Poems
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Where have all the bad boys gone?
By Patrick LentonI didn’t know who i was when i was a teenager -
a long gangle, awkward loping sack of bones -
but i knew what i wasn’t allowed to be
i was not allowed to be a bad boy or a naughty girl -
Let that Black lady breathe!
By Chika IkogweI’m a woman
I’m a Black woman
I’m a dark skinned Black woman
And often times, I feel like people are saying -
bird around my neck
By Aries M. Gacutanwhere is my heart? —rotting at the bottom of the pacific ocean
hurled out the side of the plane
because i didn’t have the cash.
and my mouth, full -
The Hero
By Ouyang YuNot anymore. Not anymore?
Are we talking about the one who was both literary and military, capable of lifting something some one thousand jin heavy, riding his horse and rushing into the enemy position alone, killing hundreds of them, taking one city after another, until the whole country fell into his hands, and writing hundreds of poems while dr… -
a song you can’t unsing
By Lucy Nortonsame colour as ruin
as in take them from home
as in run songline to dust
same colour as ochre -
cycle
By Dominic Guerrerain a year that I thought would bring clarity and resolve
has only begun with pain, grief and torment
the cycle of years continues
the cycles continue -
Takayna; Milaythina Ningi
By Theresa SaintyTAKAYNA; MILAYTHINA NINGI
(Takayna; Mother Country)
Nara Takayna; ngini paywuta
Wurangkili mulapana-nara nuritinga tunapri -
An Heirloom of Love
By Adrian Mouhajer, Princess Arinola Adegbiteafter bell hooks
Here on my table, we share the memory of our countries,
centuries of recipes stitched into the strands of my hair, -
Gowk
By Simon ArmitageOne day I had no soul and the next
I did, like a cuckoo’s egg, so
then I was lumped with this baby ego
hatching out of the heart’s nest, -
Buoyancy
By Zainab SyedI.
When we consider the buoyancy of a city’s heart
There is not much that will keep it afloat -
A Letter to my Mother at Immigration
By Lang LeavYou will make a life here,
like a wave carving out
the side of a rock.
You will make fossils of your memories -
Perimeter of Rectangles
By Laura PanopoulosSize one
Enervated by background noise,
recollecting my words,
they are far from push-button. -
In the event of apocalypse, remember TV
By Mitch McTaggartThere’s Australian TV content that you’ve never heard of
Sitting in archives
Collecting whatever the digital equivalent of dust is
Probably never to be watched again -
Writers Block
By Rob WatersWinds rush through half clipped spaces; they whistle in the dark through windows neither closed nor open.
The tin roof rattles; shaking just beyond that point that catches those night winds rushing.
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Quilting the Armour
By Nam LeSun everywhere, and shadow. Swamplight, aquarium light
turning the far-off fields almost Kelly green, bullion-fringed.
Stitch of tracer gold. Crystallised moments you see, hear things clear:
the end, and past too. Shack, hill, horses, watertank, windmill — -
Clipper blades and feather pillows
By Jonathan SriranganathanSnip
snip-snip
snip, snip, snip
These days, you can hear that subtle clicking almost everywhere -
Baraya Barray - Whale Song
By Sonya HolowellI am a multidisciplinary artist, which I think reflects the way my ancestors have practised the interconnectedness of artforms. I often vocalise my written poetry, or create poetry with the potential to be musically interpreted. But more than this, poetry is pattern, and it is everywhere. Beyond mere associations to alphabetic text, poetry can be … -
Hemiglossed
By Kathryn ReeseDad sits, crushed panadol and formula milk gravity fed into his belly.
On tv: sourdough, a sear of steak, a dressing of diced peach, torn mint, fresh red chilli—
He dozes, won’t turn it off.
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sometimes feels day and sometimes feels night
By Andrew Galan, Vacant Dragon à la Subverted LipsTrapped in this cement and brick and gypsum and nylon work
not compressed unmoving but walking and walking and walking
finding repetition or transient newness at corners but no exit
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Without Her
By Felicity PlunkettWhen a body is found on a bike-path –
When a body is found in a garbage tip –
Where a body lies under a bridge, over a border
in the basement of a suburban home, washed up
