Poem

'stone mother tongue' by Annamaria Weldon | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

Annamaria Weldon
13 October 2017

Alabaster: such a beautiful word for silence.
Neolithic Venus, was translucence eloquent
enough when stone was our mother tongue?

Yellow-throated crocus were strewn
at your feet, they fed you honey
and broad beans. Worship swelled

your breasts and fertile belly, men lived
without weapons, women were weavers
and potters crowned in cowrie shells

... More

'goddess we trample' by Annamaria Weldon | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

Annamaria Weldon
13 October 2017

Archipelago, sleeping goddess whose body
we trample as tourists take selfies, bored lovers
seek mystery, stray dogs piss on temple stones.

Inside the sanctuary walls, torba floors endure
their bone-white ground broken as the silence
now deities are curios, gift shop souvenirs.

Asphodel and Sea-squill bloom in the corners of ruins
strewn like footnotes to ... More

'&' by Chris Arnold | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

Chris Arnold
13 October 2017

you opt for form over colour
makeup smudged lenses
pale bare planes by the lakes;
a cygnet ellipsis in black
parenthetical necks;
white sky reflected in high water.

we sit where I have stayed
and watched an oak open and close –
green again – the bench
suspended on ampersands.

Chris Arnold

... More

'derailed' by Chris Arnold | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

Chris Arnold
13 October 2017

excerpt from Ligature

he drops his shoulders
lets out his breath
finds himself benched
between green wood slats and
a black plastic platter of sushi,
disposable sticks in his hand.
ache on his right eye like a river stone
thinking like five hands
at the piano.     city stratified in front
his eye’s diameter
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'pinned' by Chris Arnold | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

Chris Arnold
13 October 2017

excerpt from Ligature

her office           kept cold
she shivers          exhales
but never the satisfaction
of seeing her breath

a red-black plaid blanket wraps
her legs               pattern
reminiscent of red dust picnics –
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About Chris Arnold | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

States of Poetry
13 October 2017

Chris ArnoldChris Arnold lives in Perth and used to work as a software engineer. He was published in Westerly’s first writers’ development program, and now works as the journal’s web editor. In 2017, Chris commenced a cr ... More

'Graphology Endgame 100: I am a dickhead' by John Kinsella | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

John Kinsella
13 October 2017

I am a dickhead in ways I thought I wasn’t
I am a dickhead in ways people who call me a dickhead can’t imagine
I am a dickhead in ways people who call me a dickhead can imagine
I am a dickhead with residues and hangovers of misapplic ... More

'Grasshopper' by John Kinsella | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

John Kinsella
13 October 2017

Grasshopper on the window, the flyscreen, and stepping out
into the beige heat, over us. Tangled in our hair, hooked to our backs.

Grasshopper, cod wisdom. Grasshopper contraband on the eye-
out for plagues. The Australian Plague Locust and its tendency

to shift character when gathered together. In worship. In parliament.
O phase polyphenism, in which mor ... More

'Detracking the Body Examinate' by John Kinsella | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

John Kinsella
13 October 2017

We are thrilled to find evidence of roos returning –
after being driven out of the reserve and slaughtered
by hunters, the survivors are finding refuge at Jam Tree Gully.
The vestiges of the old mob. And maybe new mob driven
this way by hunters down on Victoria Plains. In the long grass
they hide. They make tracks and graze and flatten
areas for rest. They are More

'Sui Generis' by John Kinsella | States of Poetry WA - Series Two

John Kinsella
13 October 2017

It rained heavy, ridiculously heavy, when the heat
was at its peak, and then it went dry – the ebb & flow
of the surface-water, the water soaked deep. It’s
thin-on now, even vanished. A dry creeping towards
longer cold nights. The tank is down to 20 000 litres,
or thereabouts. And no clean air for weeks, as farmers
have burnt their tinderish stubble to ash, ... More

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