States of Poetry Tasmania
The old dust was left behind;
it hatched crystals,
dining with itself
around a table.
Heart twigs beat
against the breath and
winding legs patrol
a speck of flesh;
red neurons fire
the sedge, slip below
the iris of lagoon.
Shuffle the pool,
there are diamonds;
if we are straws slurping
at this pool, it is to slake
our own thirst; we have
claimed this land as
ten thousand flagpoles
needing no flag, but
we are gentle sceptres;
a nest dispersed and
cradling paper wings.
this silt: our home,
where all legs hurry
as their days dry up;
this rot: our mother,
tadpole to sedge. and so ... More
walk hard –
grains of weather glitter like the night has sunk,
streaks of thin stars, light rain sharpening the scrub;
we are small, so small in the draining sky
as squalls stroke searching for our skin.
sweat-slumped on tussocks, raw pools
smoking in the famished sun.
dragging mud across my knees,
I whip my skin with shards.
words are b ... More
While we circled space,
the paint-stained grass
and the dogs in-and-out
huffing their thoughts, he’d told us
how they tried to gill our work and rest
in languid backyard bays. The bolts
in rock, firm in life and death, were now
exempt from clasping hooks to bring
the bait aboard, protected
like the tiger, like the quolls;
like rocks, we ... More
Ben Walter’s poetry, fiction, and essays have been widely published in Australian journals, including Meanjin, Island, Southerly, and The Lifted Brow. More
'The Houses of Parliament (Effect of fog)' by Christiane Conésa-Bostock | States of Poetry Tasmania - Series Two
Claude Monet, 1903–04
When in early morning
London fog throws its veil
of thick organdie over the Thames
dawn espouses dusk.
Confetti is spread over the town
and sequins of frosted dew glitter on the ground.
Victoria Tower, Big Ben and Central Tower
stand like gothic ghosts.
makes London beautiful
gives breadth to buil ... More
Claude Monet, 1908
Monsieur Monet has a new lover.
She calls at two every afternoon
and invites him to stay a few hours.
Worshipped by Whistler, Boudin and Signac
Santa Maria della Salute is not like the others.
From the steps of the Palazzo Barbaro
wrapped in a bestowed fur coat
he impregnates the domes of his mistress
with a nacreou ... More
Claude Monet Circa 1865–70
It is my life. I must recognise
the future is called the past.
I turn around to contemplate my youth.
My destiny resembles you
and your shadow follows my body.
You are walking in the garden of my eyes.
I owe you everything.
I am no more than your dust
a fine particle of your step.
This dark intim ... More