Years ago when John Forbes praised
my later work, he said my Problem
of Evil was influenced by Tranter’s
Red Movie, and being younger and furiouser,
I rang Forbes and explained P. of E.

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'P.R.B.', a new poem by Cassandra Atherton

Cassandra Atherton
Sunday, 28 April 2013

I wish I had been painted by Millais. Maybe not as Ophelia in a tepid bath.
Perhaps as Lady Macbeth. Or Titania. Or Portia. Not Brutus’s Portia. Portia from
The Merchant of Venice. I used to make you sit on a little wooden stool and pretend
you were painting me. Stroke after stroke rasping against the canvas. I would

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'The Consonants', a new poem by John Tranter

John Tranter
Sunday, 28 April 2013

B, brave brown, C, icicle
pendant, D, dun though pale,
F for faint mauve, fish and bicycle,
G, gothic paint in a green pail

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'Reflections on "Charon"', a new poem by Fay Zwicky

Fay Zwicky
Saturday, 27 April 2013

Twelve noon Monday, 38 degrees and rising.
The phone’s rung twice
and someone else has fallen off
the twig while military files of micro-

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'Diary Poem: Uses of Cosiness', a new poem by Jennifer Maiden

Jennifer Maiden
Tuesday, 26 March 2013

Emboldened by sharing, briefly, the same
publisher as Frieda Hughes, I looked up
an article on her latest collection, found
a photo of her living room, which seemed

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Camperdown’s for dogs,
Friday evening in the park off Church Street

a barefoot man
carries a plank:

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'Early to Bed', a new poem by Clive James

Clive James
Monday, 25 March 2013
Old age is not my problem. Bad health, yes.
If I were well again, I’d walk for miles,
My name a synonym for tirelessness.
On Friday nights I’d go out on the tiles:
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'Life Cycle of the Eel', a new poem by Sarah Holland-Batt

Sarah Holland-Batt
Monday, 11 March 2013

A flash like silver cufflinks
ribbons off into river grass:
a fluid lick of nickel,
the sidle and slather of eel.

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'Sorrowful', a new poem by Jennifer Compton

Jennifer Compton
Thursday, 07 March 2013

The house is up for tender and will be sold.
Houses always sell
– in the end. Even if it is
for the land. Smoking out or treading down
the haunts takes three days, or even longer.

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'A Denizen', a new poem by Les Murray

Les Murray
Saturday, 02 March 2013

The octopus is dead
who lived in Wylies Baths
below the circus balustrade
and the chocked sea tiles.

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