Poets & Poems
By Adam Aitken
Voilà! Slums levelled, wharves, boat ramps,
Whites, Koreans, Chinese
in cravats and big sombreros
sip their Caiperoskas
in the Foreign Correspondents Club,
the Nikon 1960 meets
Phnom Penh ...
By Ali Alizadeh
I used to be brave. Emancipation
eludes me now. There’s nothing real
in what I get paid to do. Rhetoric
and composition, in-text citation
as useful to my ‘students ...
By Craig Billingham
Are you a fan? the woman said
and then sat down.
I didn't know what she meant –
I imagined she was famous.
I watched the back of her head ...
By Emily Bitto
These 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 –
the way ...
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
in the blink of a damaged left eye ...
By Kit Brookman
the beauty of boys
in a morning-frost, white
skin running between white
sheets snagged by wooden
the kind that have no wire,
are solid, inescapable. Gods.
By Michelle Cahill
I am dancing tonight in the Kangra valley.
Effigies of the demon king Ravan are ablaze
for Dussehra. Thorn bush dissipates in a flare.
Karma, Lobsang and Abishek are quietly ...
By Elizabeth Campbell
Finally, 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
like a falling ...
By Eileen Chong
Fire 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 ...
By Benjamin Dodds
Holding taut barbed-wire with one hand
and myself with the other
I gaze at the ground
as hundreds of shining grey dust droplets
roll away from the rotting fence post ...
By David Falcon
sky so coppery i can taste pennies
low lit by the sun
the plain stretches its rough gorse
to the edge of the world
i want to imagine dinosaurs
By Michael Farrell
we were playing a mind game. but there
was a real
attraction. he was bookish,
unsuccessful; my secret
type. but him? could
he be inter-
ested in scribble –
that being ...!--endfragment-->!--startfragment-->
By Liam Ferney
I 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 ...
By Lionel Fogarty
In = meek
My feelins have not change
One with the murri
And we are alone
My feelins are a thought
Of sad past life
Yet i’m words without words ...
By Claire Gaskin
the pink truth
between Norfolk Pine branches
sprinklers meet heat
at our mozzie swarmed
before the gates
By Kevin Hart
As warm air sips huge clouds
That fade all afternoon
In Africas of light,
So there are lazy days
In which I melt in you:
Fine days and ...