Poem

'A Thousand Characters' a new poem by Luke Beesley

Luke Beesley
Friday, 27 March 2015

after Koch/Cohen, Malley/Breton, Roussel!

This, too, is about a thousand characters. It’s much like the
last one. I wouldn’t even read beyond the following sentence.
The following sentence is a silky thing – purple in the late
day, drizzled in afternoon fog. Inside a microwave oven is

'At the Movies' a new poem by Gary Allen

Gary Allen
Friday, 27 March 2015
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'The Possibility of Loss' a new poem by Jennifer Maiden

Jennifer Maiden
Thursday, 26 March 2015

Obama has said that the person with whom he would most like to dine is Gandhi.

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'Pope Pinocchio's Angels' a new poem by Michael Farrell

Michael Farrell
Thursday, 26 February 2015

    Angels are made from banksia. They are grown in Prague, are
Exported in all directions, and turn grey in air. They
Only fly in places where the ground is hard. If
You try to count them they turn into numbers. If
You try to call them they turn into names. They
Are not decorative at parties but illustrative, of Guernica, for example

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'Weight' a new poem by A. Frances Johnson

A. Frances Johnson
Thursday, 26 February 2015

It is a kind of sleep we must learn,
seasonal as spiders, our bodies
weights no web can hold.

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'Net' a new poem by Alice Allan

Alice Allan
Thursday, 26 February 2015

sparrow strung up
one foot knotted
in an accidental
backyard trap

I bury her
neck soft as ribbon

all year
she crouches at my
kitchen table
asking

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'The Things the Mind Sees Happen' a new poem by Belinda Rule

Belinda Rule
Thursday, 26 February 2015

They are stored in a box,
jewelled eggs:

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Geoff Page: 'Seeing People'

Geoff Page
Tuesday, 06 January 2015

Seeing people who remind you
just a little of the dead
is always mildly disconcerting –

something in the face, the gait,
the shoulders from behind,
those likenesses that don’t surprise

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'Nuptial Bog', a new poem by Tracy Ryan

Tracy Ryan
Thursday, 18 December 2014

I am building my roof of turf   my peaty sheath
a coveted blanket   roll me up in it and I go out
like a light   like the wisp rising at night
that country people swear they see and steer clear of

... (read more)

'Plum(b)', a new poem by Cassandra Atherton

Cassandra Atherton
Thursday, 18 December 2014
William Carlos Williams is a genius. And he has my lover’s initials. Or rather my lover has his initials. I often eat the plums that were in the icebox. But I don’t expect to be forgiven. Not everything depends upon that. Or the wheelbarrow of promises that still lies at the bottom of his heart. My lover likes plums. The ones with the tough skins and the scarlet flesh. Not the yellow ... ... (read more)