Poems
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The Olgas
By Leni ShiltonI
From first light we see them;
pink on the horizon,
their heads tilted down -
Monologue of the Moustached Girl
By Joel Ephraims“These books appear to be constructed horizontally. They remind me of the cast aside welkins of those ones who transcended early. The windows on the toes do well when moonlit and will fit the new bodies splendid.
Inside one of your own deadlines a naked scaffold breathes. Position yourself neatly against it like a mulcher reflected in a bearded vas… -
Magpie Song
By R.A. BriggsNo carpet snake ruffles
our sofa-soft wattles;
no eagle, no dingo. We’re mostly
snug, smug, and suburban. -
Fade Out
By Hamish WoodGhosts of ghosts. How
celluloid leaves a lingering shadow,
long after black has faded
through multi-coloured lights, -
St. Kilda
By Ali AlizadehGhosts bristle from the grimy
grout of cobbles and tiles. Foot
-paths, the Ouija board. Feet
pulled by forces to trace, decrypt -
Did I tell you
By Jane Gibianwhat Judy said to me? Her laugh
doesn't change from an outdoor
laugh to an indoor one. When I
go up escalators I feel like -
The Same Bay, Twice
By Tim SinclairTraffic hum from the Anzac Bridge, and you watch
the city coalesce from dawn. Buildings emerge
to support their glowing logos, the squatting chunk
of fish market turns blue. -
Mr Fucking Rocket tires of saving for a mortgage
By Susan Bradley SmithI thought things were wrong:
it manifested in me buying
and wearing Ulysses blue
eyeshadow. It didn’t suit -
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Kumbilor – hill in my Country
By Jeanine LeaneI come back and see a hill
barren and cleared of trees. Sectioned by fences
like a checkerboard of games won and lost.
Only the rocks anchored so deep they cannot -
The Prospect of the Highland Dusk to Dawn
By Michael SharkeyHow the light, for instance, takes its leave
of silky darkness that moves in on padded feet
below the hills: the moon through cloud’s
an aspirin tablet in a glass of water, -
North of Moony Point
By Berndt SellheimIt’s like we don’t even notice the chatter.
Like the river is enough for us, no mind.
1.
Driven all summer -
Black Throated Finch
By B. R. DionysiusBy the pool, their fingernail-sized gullets undulate briskly
As if they are guilty celebrities scoffing a midnight treat,
Their black cravats panting with excitement. They can’t
Stay in this kitchen heat for long; fluent in the language -
ghosting the ghetto
By Omar Sakrfor Steven
In their third floor brick flat, the one tucked into the asphalt folds of Warwick Farm,
past El Toro motel, down where the winding road straightens out opposite takeaway
tucker, my grandparents were rebuilding Lebanon, and no one seemed to mind. Every -
Beneath the South Head Old Road, 1835
By Nandi ChinnaIn this city water is a sacred word
held in the mouth like a wet stone.
My jug is never full, but always
leaching with polluted longing. -
Now
By Stuart CookeThis is the place: a park, a cleared space, cooling swathes of light.
In the distance: an airport’s absurdity,
arguments of steel, flocks of fruit bats swarming
in panic across an afternoon sky. -
A town from land John Oxley said would never be inhabited by civilised men
By Lorne JohnsonWe were returning from
long days in thinning mallee
where we persued red-lored whistlers,
grey falcons and malleefowl, -
gulp
By joanne burnsfish and chips on the pier
at watson’s bay, or is it
calamari – something we
never ate in the 50s un- -
An Accurate Martyr
By Lindsay TuggleThe extraordinary baggage
a collection of ordinary possessions
accumulated since
childhood with -
Monologue of the Alien
By Joel Ephraims“It was apparent from the very start that all was not even or correctly distributed in the way it fell down. Fallen seemed the most appropriate term to those present due to the elasticity and directness of wildness above them and the points of light which swirled to a precise order telling of harmonies that must have been performed there. Here as…
