Read More »
from a pocket kit 2
silence has love to curl into
it’s the between words, breaths
between each touch
when you’re still touching
but nothing’s left to say
Kit Kelen’s ‘silence’ Read More »
from Choir Solo
it’s the weekend
I went fishing
the fish I set free last year
must be adults by now
Yao Feng’s ‘fishing’ Read More »
from sing out when you want me
there were these poems
like bats
they come at night
flap vain above my whore-bright hair
penless I fight sleep
the shapes
reach fruitless just that
inch too short
and out of ink
fourth stanza
gone you
fleeting bastards get the pen before you sleep
I think
Kerri Shying’s ‘regretsy’ Read More »