Poems
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Moon on a Stick
By Rob Wilsonfor J.L.D.
Try not to breathe.
Try not to walk the highwire too fast -
The Argument
By Sam LangerIt is windy out there. Back
home an argument continues.
We could be swimming, eating,
going for a walk, pointing -
Lurker
By David Prateri know where you're from & why you're here
doing your 'research', just 'keeping tabs' etc.
my stats reveal your browsing habits & what
brought you here, five seconds ago - cached -
Crush
By Kate LilleyWhen I say that history was my favourite
I’m thinking less of the Weimar Republic
or the militarisation of Japan
than Miss R’s contralto discipline -
Things Overheard in a Dream, 12th April 2001
By Peter Boyle“Take me to the black woods mumma
and make believe we’ll boogy in the dark.”
In the late summer of anxiety -
ON DEMENTIA
By Jessica L WilkinsonThe stoic pupils, the gaze—
The movement always moving of
objects mostly socks and teacups—
The kettle on the stove screaming— -
PHAEDRA HANGS OUT THE WASHING
By Kit Brookmanthe beauty of boys
in a morning-frost, white
skin running between white
-
Holiday
By Caitlin MalingPerth from above is a cockroach
It sits there, brown and laconic, and
The micrwave of summer can't shift it.
With its suburbs, like legs, twitching intermittently. -
Sleight of Hand
By Emily BittoThese are messages written in dirt
and rubbed away with a quick boot-sole –
even then, the fear of the trace,
the unerasable, the archive that cannot be destroyed – -
Distractions
By Liam FerneyI am hoping to kick a Facebook habit
but the monsters are scary and tomorrow
is too long to wait for an anxiety
as toxic as a tax the punters don't understand -
Entrances North
By Fiona HileThe surf club car park is littered with empty
Muscle-testing image in the drum roll
tableau of sheets stripped of servitude. ‘Isn’t
there just a tiny bit of gravity in outer space?’ -
The Fan
By Craig BillinghamAre you a fan? the woman said
and then sat down.
I didn't know what she meant –
I imagined she was famous. -
CLOSING TIME
By Sam MorleyI am closing my eyes, because I can’t see it in the dusk,
the poem that is already there.
I am hearing the closing time bickering of noisy miners -
Substance (of things hoped for)
By Paul MitchellCars wait in traffic because they want to.
Tomorrow never comes, thank god.
Cakes start with icing and get better, -
Notes on the River 8
By Adam AitkenVoilà! Slums levelled, wharves, boat ramps,
central planning.
-
View from Hvolsvelli
By Corey WakelingThe frozen and the liquid. All its dialogue
in one white plume and one grey plume.
The corrugated vanity across Eyjafjallajökull's
mid-section is not rain-bearing cloud, but the old -
Insomnia
By Elizabeth CampbellFinally, on the seventh night, like a leaf
of the long blue gum, released
into a deep shade from its high tree
spinning slowly as it goes -
Holden HQ Wreck is Summers End
By Duncan Hosethe blue HQ @ Clifton Hill
like a warrior yes an octogenarian KRISNA
who’s dragged himself ashore from the river
tacho. punched in the dash, pink-drugged carpet -
3am
By Andy KissaneAlong High Street, the window in the white Cortina
right down, the air rushing in, my foot on the accelerator
beating time to the electric fizz of Johnny B. Goode,
