It was a cold summer that year. What I remember is the chill on my skin as you stripped me in fiendish haste, the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room. Now, when life begins to leave itself why is it this figment that clings? Such a light thing, and yet … Continue reading
A Chinese Affair – Extract I dream of my mother again. She is sitting in front of the sewing machine, crying. I press on the wooden door and it opens quietly. My father tells me to come in. He is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, where cobwebs dangle at the corners. He murmurs, … Continue reading
when i leave i hope i will carry the spirits on my skin i will carry the earth in my legs the sky in my eyes when i leave i hope i will carry the birds in my feet the trees in my shoulders the people in my chest when i leave i … Continue reading
Matt Hetherington is a writer, music-maker, and moderate self-promoter living in Brisbane. He has been writing poetry for over 30 years, and has published 4 poetry collections and over 300 poems. His first all-haiku/senryu collection ‘For Instance’ was published in March 2015 by Mulla Mulla Press. He is also on the board of the Australian … Continue reading
In the park at Richmond River the ibis converge on the scraps like clumsy ballerinas. One bites the tail of a water dragon who stares at me astonished, like perhaps we knew each other in a past life. Across the way a row of Queenslanders lift their skirts to avoid puddles and cars drive by, … Continue reading
I woke up this morning afraid of the world then a man threw up at the bus stop. I stared the other way, he had tears in his eyes and so did I, but all I could remember was Bobby Brady saying (at 5.25 last night) that if it worked for a girl it might … Continue reading
Beth Spencer is the Poet of the Month for February, and this week she is offering Poem and Dish readers, an eBook copy of her book of poetry Vagabondage. To go in the draw, please follow Poem and Dish, like this post and leave a comment so I can contact you. You can specify in … Continue reading
Attracted to all things electrical, you passed along the way like a weird storm then returned, waxing lyrical about your adventures: the glow- worms that lit up the tropics like guide-lights on a runway; dinosaurs grumbling in their graves; the plethora of cats that scattered when you moonlighted as a monsoon. And what about those … Continue reading
The intervals between trains are shrinking, streetlights shaking — one or two blink out with every repercussion. Planes fly lower and lower, guard dogs whimper, and every so often a seismograph flutters as if to warn us that the orbits are out of whack, that waves rake the ocean floors and the hairs on the … Continue reading
Bottles in gutters, alley cats on the slink under streetlamps that crystallise in the corners of my eyes — shopping trolleys gliding by like giant legless ice skates — this brittle night taken out of the fridge — it’s spring but cold still, still as glass. Sobering up, a breeze … Continue reading
Apologising to unicorns is problematic. They rarely understand our purposes. Tenderness will often be seen as the manipulative gestures of a fear that seeks death – for itself and others. Unicorns sleep most comfortably in heavy traffic where the hum of self-absorbed commuters leaves them invisible. To find a unicorn in a forest is like … Continue reading
Laid out flat in the back of the station wagon my father borrowed I look up: the leaves are immense, green and golden with clear summer light breaking through – though I turn only my neck I can see all of them along this avenue that has no limits. What does it matter that I … Continue reading
Peter Boyle was born in Melbourne in 1951 and has lived most of his life in Sydney. He is a poet and translator of Spanish and French poetry. He has worked most of his life as a teacher, first in high schools and then with NSW TAFE. His sixth collection of poetry, Towns in the … Continue reading
In the abandoned hours, I can hear The boorish sibilance of garbage trucks On their rounds. The shy, nocturnal air Builds a brittle nest with strands of fear. Insomniac crickets tick, like manic clocks, In the unmown expanse of the vacant lot Where, last week, on the razor grass, A young woman was raped And … Continue reading
There is no Poet of the Month for December. This month we shall indulge in new poems, for some of the wonderful poets that I featured as Poet of the Month in 2014. It has been an absolute pleasure for me to get to read and of course to share their poetry. You can find … Continue reading
of course the trees are my friends they are like me ~ busy busy bees growing in slow motion they embrace me when I enter the garden they remember that I water them they teach me how to be still they teach me how to be busy busy busy only very very slowly they teach … Continue reading
“I think that human beings lock birds in cages because they themselves are incapable of flying” – Unknown Mirella Salame is a young Lebanese artist whom I met last Sunday at MACAM, Modern and Contemporary Art Museum. She is a participant in the Age of Wood sculpting competition. Her performative installation is titled freedom and … Continue reading
for Karen Your beauty cannot be translated, but I would fail not to try. It generates a weather no meteorology can describe. It is most like a flower, a flower with moods. An unstill life, in no need of arranging, it arranges itself. It is not fixed, so how can I fix it? It doesn’t … Continue reading
Richard James Allen was born in the New South Wales country town of Kempsey. He spent the first ten years of his life in Vietnam and Japan. Upon his return to Australia, he began writing diaries. Gradually the entries became less and less literal and more and more imaginative as he moved from recording to … Continue reading
So why is it when I wake beside this Cornish sea, my tongue Is as tired as it only gets to be, lost in deep, Prolonged and riotous discourse with thee? My sleep Has been as eloquent, it seems, as the breeze that trafficked my window all night, As busy as the sea at her … Continue reading
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