States of Poetry Poems
Octopus
Quick across the twilight road,
the eight legs of the cat.
Flood
Water corrects the earth
to flatness, patching fields with sky.
Alarm
Little boat of red figures, adrift between two days.
Window
The creek slides through the rain's eyelashes.
Should the unique serve to typify?
Have they been ill-used? To what purpose?
Asian Couple
The Asian couple.
I am inclined to think Chinese –
mostly on the basis of size,
but not Japanese (the ...
I am history now
in the scales, the age of sounds
I make sense then drop it
it gets dirty, it breaks
the ants carry it
I am bent at the switch
my tapes of the archive
decay, loops stutter
glitch arias
I am bent at the floor
facts roll under the chair
little dust songs
or songs outside
the parrots know
and I am sti ...
Fitness: fact, fiction
or fantasy? – among things
meant. Parachutes
open like fuchsias,
picnic hampers
of kittens float quietly
down, as peaks
push through
resplendent mists.
Your sense
falls upward
like helium or blinds,
now it's precisely
subtitled, you realise –
as the first tentative
The do-it-yourself piano isn't
kicked to matchwood, and you take
this for affirmation. When we
work out how to switch off
Bob Dylan, your plangent homemades
will go unaccompanied, no longer
sought like an injury lost in the mists
of Hansard. People suggest topics
they won't be using, and this is
more like an archive sneeze
than what yesteryea ...
1.
Angling over star-fields,
the pitches lit like billiard tables.
Those lengths you were shouted up and back,
lungs scoured by brillo air.
The lazier concord of close mown grass
and low hanging fruit
of the short boundary. A tang of primitive
electronics: the circuit board's braille labyrinth,
the slab type of Amstrad.
This callow path, you< ...
States of Poetry 2016 - South Australia | 'Alterations to the little black dress' by Jelena Dinic
A little pin-up
three fingers
above the knees.
Behind the curtain
a dress-up game –
pretty things come undone.
He chalks lines
on raw stitches.
I catwalk.
My body fits the timeless black.
'You can live in it, or die'
smile the lips full of needles.
Do I look a little dead
with black fabric
on bone-pale flesh?
States of Poetry 2016 - South Australia | 'The Silence of Siskins' by Jelena Dinic
for my grandfather
He circles my arrival
on the calendar.
It is late November
and it doesn't snow.
A wooden pallet
hardens his bed.
He dreams of grandmother.
He doesn't want new dreams.
Two siskins in cages –
their song frozen like the air
that other November
when she lost her heart
c ...
for Mia
I wore my grandmother's clothes
and sat on her doorstep.
Monday to Friday.
She talked.
I lied.
'I'll teach you how to write,' I said
pretending I could
hold a pen.
'Mouse will eat your ears,' she smiled.
At night we leaned on pillows
watched TV with subtitles.
I made up foreign words.
I tol ...
after Vasko Popa
Always ready to leave
leaving
each time further
from the whispers
of the grass.
She has forgotten
her death,
the calf she once was.
Curled around an arm
a new name sewn
into her mouth
she's been there, done that.
A tramp, living beyond
the stitches of life.
&n ...