Anyone who has died that I knew: I can feel their essence. Still here. It’s not a thought or a memory I am having. It’s a feeling. They are here, with me. They are abiding. My grandmothers, my grandfather, my dearest father. Even the boy who fell off a cliff when I was at school. … Continue reading
Was there ever any way This plump and comely assassin— Named for all knowing and unknowing—would not know how To meet all prying with a look both tender And intense, both Peaceful and implacable, merciful and savage—sad, Yes, but by no means sorry— Surprised but not unduly— Across the threshold of her forest lodge? … Continue reading
They are a stand of bitter wisdom trees eyes revolving inwards like moons beguiling faces smiling down upon us. They don’t mention (or only in passing) the ways the world is slipping from them: the deft departure of the boyhood friend, the driver’s license routinely revoked, the inability to leave the bath without resting —shamefully—on … Continue reading
for Germaine Greer after the Festival of Dangerous Ideas In the cut lip of the coliseum within its raised arches of white I came, in twenty-twelve, to see you fight. For every man who loves to loathe is a woman who loves to love: my mother made you our household god. And I believed she … 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
For Chee and Stephen Who I was in the past, Who I will be in the future – What distractions these are From who I am now. Who I am now, Here, with you. In this moment, You have rewritten my past. You are rewriting my future. What I don’t understand about Who I was … 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
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
Last Letter That night, your final night alive, I turned from your locked red door still holding your letter, a thunderbolt that could not earth itself. Shock remade my brains, and the prevalent devils of ill-love added to the huddle of riddles that failed to divulge their unhappy import— was that your plan? Dellarobbia, my … Continue reading
It all started with an anniversary, and a quest to celebrate thirty years of union. Christina, an old friend of mine, started surfing the net for a special dining experience in Barcelona. On her expedition, she came across an underground restaurant, La Contrasenya. She contacted the owner and made a booking, but was told that … Continue reading
For Anne You are the dance I prayed for, my love, and I am the prayer That danced you free. I am the supper You earned, Beloved, dancing All of time down to its knees. You are The forest in my blood and the wildness In my woods, in my leaves. And … Continue reading
Enjoying summer to the full in Lebanon is all about the beach and the night life. As the sun sets in Beirut, the madness of its streets subsides and the city’s eccentricity moves across to the bars and the nightclubs. Beirut offers some of the hottest roof-top bars in the world, but other places offer some … 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
It’s dusk, and I’m listening to an old Indian devotional, the woman’s voice is a coil of plum honey. As the sun slips down the empty western sky, the tiles of houses are silvered in light. At some angles the sun is forked by newly budded branches. I’ve stared too long at its gold-lash pinwheel, … Continue reading
Do not say a prayer, shed a tear, nor place a wreath on my grave, but bury me instead under a mangosteen tree once I’m stiff like lead. Once I’m dead, drip mangosteen milk, and wring the sweet white arils till its juices soak my funeral shroud. And when I die, embalm my head and … Continue reading
Tegan Jane Schetrumpf lives in the small coastal town of Budgewoi, and writes poetry, essays and creative non-fiction. The writers she most admires are Sylvia Plath, Gwen Harwood, George Orwell, Jorge Luis Borges and of course, Shakespeare. The cuisines she most admires are Mediterranean and Asian, but she’ll eat anything vegetarian. Tegan was educated at … Continue reading
How the Dusk Portions Time Then one evening, after the gallery, hung with invisible abstracts, you take me apart to flesh the miniatures: a fleck of craquelure, speckles of mascara from my shadow eyes, already panda-streaked. I fail to notice how you slip the pieces in your coat pocket. Distracted as I am by wolf … Continue reading
Dying to Meet You for Aravind Adiga Maybe it wasn’t deferred by the hardness of rain, my lack of sincerity, your lover, an unfinished book, a hangover; the cigarettes I didn’t smoke to save my lungs. I wasn’t breathless last night. I dreamt an email I opened from a publisher wishing me well was an … Continue reading
I grew up with Khalil Gibran’s poetry and from a young age loved his work despite the fact that I did not grasp it fully. Life is a great teacher though, so as I got older, Gibran’s wisdom became clearer. The quote below is an excerpt from The Prophet on work. Work is love made … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 