Poems
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Howzat
By Alan Wearnefor Chris Pettett
Caughtbowledstumpedrunoutlegbefore!
Filmed with floosies in the raw, -
Elementary Chinese
By Eileen ChongFire hung on a nail makes a lamp,
two moons make a friend.
A thing that is not bark makes a glass,
two trees, a wood; three trees, a forest. -
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The Argument
By Sam LangerIt is windy out there. Back
home an argument continues.
We could be swimming, eating,
going for a walk, pointing -
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 -
Moon on a Stick
By Rob Wilsonfor J.L.D.
Try not to breathe.
Try not to walk the highwire too fast -
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,
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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 -
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 -
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 -
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?’ -
satisfaction
By Benjamin DoddsHolding taut barbed-wire with one hand
and myself with the other
I gaze at the ground
as hundreds of shining grey dust droplets -
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Fetish Commodity
By Ali AlizadehI used to be brave. Emancipation
eludes me now. There’s nothing real
in what I get paid to do. Rhetoric -
PHAEDRA HANGS OUT THE WASHING
By Kit Brookmanthe beauty of boys
in a morning-frost, white
skin running between white
sheets snagged by wooden -
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— -
Sugar
By Kevin Hart(an excerpt)
As warm air sips huge clouds
That fade all afternoon
In Africas of light, -
Birds of Paradise
By Joel ScottLilac eruptions move upwards and
I can't help but think of us. This
is untraceable. Like moving backwards
by words in a phrase. On the return leg, -
Bats
By John TranterIn a freezing attic somewhere in Prague
a hungry songwriter invents Sincerity, but alas,
too early. A decade later, a popular singer,
struck by the intimacy a microphone fakes,
