I’m thinking of you, by Mark Mordue
for Noah Goh The morning you are born, I am in the future and spy a flower among the glossy leaves of the magnolia. It is creamy, perfect, not yet unfurled but poised to break and blossom with the turning of the hours. In the past your mother lies, strapped in a blue gown, waiting. We all hold our breath, connected by pixels and satellites—poor substitutes for flesh, scent and human presence. Rain here in Sydney veils the city. A caul of wet drapes the buildings that fist at and puncture the sky. To my right […]
Nearing sunset, the young echidna
performs an unusual act: it climbs
The kettle would go on, the phone would ring too loudly,
echoing over the still surface of the black river.
Houbara by Michelle Cahill
New poetry from Jakob Ziguras
I could smell the snow line but I just kept talking talking and climbing with this glimmering young man who was talking to me about death how a good dose of death if you truly drink it is a gift a gift a fresh cold slap a fresh dark creek you’ll never sleepwalk through your life again again I wonder now as I wondered then in the seeping ambrosia of pine trees if I was climbing effortlessly climbing if I was talking effortlessly talking with a god a god who never touched me or told me his name a god […]
Even crocheted jocks
Easter poetry from Virgil Suarez
Minjerriba was a giant in the sun
His green back coated with cyprus and gum.
The leaves are gone from the tree, Eddying. We too, wind-cold, with the leaves Revolving. We that were green in the sun Have the yellow of death in our veins. The tree is gaunt in the star-shells, Silver and black, grotesque. And the voice of the wind is a myth In the shouts of the hate. We know of our end— The fear is over for us. But we think and we think– O God! Will there be Spring again?
The planes seem to crash into my room. I feel their wings lurch In torment of darkness And silver; they leave their shadow Flat for an instant, then run Across the floor, like mice. One long, little shadow of death. Sweep, dip, roar in the sudden Zipped bass of them Above my roof, and I crouch down. I am nothing but the seed of fear, Crouching under the plane’s white Ribbed bellies. They are dark and silver in sunlight. Yet in my room they become Little shadows, scimetar slim as Fugitive fear, little shadows left For an instant at my […]