for my father; and his Sucking dentures, whistling ‘A Boy Named Sue’, my father constructed cold frames, terminuses —one metre x one metre x one metre, four facets, and a crown, hinged and flat, threaded with sparkling wire—of the dark Goliath dwarfing his father’s orchard since seventy-seven. Come winter they’d clack like men across a … Continue reading
The oranges made a gorgeous, swollen pile. —Fiona McFarlane, The Night Guest 10:15 on a Saturday night: my housemate’s asleep, Tiger Coils roil an air wet as whelps (a bitch yelps), Mulder’s chest hair exposes itself like clockwork. Grindr trills Bud what ya into Familiar thrill. in general? in bed? Whatevs HAHA proving his youth. I … Continue reading
even sunstruck the ribs rise from Bennelong Point like Arthur C. Clarke’s black slab I storm the frets, stopping only to whirl when your aperture’s cocked at my spine this hair’s a tornado of sand ridiculous, you needle, a blond gothic no licks of laughter (Father, Son, Ghost shedding Prozac) my Scorpio sting: fuck off, … Continue reading
for Michelle Cahill Some evenings are this fragile. Rainbow lorikeets court baroque chords creaking in my nest of bones. You wrote to wrap my limbs. Morning will sprinkle the conifers, Which of us abandoned the other? We cannot answer with insect wings, serrated jacaranda. What colour is truth? Some days we trust more than desire, … Continue reading
Stuart Barnes is a Tasmanian-born, Queensland-based poet whose writing appears in a variety of publications. He is Poetry Editor of Tincture Journal and Verity La. In 2014 he co-judged the ACT Publishing Awards’ poetry category and was named Runner-up in the Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize for an Unpublished Manuscript. He blogs at http://stuartabarnes.tumblr.com/ … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 